Inspiracion Mexicana

Yesterday at lunch I listened to the Creative Screenwriting podcast of their interview and Q&A with Guillermo Arriaga.

I really love his movies, or the ones I’ve seen at least: Amores Perros, 21 Grams, The Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada, Babel. All very complex, very smart, very stylish. I love the way he leaves a lot for the viewer to do, not answering every question, how he interweaves storylines so powerfully, how the characters in his films are fantastically fucked up and authentic.

A few times I’ve been a little confused by some of the connections between his multiple plotlines. Like Chieko, the Japanese girl in Babel. She was absolutely brilliant -– both as a written character and as played by Rinko Kikuchi –- but the connection to the other stories felt a bit forced. Her father gave the Moroccan guy the gun? A little too tangential, compared to the rest?

(Of course, who am I to judge, right? At lease Arriaga has some freaking movies in the theaters…)

But anyway, he’s one of my favorite screenwriters so I was glad to listen to him talk -– he spoke mainly about Babel, but also about his process in general. And to tell you the truth, it sounded a lot like my process. And he's so honest and unapologetic.

In fact, he was downright inspirational.

I decided that I’d go home and plow right into D Line, feeling validated that the way I write, and the type of stories I create, might just work. Especially this script.

I was so pumped up that after I finished dinner, gave the boy a bath and tucked him in bed…

…I put together a bookcase for the boy's room and worked with my wife getting the nursery ready for the baby.

Sorry Guillermo, mi companero, I failed you.

But tonight! Tonight I write!

Right?

(And I'm a jerk, Ryan and Jeff, for not having gotten to your scripts yet. But tonight! Tonight I read! Maybe?)

Confessions

I’ve been a bad writer.

I got helpful notes on D Line and have done zero revisions.

I promised Ryan I’d give him notes on his rom com. Haven’t read it.

Another friend just gave me a script to give notes on. Haven’t even looked at it.

I have four very loose outlines for the next script and I keep waffling as to which one I should jump on first.

I used hung instead of hanged when writing about a death by hanging. (Sorry Emily and any other English teachers out there.)

Please forgive me.

What I need is focus.

You want focus?

Here's focus:



Did you watch this in 2003? One of my favorite moments in cycling. Flying down a mountain, Beloki falls when his tire ruptures, Armstrong avoids him by turning off the road -- and has the presence of mind to keep going through the field, on those wee tires, at that speed... then sees the ditch by the road in time to stop, hop off and carry his bike across... then gets back on -- without causing another crash -- and keeps going to finish the stage.

Now that's focus.

Time To Write

By now I’ve gotten a few sets of notes on D Line and, accordingly, I’ve decided to quit writing forever.

Kidding.

Not all the notes intersect or overlap, but there are a few key areas that everyone seems to agree on. This is good, since they are mainly the things I was having doubts about.

And so far, no one has told me to quit writing forever.

Addressing most of the notes shouldn’t be too difficult -– though finding the time to really focus on and address the notes continues to be a problem. You see all these movies about writers who are blocked and how hard that is -– they spend hours staring at their Underwoods of MacBooks, smoking cigarettes and watching the wind move the leaves in the trees outside the window, waiting, waiting, waiting for inspiration to kick in so they can create.

What a great problem to have: all the time in the world to write, but no ideas.

(Though I’ll pass on the cigarettes. Substitute coffee or something. Or sometimes, a good cigar.)

Anyway, you call that angst? Are you kidding me?

Try getting up at 5:45am, less than six hours after you went to bed, because the wee boy is screaming ‘cause his left eye is crusted shut and that’s just pissing him off to no end. Go to work, not realizing you still have chunks of pineapple on your shoulder, where the lad threw them while you were distracted assuring the wife she’s still beautiful, and even more so, at eight months pregnant. Spend a few hours in meetings discussing the four or five projects that need your attention immediately, then break speed limits to get to a lunch with the guys who want to make more movies, but dammit get back in an hour because those projects at work aren’t gonna develop themselves. As you drive home that night, listen to Miles Davis, because it helps, and try to spend the 20 minutes in the car brainstorming how you’re gonna fix those script problems. But then forget those brainstormed solutions because it’s dinnertime with the family -– chat with the wife, riff on Star Wars quotes with the teen, bathe the toddler. When 10pm rolls around and everyone else is in bed (wife and son) or out with friends (daughter), sit down to write.

And then get some good work done before you pass out.

I think most of the people who read this feel me -- we're all working other jobs while we try to hone our skills and bang out some good scripts. So yea for us!

I’m gonna push on through the D Line revisions, because I’m itching to start on a new script.

Oh, I have ideas all right. Just give me the time.

Lovely Kids

My second daughter, in utero and gorgeous already.





My son, nearly two and a perfect mix of cool and cute.





My first daughter, almost 19 and beautiful in every way.


Overall, I'm one lucky bastard.

(By the way, the last two pics were taken on my phone, so excuse the bad quality.)

Well Said Sir

"I have no interest in explaining, defending, reinterpreting or adding to what is there." --David Chase

And so it's over. Perhaps the most revolutionary show in decades, and second in storytelling only to Six Feet Under, in my opinion... The Sopranos has ended.

Talk about well-earned pay for writers, producers, actors, directors, editors. All of them top notch.

And the ending was exactly fitting. And as Chase says, he needn't tell us why.

Cheers all around.

Dome Dash

We spent five days in central Washington state over the Memorial Day weekend, at the two geodesic domes my in-laws live in. Beautiful, rural, windswept valley. Great weather. Plus geodesic domes.

Spent a lot of uninterrupted time with wife and son (daughter stayed in VA to work, saving for a new car), went for some good runs, drove an electric car… and got a lot of good (and overdue) work done on D Line.

In fact, I feel like it’s at the readable draft stage, so I’ve sent it to a few companeros for feedback.

Dear Companeros,

If you’re reading this, and if you’re reading D Line, please do not be kind. If it stinks, tell me it stinks. Cruel but fair is what I need.

And if it’s brilliant, tell me it’s "kinda okay." Don’t want me getting big in the head or nothin’.

Thanks.

At work, we’re gearing up to pitch a couple new series to Discovery Channel, either tomorrow or Tuesday, depending on when a few people up there are free.

And we’re a few pieces of paperwork away from having a four-part pilot/miniseries, in the hopes of it turning into a full series, on History Channel.

Overall, things are looking pretty good.

What A Candyass

I am.

Really.

There I am complaining about not having time to write. Poor me. Whining to beat any number of bands. Like a nancyboy.

So then Friday night rolls around. Son goes to sleep at 7:30. Wife goes to sleep at 8. Daughter's out with friends.

Perfect time to write. Right? Bang out a lot of those revisions to D Line I’ve been planning. Git ‘er dun.

But nooooo.

Instead, I recall that the Red Sox are playing the Orioles, and since MASN carries all Orioles games, I realize I have a rare opportunity to watch my beloved Sox.

So I do. Instead of writing.

And they lose.

How's that for fitting metaphor?

Busted Ankle, Finish Line In Sight

Okay, this is maddening.

I feel like I’m maybe 10-15 hours away from having a good, solid second draft of D Line.

But I just can’t find the time.

But I need to find the time.

Because I’m close. And I want to send it out into the world for feedback.

I wonder if I can talk my wife into letting me lock myself into a hotel room for a day and a night, have the management take out the TV and phone, leave my cell phone in the car, bring some good food, good coffee and good spirits… and just blast through it.

Prolly shouldn’t try. Wife’s pregnant, son’s been sick, daughter’s home from college. Now’s not the time to shirk the family responsibilities…


By the way, as for a Dismal update, we're negotiating with the foreign distributor/sales agent I mentioned. They've been good about revising to meet our needs. Looks like the deal is a fair one, so the question becomes, If this is a good, standard deal, is this the company we want to go with, or should we look for this deal with someone with bigger guns?

Decisions, Decisions

We have an international distributor who is making an offer on Dismal. At first glance, they appear to be a good company and the offer seems fair, and fairly standard, in the broad strokes we’ve discussed so far.

I like that they limit their titles per year so that they can really push them –- I’d hate to be one of 100 films being repped at a booth in Cannes. They’ve distributed some films that have made some money -– no huge hits, but their model seems to be selling smaller films that don’t take as long to become profitable.

Like ours.

Plus they appear to be decent people. Though we are, to be sure, checking references…

They want to bring Dismal to Cannes… which is great but would mean making a quick decision, since it’s only a couple weeks away. I’m not a big fan of that for obvious reasons.

But it’s not like they’re saying, “Sign now so we can bring it to Cannes or the deal’s off.” So we might just pass on this first film market, to give us more time to check out some other offers and carefully review the terms of the contract.

It’s an exciting position to be in –- someone already wants to buy our film –- but it’s also an awkward one. Everyone agrees a filmmaker shouldn’t jump on the first offer -– be patient, give it time. Fair enough. But what if, on the odd chance, the first offer happens to be the best one? Or as good as any other?

Tricky.

Anyway, they’re gonna draft a contract and we’ll review it with out attorneys and we’ll see what happens. We also have screeners making their way to Lionsgate, Sony, New Line and a few others through some contacts, and several other distributors (both domestic and foreign) have been calling to get more information, so maybe there will be more news soon…

To complicate things further.

But, of course, I’d rather have this kind of complication than the opposite -– not having any offers, ever, and having to face the investors. Now that’s an awkward position.

You Lose, Cho

Haven’t blogged in a while.

First, I was hit with the worst flu I think I’ve ever had. I mean, a week of literally not being able to do much beyond sit up in bed every now and again to make sure I didn’t get bedsores like an old woman with a broken hip.

That was the easy part.

Because then, April 16th rolled around. And my daughter goes to Virginia Tech.

She’s safe, thank anything and everything that can be thanked, but it’s obviously been rough. She’s handling it pretty well, though she’s certainly reeling still. But she’s a person who really has her shit together, so I know she’ll be alright in the end.

As the stories came out, it got more and more difficult for me. As I was telling my family recently, I read about these kids who were killed and I saw that they are all exactly like my daughter. They are her. She is them. The things written about them -- great kids, hard workers, good friends, big futures, smiles that stay with you -- that's my little girl. And she was doing exactly what they were doing, at exactly the same time, just a few buildings away. I try to suppress them, but these thoughts of what-if keep coming and it's horrifying. She was so close.

And then the media (who drove my daughter and her friends to additional tears, by the way, invading their grief in a mad scramble to break some new element of the story) started playing the message of the gunman.

I quickly stopped watching.

Because I will not give that piece of shit what he wants. I will not receive his message. I will not ingest his manifesto. I’m not interested in his story or what drove him. I do not care what his intent was. And I definitely will not accept his reasoning.

So fuck you, Cho. And I mean that sincerely. You are nothing. You don’t win. You don’t matter.

What you did matters, to the people killed and those they left behind and to your own family, for whom I feel great pity. But you, you don’t even get contempt. You’re already out of the picture. No legacy. Nothing.

And, by the way, since this is a writing blog, allow me to note that you were a shitty writer.

Healthy Young Infant For Sale

I spent the whole of Sunday locked in a dark room with five other guys.

Not that there’s anything wrong with that….

See, we spent the day with the sound editors doing the final mix review. I know I’ve posted about this before, but I love sound design and sound editing -– because of its furtive nature. It improves the film experience in a remarkable way -– yet done properly the viewer shouldn’t think about it at all. Love that.

Maybe a few people might bring it up when thinking back on the movie at the bar over a couple beers with other filmsters, but not while they’re watching.

Anyway, it was an excellent day. The editors and composer did a great job and we were mainly unanimous in the notes we had for additional tweaks, which the boys are working on now. Since this is one of the last steps in the process it made it extra-excellent. Excellenter, even.

Composer Len is sending me his score on CD, and maybe I can figure out how to post some of his cues on here for you to listen to -– ‘cause they’re pretty fucking cool.

From here on, we have some spot checking on a few sound tweaks and visual effects, then finishing and dubbing -– and we take Dismal out into the world, looking for distribution.

Our baby, up for sale.

Two Steps Back... But In A Good Way

It’s David, late to the party one more time.

I read all kinds of posts and articles and books and such about the almighty Index Card. I suppose it’s always made sense to me, something that obviously would be helpful in revision. I mean, no duh.

But I’d never really done it before.

Well, I popped my cherry.

Last week, I asked my dear Movie Magic Screenwriter to please print out my latest draft of D Line as index cards. And my dear faithful Movie Magic Screenwriter complied, snappily. How nice.

Friday night I cut out the cards, laid them out on my dining room table, poured a neat glass of Bushmills Black Bush, slipped the iPod earbuds into my ears and took two steps back.

And POW –- perspective.

No wonder all these people were recommending it. It really helps.

Really.

No kidding. It’s not just an OCD, Type-A, control freak thing.

So much easier to isolate the story arcs of individual characters, one at a time, to really trace where they’re going, at what pace, why. So much better to see the overall structure and to spot the holes in logic and plot. So much easier to see how reorganizing scenes would work or not work.

I worked for two nights like this, making notes on the cards of revisions that needed to be made. Then we had a dinner party on Sunday.

So now the cards are back in a pile, secured by a couple of rubber bands, snugly tucked away in my bag.

And now I know why all those people recommend attaching the almighty Index Cards to the inimitable Cork Board.

Dining room table: bad idea.

Yet again, David’s late to the party…

Hey, Is That Where Google Got Its Name?

Been working on developing a pilot for a new history/anthropology show for a few days straight now and my brain’s starting to get googly.

As I’ve posted about before, this is where the creation of a TV show gets difficult: when you need to create a verbal pitch and written documents that quickly and clearly illustrate that it’s not just a cool idea, but a compelling, fresh television show that’s easy to visualize from start to finish -– and will last multiple seasons, constantly building ratings and staying relevant and on-brand, in an increasingly fickle world. Oh, and be producible for essentially no money. And we can start yesterday, if you just sign here.

Which is very wiggly work. It, like any good storytelling, is taking something as ephemeral and formless as an idea and turning it into something that exists without you. And I mean without you. Tricky. Lots of mind-wrangling and idea-surfing. Grinding your skateboard of creativity on the handrail of the staircase connecting thought to reality. (As if that staircase exists, says Buddha, chuckling…)

I don’t know what any of that means. But you can see, after you work on it for a while, your brain gets googly.

Great googly moogly even.

So I’m taking a break. Focus on something else for a moment. Allow a fresh perspective to creep in. Free your mind and all that.

So I’ll spend a couple minutes telling you about a little forum we had last night.

In conjunction with the ONFilm festival sponsored by Old Dominion University, the Hampton Roads Film Office set up a panel of independent filmmakers in the area to talk after a showing of Oscar-nominated shorts at the coolest arthouse theater in the area, the Naro (www.narocinema.com).

There were five of us who spoke and took questions about all aspects of making indy movies. It was great to get together with like-minded folks who are navigating some of the same waters, share ideas, horror stories, failures and successes.

In fact, afterwards I proposed doing so on a regular basis. My wife is in a book club and a women investors club. I have friends who are in writer’s groups. AA seems to help an awful lot of people.

There’s no doubting the importance of community, and this is true in the independent film world, too. While reading the blogs of writers and producers is helpful, think how much better it would be if everyone were in the same room.

Which would be easy to do in LA or New York.

But I think we can pull it off in VA, too.

I’ll let you know if it happens, and if it works.

Back to work, googly or no…

Pa(ren)thetic(al)

Len and I finished spotting Dismal last night, and he’s plugging away at the rest of the score. Thankfully, he had done a lot of great work on the rough cut (most of which we were able to keep or just tweak a little) so it’s not a total do-over.

Also plugging away are our fine sound editors, Larry and Cret. We’re planning to do a review of the mix (with music) on April 1st (and that’s no joke). Then little fixes and problem-solving as needed, and we’re off by the second week of April.

And the update on D Line: tonight I start a (restructure) rewrite. It’s a complex story, with multiple characters, and it jumps around a lot. Which was intentional, because I wanted it to have a jazzy feel, as it’s a piece in which jazz plays a central role… but I have to take into account that jazz structures (musically or story-wise) are hard to swallow by non-jazz fans, so I think I need to take it (a tad) more toward the traditional.

Not entirely so, but making it a little cleaner, in a classic story sense. It still has to maintain some of its jazzy qualities, though, or it just won’t (work).

So here I go.

(Which means, Greg, if you haven’t started reading that draft I sent you –- and with your wife in town and your remarkably busy work schedule I imagine you haven’t –- then don’t. Wait for the new one.)

(Oh, and also, Ryan, I got your script and promise to get back to you soon…)

Spot On

Spent three hours on the phone last night with Len, the composer of Dismal, spotting the movie.

This is some of the producing work that I absolutely love. The creative interaction with the creative people who make the movie really shine.

For those of you who don't know what spotting is, it's not when you get a little, um, flow unexpectedly. I mean it is that, but in the film world, it's when you go through the movie scene-by-scene, talking about tone, intention, feeling, etc., deciding where music begins, where it ends, what it sounds like -- and probably most importantly, where there should be no music at all.

(A little advice for the beginner: if your composer creates a wall-to-wall score, find a new composer.)

Ideally, of course, this spotting session should happen with you and the composer in the same room. If possible, every creative decision should be made with people looking at each other. Communication’s always best that way -– as is bitch-slapping. But with Dismal, we have no real money to fly around meeting people all the time, I have a full-time job (hence starting at 8pm) and the composer's in Pennsylvania while I'm in Virginia. So we did it over the phone, each with timecoded DVDs running.

Making it all the more interesting is that Len’s a great composer, very creative but also practical, and we really understand each other. I can’t say enough about the value of hiring the right team.

Anyway, this, as I said, is one of the fun parts of producing. And it's one of the parts that most people don't know about. Which is maybe why I like it so much. Do it right, and it enhances the film dramatically but the viewer doesn’t really notice it. It’s stealth creativity. Ninja style.

Same thing with sound design and editing -- I love sitting with the sound guys and working through all the ways to amplify the quality of the film -- little sounds here or there, silence when it should be silence, snapping twigs, sound effects, foley, ADR, all that great background stuff that can really make or break a film.

In fact, if I had to change positions in the film and TV world, I think I’d switch to sound design. Love that shit.

By the way, in the three hours spent last night, we got through roughly half of the movie, so we finish tonight. Looking forward to it. Because over the phone, Len can’t bitch-slap me.

Uncle Walt Says Lay Off

I’m quoting from memory here, so don’t hold me to it, but in one of his many fantastic poems Walt Whitman wrote something like, “Better than to tell the best is to leave the best untold.”

This is kinda what’s occupying my writing thoughts lately.

I tried, as I was writing D Line (formerly known as “the Harlem rewrite”), to keep a strong filter up to snag any dialogue or action lines that were too heavy-handed. You don’t want to hand the reader everything -– and by reader, I really mean the director or actors who might ultimately get behind the script and want to work on it. But in day-to-day America, it seems people want everything handed to them, so you end up being inadvertently trained to give them everything.

I know the first couple scripts I wrote were way too heavy-handed –- telling everything.

But the moves I like best are the ones during which I have to do a little work. No easy answers. Lots of unsolved problems. Not too much unchecked, uninspired, way-too-easy redemption. I like the ones where you have questions running through your mind during the credits, and not just about why they needed that many stuntmen.

I was thinking about this last night, while watching The Illusionist –- which was okay, but it handed me everything. I like to do a little concluding of my own, a little critical thinking. And so naturally, I’m trying to write such a script.

But where to draw the line can be tricky. To be sure, subtlety and careful open-endedness can be easily misconstrued as idiocy and lack of clarity.

As I go back and reread D Line, making notes for the next draft, I wonder if I hit the balance. This is not just an artistic question –- though I hope for my soul's sake it's mainly so -– but a practical one, too.

If I’m going to use this script to try to break into Hollywood, get an agent, maybe a manger, try to sell it and work my ass off to help shepherd it into theaters, do I have to dumb things down a little? Spell things out? Hit a more conservative structure? Do people who have to read hundreds of scripts want to do a little work for a story?

I suppose the answer’s obvious, if I’m just trying to get into theaters. Then, the answer would be, yes, dumb it down, write the Robert McKee tripe in which the cookie cutter is clearly visible and the marketability shines through like a great glowing Golden Arches, and hope you hit the blockbuster fever-of-the-day at the right time.

But I also want to write movies that I’m proud of. Oh, I know. I’m naïve. Okay, in some ways, yes I am. But it’s true: I want to at least start by trying to write honest scripts about honest people with honestly messy lives.

If, after multiple failures, I end up jaded and writing thin plastic schlock to get a paycheck, okay. Fine. Ain’t too proud to beg.

But first I want to try not to tell the best, but to leave the best untold -– so that someone sitting in the theater will be able to find it on their own terms.

Dismal Trailer

Official DiSmAl trailer 1

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It loses a lot of quality being compressed to fit on MySpace, and then transferred here, so it doesn't look as beautiful as the full HD version does... but you get the idea anyway.

Dismal Poster

Here's our poster. Whatcha think?

Pants On Fire

'Member when I said we had picture lock on Dismal? 'Member that?

Um.

I lied.

When our DP reviewed the whole thing this week he found a bunch of stuff that our second camera shot that isn't going to work once we up-res to HD and project on the large screen.

So we have to cut the shots.

All of them.

Which means finding time with the editor to recut.

And having the sound editors skip those parts.

And telling the composer his pacing's all off now.

Ah, but it's not really lying to you. We did have picture lock. Honest. This is just the way things go. No matter how finished you think you are, no matter how well you think you've planned, something's going to screw up. And all you can do is try to fix it.

Which we will. We'll still have our final-final by the first week in April. It'll just be a little hairier go now. But dammit we're all dedicated to making this the best thing it can be. And it will be.

Just a week later than we thought.

Skewed Perspective

Man I should be better at posting to this regularly. Just so busy. But I just finished my peanut butter and jelly sandwich in record time so I have a few minutes for a quick update.

We have picture lock on Dismal. Whew. It's a very good, solid movie, entertaining throughout -- and now it's gonna get better as the sound editors and composer get to work. All that, plus onlining and color timing should be finished by the end of March.

Which means by April we can do a cast and crew (and friend) screening and start hitting the sell hard: getting back in touch to the distributors who've called us, contacting other distributors, maybe renting theaters in LA and New York to screen for distributors. And we're continuing with the film festival circuit.

Speaking of that, someone on the team was expressing some worry, saying that so far, it's been nothing but rejections, so he's worried we'll end up with a very expensive coaster.

Huh?

We didn't make it into two film festivals. Two.

Is that something to worry about? Does that mean we're doomed? Hell no. I heard that, in its first round of pitching, American Idol got turned down at every network and all the major cable channels. There are tons of stories of now-classic movies, books and people who at first were rejected a hundred times. A thousand.

Please people. This is the film industry. While it's true that only 13 days passed between the start of writing on Basic Instinct and its being sold for $3 million, usually, it's a long, slow, cruel business.

So let's stick to it, shall we?

Grrrrrrr

Okay. I’m pissed. And it takes a lot to get me pissed.

The company I work for is experiencing a difficult lean time. It happens sometimes in the TV business, when a gap appears between show contracts. Production companies accordion up and down with staff levels all the time. We’ve been fortunate that in almost 15 years we’ve had very little down time, and few hiatuses. Hiati?

Anyway, we could be looking at a hiatus soon. Just went through a round of painful layoffs -– some very good, skilled people had to go, people whom I hope we can rehire soon once we get some more series up an running. All of us are worried.

But word’s starting to creep around the small-minded gossip grapevine that this is largely my fault. Since I’m in charge of development, it must be that I’m just not doing my job.

They’re not, of course, considering the 25 projects I have on the development grid, or the seven projects that various networks have expressed great interest in and could go forward at any second. They’re not looking at the corporate trouble way beyond me that our company’s going through that’s contributing to the lean times. They’re not realizing our main client is going through a massive upper-level restructuring and have instituted a freeze on new programming. They’re not considering that selling shows isn’t just saying, “Hey, I got this great idea” and then boom, you’ve got a contract for 13 hours. This is hard work, and it takes time.

One of the theories I’ve heard about is that last year I wasn’t doing much for the company because I was working on Dismal all day. Another good one: the professional conference I went to last week? Oh, all I did there was try to sell Dismal.

This is where I get pissed.

First of all, I wrote the script before I took my current position, while I was freelance writing from home. Secondly, when Dismal moved beyond a let’s-shoot-on-weekends-with-friends project and into a full feature, I had many talks with my employers, outlining how I would manage both projects and keep them separate. We came to a clear agreement and I kept to it.

Since then I have worked my balls off to do as much as or more for this company in terms of development than anyone has, ever -– and to make sure I do the work on Dismal I’m responsible for on my lunch breaks or after I go home nights or on weekends.

And as for that conference? It was a FACTUAL ENTERTAINMENT conference for TELEVISION. Factual. As in, not drama. And television. As in, not movies. There was literally no one there to talk Dismal with even if I wanted to.

Simple bastards. I mean, I understand people are frustrated, but shit, know the facts before you go slinging someone’s professional reputation in the mud.

I know I shouldn’t care. People do this gossip shit all the time. Just let it slide off, lad. But it’s hard to let it slide off -– because A) I actually have feelings, and this hurts, and B) once people start saying things often enough, they cease to sound like gossip and start to sound like fact. And like I said, this is my professional reputation.

GRRRRRRRR.

They Want The Boob

On Dismal we're one scene away from picture lock. And what a scene it is.

Or so I hear.

Turns out that all the foreign distributors who have contacted us have asked these questions:

1. Are there any stars?

2. How long is it?

3. Do you have a good poster?

4. Are there boobs?

Huh?

You heard me: are there any boobs. Seems that for an American thriller to sell well and easily in worldwide territories, there must be breasts. And nipples.

Now, I'm certainly not against breasts. In truth, I happen to love them. Wonderful elements of a wondrous sex.

But at first glance it seemed too weird to try to put breasts into a movie based primarily in a swamp.

It was actually one of our sound editors who had the idea. In the original story, as the hero is held captive at the bad guy’s shack, he has a flashback of him trying to pick a girl up in a bar –- reminding him that he’s been a shitty husband and father, and providing the impetus to try to escape and get back to his family to make things right.

Well, our man Cret says, “Why not play that scene in a go-go bar?”

Turns out we had No. Problem. At all. Getting the camera and crew together for a reshoot in a titty bar. To say nothing of extras.

Surprised? Me neither.

So we shot it -– but I had to leave before the clothes were shed, and I haven’t seen the scene cut together. Which explains the “so I hear” from the top of the post.

But we’re VERY CLOSE to being finished editing picture, and then it’s on to sound and music… and THEN… hellllllooooo nurse.

So, breasts notwithstanding, it's very good news. Soon, we're in the business of selling. We've gotten a lot of calls from studios and agents and distributors asking to see a screener -- and we've been politely declining, waiting until we have a good solid cut together. Which should be by March 1st. So, soon, we don't have to decline anymore...

Step One

Last night, at a little before 11:00, about two inches down on page 93 of the Harlem script, I typed FADE OUT.

So there. The first full pass is finished.

Now the real work begins.

The Corner(s)

Ah, I feel like I turned a corner last night on the Harlem script. I feel like I’m really close.

For a while I could see some brick walls looming ahead, and last night I figured out a way over at least some of them.

I guess I'm mixing my metaphors a little. So, for continuity, let's say I figured out how to turn a few corners and walk around some of the walls.

Of course, getting around these walls only leads me to the next set of walls that I'll need to traverse in order to wrap up the script. Still, I’m thinking over the next couple weeks I might have a complete first draft. I really need to because it’s time to start working on new stuff.

Dismal update:

We’ve submitted to SXSW and Tribeca, and Seattle’s due February 1st. Those are all the rough cut, which is a bummer. But I think the ones thereafter will be the better, cleaner cut.

Speaking of which, the editor thinks he’s gonna be finished with the latest round of changes Friday night. Hopefully he was able to address all of our concerns and we can lock picture soon. Then, probably three or four weeks after that, depending on people’s schedules, we should have our “final” cut.

Because, as I said, it’s time to start working on new stuff.

How MacIver Writes

“Steal a march on the random images that invade you, by choosing and filling the mind with the pictures you will attend to; drive them together with strong connections into a story you can’t take your mind off. Teller of tales, do not wait to be possessed; start building a seamless construction, impregnable to daydreams. When you go to bed, of course, you’ll have to take whatever dreams are sent, and maybe some will be of use.”

I just finished Rules for Old Men Waiting, by Peter Pouncey. It’s about an old man, MacIver, who realizes that now that his beloved wife is gone, he will be too. And soon. So he decides that before he dies, he will write one, whole story.

That’s a good goal to have, I think, as you face your death. He had no one to say goodbye to. So he wrote.

It was a good story he wrote. And in a way it saved him.

And this advice to himself, excerpted above, well, that’s good advice for all of us. One more vote for the discipline of writing. Give your mind the structure. Create a rhythm for the creativity and entice it out of its coy little shell.

Thanks, Mr. Pouncey. Writing just might save us.

Or drive us mad.

An Open Letter To The Artists

Dear Subway® Sandwich Artist,

I work very hard to tell compelling stories in screenplays, and so far, I’ve made very little money at it. So I feel you. I understand your plight. Truly.

You have to stand there on your feet all day behind the sneeze-guard plexiglass, asking people what type of bread, what meat and cheese, which of the seemingly endless combinations of fixins they’d like on their footlong.

And I’ve seen your customer base. They’re base all right. Rude, condescending, downright smarmy if you look cute in that black visor. They bark orders at you, getting frustrated when you can’t read their noncommittal little minds. My God, they ask what kind of bread you have when it’s right there on the placard!

Let's not even talk about those middle-aged trophy wives and the ridiculous demands they have for their wraps.

Again, I get it. I am your witness.

Substitute executive producer for customer, and tension and humor for Genoa salami and jalapeños, and we are the same.

We’re brethren.

So it is with nothing but love that I point this out.

In his recent book The Devil’s Guide to Hollywood, Joe Eszterhas suggests, “Don’t ever refer to yourself as an artist.”

Sage advice indeed.

As I said, I understand how difficult your job can be. But -– and again, take this as a non-judgmental, open-hearted suggestion on how you might improve your important work –- to my way of thinking, a true artist could get it right -– or at least make an actual, discernable effort -– when I ask for “just a little mustard and just a little mayonnaise.” And yet, Sandwich Artist, no matter how slowly I speak, no matter the eye contact I hold, no matter the emphasis I put on my request (a request an informal poll of 23 eaters of sandwiches assures me is a reasonable one), you still positively swaddle my goddamn sandwich in mustard and mayo.

And I think it hurts so much because I know you’re an artist. Or at least claim to be.

So please, brother or sister, I ask this of you: either take care with the condiments of your craft, as an artist would, or call yourself a sandwich maker.

In Solidarity,
David
(Or, as you might remember me: six-inch wheat, turkey and pepper jack, lettuce, tomatoes, pickles, cucumbers, green peppers, jalapeños, just a little mustard, just a little mayonnaise)

Say Hello To My Underpaid, Overworked Friend

In Steven Levitt’s Freakonomics –- which I heartily recommend to everyone by the way –- he includes a fascinating bit about drug gangs. Turns out that the average foot soldier in a major Chicago street gang that this economist studied made a little over $3 an hour. And they were the ones most likely to get shot by customers or other dealers, or to be asked to go kill someone for their superiors, or to be arrested by 5-0.

(“5-0.” See my street cred? It’s just dripping off me…)

So, less than minimum wage, with the threat of death or prison always present.

Why?

Apprenticeship.

They know that they have to put in the time at the bottom, and work hard, and impress everyone, and survive, if they’re ever gonna make it to the level of Tony Montana so they can shove their face into a mountain of cocaine and scream out, “The world is mine!”

Not unlike the TV and film industry, eh?

A coworker recently mentioned she was feeling a little frustrated with where she is in the business and asked how I moved up. My answer: I did some time in the television equivalent of slinging rock on a trash-strewn street corner without making enough money to buy new Nikes.

(Thankfully, my brother works for Nike so I get a wicked good discount…)

But that’s what you have to do.

The good thing is, nobody asks you to shoot anyone else, and nobody wants to shoot you. Stab you in the back, yes, but not actually kill you.

Now, I’m not saying I’m a tough guy martyr, poor me, look what I had to go through in my life. Believe me, I understand how much more difficult my life could have been –- I definitely lucked out when I was born a healthy white male in middle class America to parents who cared fully.

I’m just saying you have to suffer a little.

Well, not everyone has to. There are those who are so brilliantly gifted that they immediately rise to the top. But there’s not many of them.

Most of us have to suffer a little.

At 37, I’ve managed to make a pretty good life for my family and me –- with, of course, the support of my most excellent wife, who is quite successful in her own field. We’re happy, which is most important, but we also have the benefit of being fairly comfortable, financially, due in part to my work in the television industry. My mom says I’m a success. Not a whopper, but it’s been a good ride.

Moms are cool.

Now I find myself going back to the corner with crack in my hand –- or, as they say in Greg’s new favorite show, pandemic in my hand. But this time trying to make it in the gang called Film.

Let’s hope Paramount doesn’t send some roughnecks on a drive-by.

And by the way, don’t do cocaine, even if you make it to the top. Cocaine is bad for business.

Just ask Tony Montana.

Sick Day

Home today with the sick laddie. He threw up Tuesday night and has had a low grade fever ever since.

It's terrible when your kids are sick. Especially when they're this young and can't understand what's happening to their little bodies. The lad's ALWAYS on, always running and climbing and throwing himself at the world.

Except when he's sick.

Today he's kinda listless, just wants to sit around. Which he never does. So we went for a long walk with the stroller and the dog. We watched a little Noggin (big stuff for a kid who never watches TV). And he's taken a couple naps.

It's so sad seeing him this way, because I know it's not him normally, so I know he must feel really, really shitty.

But I realize it's easier when he's sick. And better for my writing.

I admit it: I've been writing while he naps.

And enjoying it.

I feel so guilty.

This Is The End, Magical Friend

Do you need to know how it ends?

If you stroll the screenwriting blogosphere, you know there are all sorts of answers to this, all very well and passionately argued and all very contradictory.

There are those who say you’re foolish not to outline the entire arc of each character from start to finish, so you know the whole big picture before you begin. All kinds of stuff about index cards and cork boards and timelines and beat sheets.

There are those who say you need to have a pretty good idea of where the story is going or what the characters are gonna do so there’s a framework in which the people can play around.

And then there are those who say you just have to send the characters off and let them find the story themselves. Hippies.

And of course a million variations of these three.

I think I’ve tried them all, sort of, and I’m not sure which works best for me. I think it works best for me if I have a pretty good idea of what I want to happen, but not outline too strictly in the beginning. This way, I have a sense of direction, but there’s enough wiggle room to allow for some magic to happen.

If Magic decides to show up of course.

Yet with this rewrite I’m working on, I find myself worried because I don’t really know what’s gonna happen with one of the main characters. Normally I don’t worry about this. So why now? No idea.

Sometimes I think this character just needs to grow a little in the ensuing pages and take over from me (I know this is sounding pretty flighty, but I’m guessing any writers who happen to be reading know what I mean) and figure it out himself. But sometimes I worry he's endingless because he doesn’t matter and isn’t authentic.

Anyway, I’ll let you know. I’m about 40 pages in, and I think it’s going okay. We’ll see.

Magic, my dear, your presence is requested.

iDad

Normally, I don’t write about personal stuff in here –- trying to keep it a writing/producing blog. But maybe I’m being too uptight about that and I should just write about things when they seem like they should be included.

Like last night.

I had to charge my iPod –- as Greg says, one of the greatest gifts to man -– and my daughter’s laptop was in the office so I plugged in there. Which got me perusing her music collection. Which got me smiling.

There’s a lot of stuff I love on there -– some of which I think I might have led her to, some of which she found on her own, some I didn’t know at all.

She came home and there I was, stealing stuff from her iTunes. She sat with me and we started talking about music.

HER: Take that Jack Johnson. It’s good music for mornings.

ME: Hey, you have Pink Floyd. Haven’t listened to that in years.

HER: The Wall’s good college music.

ME: Sure was. Is.

HER: Remember this one, when you sang it at karaoke in Maine?

ME: Holy shit, I gotta take that one. I love this 50 Cent/Queen mash-up.

HER: Yeah, which Queen song is that?

ME: “Crazy Little Thing Called Love.” Kanye, cool. I should give you a copy of Late Registration. Didn’t I send you Pharrell’s new one?

HER: Yeah, it’s cool. Thanks.

ME: I love “Keep It Playa.”

HER: You realize how funny you sound when you say that, white man?

We both crack up. It is funny. She says she can’t believe she’s doing this with her dad. So weird. I agree.

But it says so much about us and our relationship that it makes me smile warmly even now.

I love that kid.

Way more than Kanye.

Viva Vacay

Man, am I looking forward to having next week off.

And not ‘cause I’m lazy and want to sleep late. Oh no, having a 16-month-old means sleeping late vanished as an option more than a year ago…

One, I get to spend some good time with my family, and working really puts a dent in that. Pays the mortgage, yes, but hinders the whole personal-interaction-with-family thing. With my daughter in college, time with her comes all too rarely – though she’s home now. And with my son, I usually get an hour before work, and an hour and a half after. Thankfully, my wife stays up a little later than him, so we get a little more time together. But, point is, it’ll be good to just be together.

And two, I’ve committed myself to writing a lot during the week. I feel I’m at a critical point in the Harlem rewrite – like I’m on the edge of either pushing through the problems and having them at least theoretically solved, or throwing in the towel and, sobbing, admitting it just can’t be done.

Please let it be the former.

Also, during my percolating time (including a good bike ride on Sunday and a leisurely shave this morning) I’ve had some new ideas for the suspense thriller, the horror flick and the police drama.

Oh, plus another production company asked me if I could write a 40- to 60-minute short for them and I just can’t help thinking about it and even started writing a little…

Anyway, once I don’t have to think about work-related writing for a week, I’m gonna bang some shit out. Probably not as prodigiously as Greg or Ryan, but hopefully I’ll give a good boost to my page-per-month average.

Can I Get A Witness?

So we pitch Show A to That Network and they take a pass, saying that it's not really on-brand. The Head Honcho says that what she wants is Show B.

So I get to work on Show B, thinking, well, actually, this isn't really on-brand, as described by them. But it is like another show we do for them that gets high ratings, and if that's what Honcho wants, so be it.

We then pitch Show B to them. Honcho isn't there, but her main people are. They tell us it's not really on-brand. But if we made it more like Show A, it might be more on-brand.

Huh?

Does anyone remember the last couple conversations? Were there any witnesses to those meetings?

Does anyone know what the freaking brand is? And do you talk to each other?

I choose to ignore the fact they're now asking for the show they declined and instead gently remind them that, as is, it is exactly what Honcho asked for. They say they'll look into it. But I don't think they'll greenlight it. I bet Honcho forgets she even asked for it.

Of course, if I do what I want to do and point out the mixed messages and ask them to please get their shit together so I know what they really want, they’ll think I’m telling them how to do their job and I might not get that next meeting.

The many layers of swirling ineptitude make me dizzy. And not in the good way.

What does this mean to us as writers?

Nothing.

Well, maybe another reality check to slap you upside the head and reiterate that it's a weird world out there, especially in tv and film.

But we can't do anything about it.

Sure, I'll reversion Show B so it's more like Show A and hope they remember this time that that's what they asked for. But there's no guaranteeing they will.

That's the nature of it kids. That's what we do.

So all we can do is create good stuff and try to get it in front of the right people... then hope they know what the fuck they're doing.

Clock's Ticking

I’ve become a very efficient writer.

But it’s no fun.

With work taking up so much time, and with a family that I love hanging out with, it’s not easy finding time to write regularly.

So I’ve become efficient, using just about every free moment I can. I try to write for 20 or 30 minutes during lunch. I remind myself during the drive to and from work to actively think out whatever problem’s facing my character or story. If I have any creative energy left over, I write at night after the wife and baby have passed out.

It wasn’t always like this. It used to be more fun.

For a couple years I worked from home so I was really in control of my schedule. I could front-load a bunch of work to give myself a good window, then spend a whole day writing. Or a couple days.

Toward the end of writing Dismal, I gave myself a whole week. I’ve always wanted to be a bike mechanic. (In fact, if I ever, through some fluke, become wildly wealthy, I’m gonna open a bike shop and wrench a few days a week. Promise.) Anyway, knowing this, my generous and loving wife bought me a week’s stay at a B&B in West Virginia owned by a guy who also owns a bike shop. He said if I wanted to, I could come stay with him and he’d teach me everything I needed to know in that week.

I was so freaking excited. A week learning bike mechanic stuff, riding and writing. I packed my bike, laptop and some clothes, drove out to WV and told him I was ready for class to start as soon as he was.

He wasn’t ready that day.

Or the next.

In fact, he never got ready. Never taught me a goddamned thing. Asshole.

But, I did have a week in a beautiful place with no work, no obligations, nothing to do but write, ride my bike, drink coffee and wine, stroll about, and write.

Got a lot done that week.

But now, this new system doesn’t allow for substantial gains. It’s tough trying to hit your rhythm when you work in spurts like this.

How do people do it? I mean, the beginners, like me.

Maybe I could give up eating entirely, switch to an IV. That should free up some time.

The Essay Portion Will Be Graded

With written proposals for four series and one MOW submitted to various networks as they requested, and while I await research on three more MOWs, I’ve been freed up at work after a long haul of writing to review a ton of spec pitches that have come in over the last few months.

As you can probably tell from my last post.

And then yesterday at lunch I listened to an interview with Michael Arndt, writer of Little Miss Sunshine. (Not that money’s the only thing, but interestingly, it was made for about $8 million, sold to Fox Searchlight at Sundance for $10.5 million and has taken in over $76 million. Plus, I really liked it.)

Anyway, Arndt said that Hollywood is “overflowing with B- scripts.” He said he didn’t think there were that many bad scripts floating around in Hollywood, just a lot of unfinished ones. Good point.

(Although… I know there are a lot of bad scripts out there. I’ve read some of them. [I just hope mine aren’t among them –- though secretly I fear they are…] As for the TV show pitches I get sent, a few are good, some are unfinished, but man, a lot of them are just plain bad. Like, smelly bad. Like, please leave it outside or it’ll stink up the kitchen bad.)

If a script makes it to an agent, studio, manager, someone out in Hollywood with enough clout to spread it around, even if it’s stuck in turnaround for years, there has to be some merit to it. But merit alone gets you a B-. To go further you need at least a B+. Of course, even if you have a solid A, it can float for years because of weird business decisions that have noting to do with the quality of your script.

It just keeps getting more and more unfair, huh?

Writing is hard. Everyone who writes says this. But I’m not sure everyone who writes does this. Which is to say, actually work hard. It’s really freaking difficult to take an objective look at your script, weed out the notes from your trusted readers that have merit, and then go in and fix the problems. Most writers, I think, don’t get to that last part.

I’ve written dozens of hours of primetime cable television, some that have won awards. I have one movie under my belt, done the hard way. What this has taught me is that it takes a lot of hard work. Really. Like, seriously. HARD WORK. Long hours trying and failing and trying again. Then failing again and trying once more. Thrice more. Then convincing yourself you’re a hack, and then talking yourself into trying again.

It’s not enough to say you’re struggling over a script, but in truth all you’re doing is reading it over and over, and in the end, you change 1% of it because you can’t figure out what else to do.

I’ve been handed scripts by writers who say they’ve been toiling over it forEVER, and then I read it and it's still full of typos and inconsistent slug lines. Let alone wildly obvious logic flaws. Or a totally uninspired story.

Of course, it’s still very hard for me to do this revision thing. There’s something about a written document that you’ve spent months creating that feels concrete and unchangeable. But dammit man, you have to keep plugging away. And admit that you’re flawed. And be willing to kill your babies. (See earlier post re: this terrible infanticide…)

Which is why the Harlem rewrite, though it’s been frustrating and intimidating, has been good for me. I’m forcing myself to keep a fresh mind, throw away things that won’t work no matter how much I love them or how badly I want them to work.

Because even though I have all those writing credits, I’m still very much a beginner and I have a lot to learn.

Maybe not as much as the lady who keeps calling me at work because she had the idea for almost every hit show out there before they came out… but I have a lot to learn. The good thing is, I’m willing to muscle my way past the B- mark.

Or try anyway.

Dude, I Got A Great Idea

There’s no shortage of ideas.

Ideas are easy.

Give me a few hours, Arvo Part’s Alina album and a couple cups of good coffee, and I’ll come back to you with concepts for 10 TV shows, four movies and a fetching little commercial for erectile dysfunction pills.

Ideas are easy.

At work, every week I get a dozen calls, emails and written submissions about shows that are gonna be the next Survivor, or the next Borat-meets-The Ring-for-the-small-screen.

Some of them are actually good ideas.

But ideas are easy.

Developing them into something sellable, selling them, and then producing them -– now that’s hard.

And since you’re looking at our development department, only so many can go forward at one time. So choosing is important.

Many thanks to all the people who have pitched ideas -– and thanks to me for creating my own –- but apologies to all, including myself, that we can’t do them all at once.

So keep a paper trail, I tell myself and those who come pitching to me. Keep reviewing the old ideas. Be patient and persistent –- and know when to be one or the other.

Even though ideas are easy, they’re important. So keep them brewing. And make them better. Richer. Tighter. More distinct. Those are the ones that rise to the top of the pile because they’re easier to envision as productions, which is what this is all about.

A friend recently told me that he heard the job of a producer is to make a list and then do it.

Exactly.

Ideas are easy. Now do them.

The Man In 1997

Name that big haired man.

(How do you adjust the size of the photo window? Hmm...)

So last weekend we did some pickup shots on Dismal. Now, principal was in July, when the forest and swamp are at their height of lushness. Now it's November and things are brown. Problem one.

Problem two: a wicked storm blew in on the day we had the camera. By the time we got to Ray's place it was like some supertornado special on The Weather Channel.

I refused to pack it in. Might as well try. Shoot something.

Good thing Ray has a barn.

We dressed a horse stall to be two types of backround ground: one greenish (to match a forest trail) and one brownish (to match the dirt by the bad guy's shack). Don't ask what constituted the brown in the brownish one. Let's just say it was a fragrant shoot.

Anyway, we shot tight and kept the background out of focus and damn if it didn't work.

But then last night the editor found another shot that would come before one of the pickup shots, and it does work better, but now our stand-in actor has to move slightly differently in the greenish shot.

So we're trying to put together another little pickup day this weekend. It's really just a slight expansion of an already planned pickup day. We were gonna get the camera to do a little more helicopter stuff anyway, so now we're just adding a bit more to the day.

Thankfully, everyone on the team is pretty patient.

Because patience is what we need.

Like someone needs a haircut.

Good Work, Y'all

Yesterday I was talking to a friend about the value of your work and then Greg wrote about grace at the Web of Lies, so I got to thinking all spiritual and shit.

As a Buddhist I try to follow the old dude’s Nobel Eightfold Path because I think it’s a good way to live. One of the eight principles is Right Livelihood, which suggests we should “lead a balanced life, neither extravagant nor miserly,” and make sure our “income stands in excess of expenses.” Pretty sage advice, I’d say. But also, Right Livelihood suggests our work should respect and even assist other people and the world.

When I was a teacher, I felt pretty solid with my Right Livelihood. Okay, my expenses often stood in excess of my income, but that wasn’t because of extravagant living, it was because in this country we just don’t pay the people who serve very well. Teachers, police officers, social workers, nurses? Let’s pay these self-absorbed lowlifes shit. But the guy who can hit three-pointers most of the time or the lady who knows how to get away with underpaying workers so she and her Board can make more money? Pay them zillions.

Anyway, I did feel overall that I was helping the world back then. I was trying, at least, to help some kids learn how to learn, how to be good people, how to ask questions about the world.

But now I make television programs. I made one movie and hope to make more.

And so I started questioning if I’m still making my work something that’s important. Not as easy to see. TV and movies? Hmm.

You could make the argument that art (if TV and film are art -– or more specifically, if the kind I make are…) does matter and helps the world. I might buy that.

But I think that what Buddha was also talking about was to be mindful of how you go about your work. I try to be honest, compassionate, humble and all that good stuff while doing my job. I don’t always succeed of course, but listen, the Pope wears Prada shoes and just put out a calendar of photos of him at his country estate, so come on. We’re all human.

Buddha helped define Right Livelihood by talking about what Wrong Livelihood is. He said five professions should be avoided outright: trade in weapons, human beings, meat, intoxicants and poison – so I’m glad my days as a gun-running, slave-trading, butcher/drug dealer with a knack for fatal concoctions are over.

But he said we also should not be scheming and belittling or look out only for our own gain in our work. Hey, that I can do. That I do do, when dealing with people who work with or for me, or for whom I work. I don’t want to come off as a hippie (those days are over too, thankfully, but I admit I spent my time at Dead shows) but I am always sure to conduct myself ethically. I don’t ever want to succeed by screwing other people. That would suck, really.

So, fellow writers, don’t get down on yourselves. You’re okay in what you do -– as long as you do it right.

That is, unless you still have that night job whipping up poisons for The Man. Knock that shit off.

A Whole Lotta Something

It’s been a blast of content creation for me recently.

Pressure’s been heavy at work. A group of international networks contacted us and asked for proposals for two series that they think will do well overseas -– and that they think we can do well. They have a very tight schedule on the development process, but the tightness goes both ways: we didn’t have a lot of time to write up the proposals, but they promise to give us feedback within days and decide who gets the gig by the end of the month.

So, it’s been a flurry of writing for me. We’re talking full series proposals -– but I got them handed in on time Friday and we have a conference call scheduled with the execs for Wednesday. I like this quick turnaround stuff when it’s reciprocal.

The pitches are good. One a little better than the other, but both could be solid and interesting shows. We’ll see.

In addition to that, I have an act breakdown for an MOW due this Friday for another client (this time a domestic network), so the flurry continues. This one’s a great story -– one I’ve hoped to be able do for a long time, actually, so I’m really excited about it. It’s a compelling story but it’s also an important one.

I just hope that in a week I can do it justice. Tough to do a detailed outline of a two-hour story in five days, showing not only the developing drama, but also what the movie will look and feel like.

But if my work over the last decade has done anything, it’s taught me how to produce good stuff fast.

I mean, last year for one series, we did almost a year’s worth of work in 6 months. Okay, okay, I wore myself down to the nub of a man -- and had to hire Greg toward the end to help with the final push -- but we did it.

Man, that was fun, wasn’t it, Greg?

Or, fun maybe isn’t the right word.

Man, that was something, wasn’t it, Greg?

As for my own writing, I have what I think is an interesting start to the Harlem movie. It’s been a lot of deconstruction and reconstruction, and I still can’t see the whole thing yet, but the pieces are falling into place a little. Good to be diving back in.

It’s a lot of… something.

Do I Want More Cake? I Don't Know, Do I?

As of yesterday, I’m another year older.

And?

I always think it’s odd when people freak out about getting older. I mean, sure, sometimes I pine for the days when I was 17 and physically fearless. But I like getting older. In fact, I prefer it. I’d be a really weird 17-year-old now if I were still 17 after all these years…

Plus, you should read some of the shite I wrote back then.

Let’s just say the world didn’t need another Jim Morrison writing poetry.

Anyway, a strange thing happened last week. I started writing again.

As I mentioned before, I’d been doing a lot of jotting down of ideas and such, and mostly they were about the crime thriller, but late last week I actually started writing. And on the day I fired up the laptop, I dove into the Harlem rewrite and not the crime thriller. Didn’t expect that. But then, that’s usually how it works, isn’t it?

I got in deep, fast. Thinking out plot points in the shower. Letting characters percolate while driving to work. Writing frantically during every lunch break to get it down in the limited time I had.

It’s been good.

Even though it’s been frustrating -– as writing usually is. Like last night I was trying to defend why I needed to place the movie in Harlem, and why it has to happen during the sixties. Should I move it? Make it contemporary?

Not sure. One thing’s for sure: this weekend I came to terms with the fact that I’m just trying to cram too much into it. Which was a healthful realization to have. Time to strip out even more and make a leaner, cleaner story.

Not too clean, though. I like it when a movie is as messy as life. But I do have to be more judicious with themes.

When deciding what should stay and what should go, I find myself having conversations with myself. Like out loud. In a room, alone. Like a crazy person.

But when I put myself on trial like that -– or when I put my writing on trial –- I tend to be more decisive. Maybe I can lie to myself in my head, just thinking. But I can’t lie to myself out loud.

I just hope for Greg’s sake (over at the Web of L&D) he doesn’t require this same method, or the plane ride to China is gonna be an awkward one.

“Um, sir. Could you please stop screaming? The other passengers are getting scared.”

David Has EIGHT Friends

So there.

Have you seen the video podcast Sam Has 7 Friends? Check it out -– it’s on iTunes in the TV/Film section. Also can be found at www.samhas7friends.com.

Okay, it’s a little soap opera-y. In fact, it’s sort of a MySpace soap opera LA noir. But it’s cool. I’m hooked.

Every day, another 1 ½ minute episode is released. They began in late August and it’ll run through mid-December. It’s about this girl Sam, an aspiring actor in LA who, you guessed it, has seven friends. The filmmakers promise that on December 15th -– dun dun DUN! –- one of them will kill her.

It’s very crafty, this thing. A good concept, a good hook, good use of the emerging webisode platform. It’s shot beautifully for the most part. Also mostly very good actors. Except the guy playing Sam’s agent. He must be someone’s brother or one of the financial backers. Because he’s weak.

I bet this crew is having a blast making this. Probably costs almost nothing and it's a fresh thing. Nice. Bravo to you, whoever you are.

Anyway, check it out. At the very least you get to look at beautiful people living in LA, and you only have to invest a minute and a half every day.

End of plug. Resume wasting time at work, all of you.

Or both of you.

Or... you.

Questions' Authority

Saw The Departed on Saturday. Loved The Departed on Saturday. Still love it.

Got me thinking about questions. Because, when a movie’s over, you want the viewer to be left with questions. The good questions.

Bad questions suck.

(Wait. Have I blogged about this before? How do regular bloggers like Greg remember?)

After The Departed, I was left with both types. Though even the bad questions weren’t so bad. This is a great film after all.

Good question:

In one bar scene, the camera’s on a crane (or high sticks?) over the bar and tilts down to reveal that Jack Nicholson has just downed a shot and has a beer lined up, ready to roll. Now, this question I have is predicated on my experience in Massachusetts (where the film takes place), in the mid-‘90s -– so things might have changed since then.

But back then, I learned that you can’t order a-shot-and-a-beer and get both at the same time. Believe me, I tried. State law against one person having two drinks in front of them simultaneously. When I ordered, they’d hand me the shot, I’d do it, then they’d slap down the beer.

So on Saturday I leave the theater wondering, did William Monahan and Martin Scorsese put this in there, knowing the law, as an inside joke to cement their knowledge of all things Boston (their knowledge, by the way, is delightfully deep) by adding a little touch to further show Nicholson’s character is a king? Like, Whoa, this dude can even get a shot and a beer!

Or is this an error -– albeit a slight one -– that just shows one small detail got past them. Not that it matters, really, a detail like this, so the mistake doesn’t take away from my enjoyment of the movie.

Either way, good question. The kind of question I got to talk to my wife about over sushi after the movie. This is what movies are supposed to do. Like Alabama says to Clarence in True Romance: When I see a really good movie I really like to go out and get some pie, and talk about it. Only on Saturday it was sushi. No pie. Anyway, you know what I mean: you delve in afterwards, talk about its intentions, think about its impact. Nothing too film-school-intellectual, please, but a good movie leaves you with good questions. If everything’s tied up with a neat bow, shit, I’ll pass.

But I also left with the kind of question that was not so good, because I didn’t know if it was a mistake that would take away my enjoyment.

I’m wondering: what about the envelope Leonardo DiCaprio gives Vera Farmiga? When they release the DVD are we gonna see a deleted scene where she opens it, then calls Mark Wahlberg? Because the otherwise tight storytelling fell apart there a little bit with that.

Again, not a really bad question -– like, say, the type I was left with after watching The Hulk (for example, “Why did I just watch that movie? Can I ever get those 90 minutes of my life back?”) -– so I’m not complaining too much. But a potential chink in the armor.

Why am I going on and on about this? Because we’re about to dive into the recut of Dismal -– and I want to leave the good questions in there and take care of the bad questions.

And sometimes it’s tough to tell the difference.

Afeared

Every day for a while now, during lunch, I take my little steno notebook out for a sandwich and write.

It’s been good, getting back into it on a regular basis -– even thought right now “writing” is limited to making bullet outlines and jotting down notes on scenes and bits of dialogue.

The four stories I’ve been playing around with have been:
--the Harlem rewrite
--the suspense thriller that started as a dream I had
--a twisty police drama
--a cheeky horror thing

Interestingly, the one that I find myself working on most is the one that came from the dream (as written about a few posts back). But I do keep bouncing around.

Here’s one fear I have, about the dream story: if I dreamed about it, does it mean, subconsciously, that I REMEMBER it? As in, it’s already been done and I’m accidentally plagiarizing?

Here’s another fear I have: soon, I’ll have to choose one of the four to really flesh out.

Because of work and family, I don’t have a whole lot of time to write. So it’s scary to think I might put six months into starting a script (O, to be able to spend hours a day writing and bang them out like Greg and Ryan do) only to realize I picked the wrong one to flesh out and it might have made a fun little outline but it’s a shitty 120 pages.

Because then, it’s six months later. Maybe someone has shown interest in Dismal and wants to know what else I have written. And I have nothing. Maybe the guys who showed interest in the adaptation script (if they haven’t forgotten about me already, which, actually, is most likely the case) will have totally forgotten about or lost interest in me. Because I still have nothing.

I guess there’s no easy answer. As we continue the recut of Dismal, I’ll keep working on these outlines and notes, and then, I’ll just have to suck it up. Use my gut to pick which one I think is the most viable. And then write it.

(Scary.)

ROUSes? I Don't Think They Exist.

Strange and unexpected turn of events. As turns of events often are.

Lemme ‘splain. No, is too much. Lemme sum up.*

Over the last few months I’ve been reading a bunch of books and articles and keeping an eye on the trades, and I kept reading about this one company that is alleged to be The Shit when it comes to repping independent films. The list of movies they’ve brought to the world is impressive. Good, solid, need-to-look-more-than-first-glance movies that other people might not have seen the beauty in. They’d be perfect for us. In fact, three weeks ago, I wrote, “Try to get X Company” in my notebook.

Two days ago, an executive at X Company calls us. SHE calls US. Says she can’t tell us how, beyond that they have a “very good tracking system,” but she’s heard about our film and it sounds very interesting to her – can she have a screener?

Jeff gives her our agreed-upon standard answer to all such requests: No, I don’t think so. It’s just a rough cut and we want time to make it right before we send it out… but let me talk to my partners.

We talk, confirm this company is like the Holy Grail, and call her back -– screener on its way.

A follow-up call caught the exec out of the office, so Jeff talked to her assistant. Still won’t tell us how they heard about us, but says two very cool things.

Thing One: “Oh yeah. Dismal. Yeah, I’ve heard that come up in a couple meetings.”

Really? Hmmm.

Thing Two: “Normally, I tell people not to expect a response sooner than three weeks. Buuut, if SHE called you HERSELF, it’s probably a pet project and you might hear much sooner.”

Really? Again hmmm.

So people at X Company have been talking about us, and this exec breaks her normal routine to call us herself.

Really? Hmmm-mmm.

I keep going back and forth between “HOLY FUCKING SHIT” and “Simmer down, O’D. Nothing has happened yet.”

(Okay, I talk to myself. There. I admitted it...)

But Greg The Sage tells me this business is so full of heartaches, we should take any celebration we can get.

So tonight, when the lad goes to sleep, I’m gonna crack that swanky bottle of scotch that’s been waiting for a celebration. Maybe I’ll even rent The Princess Bride.

That’s what the * was for. But you knew that already, didn’t you?

On 35-Year-Old Ass Clowns

Well the nor’easter caused a lot of flooding and thereby some travel problems, so our test audience was only 30 people. But still, it was good.

We held the screening in a classroom set up with amphitheater-style seating, projecting from a computer in the not-very-dark room. Not bad, but not the best sound or picture quality to say the least.

Overall, though, the response was that the audience felt very entertained.

They had some questions -– some silly, some thought provoking. One girl asked how the bad guy changed clothes so quickly.

Um. Well. Uh…

Most of the better questions were things we knew were weaknesses already. Some pacing issues. Some story clarification. And several good specific suggestions actually on how to attack those weaknesses.

Two comments surprised me.

One was from several college-aged kids. They thought the two men on the fishing trip were acting too immature for their age. They said that, since these guys had kids, they wouldn’t be so immature when they’re together. All of us adults in the room just paused. Thought about when we’re out with the boys. Oh, it’s immature all right. I think it was because these two kids must think that once you get to be 30 you stop thinking like a 13 year old. I guess they’ve never seen their dads out with friends. They’ll learn.

The other surprising thing was how strongly so many people felt about what happened to the dog. They want to know how, why –- they don’t want it left up to them. They want the facts. Didn’t realize people would connect so specifically with the dog.

But the best thing to come of the test screening was for the post-production team to see that we’re not finished yet.

I was getting worried, I’ll admit it.

The plan was to rush a rough cut to deliver to Sundance in time. Which we did. But then when we started talking about recutting to get the final cut done, there was some grumbling.

I was astonished.

Does anyone really think we could have put together the best possible film five weeks after the end of principal photography?

I was getting the feeling some did think that. And then, in the interest of keeping people happy, I felt others were starting to agree. Like yeah, a couple of easy tweaks and we’re done. I was worried I was about to be outvoted and the rough cut would live.

Phew.

Now, after the test screening, and after our team meeting at which we discussed all the problems with the cut, it seems everyone is onboard with recutting it until it’s as good as it can be.

Which was the original plan.

But oh is it hard for people to think about changes after something becomes “real.” Funny thing, that. But no surprise. Revising –- really revising -– is always a bitch of a thing to do.

After the screening, driving to Jeff’s house for the meeting, I pulled up at a stop light next to the editor. We looked at each other. Paused. Then immediately and furiously gave each other the finger until the light turned green.

As I pulled away, the composer, in the passenger seat of my car, said, “What the hell were those kids talking about, ‘too immature for guys in their 30s’?”

So, to all of my fellow 30-something dads: pull my finger.

Testing 1, 2, 3

In a couple hours we hold our test screening of Dismal.

So far, everybody's loved it. But so far, everybody who's seen it loves us. Or likes us. Or at least knows us.

But today, the audience will be full of strangers. They don't know us. They don't know how hard we've worked for two years, what we've sacrificed, all that we were up against. They don't know we only had 18 days to shoot and a crew much smaller than normal.

There's nothing to cloud their vision, save whatever hangups they might bring in on their own. If they like it, they'll say they like it. If they hate it, they'll say that, too. Which is exactly what a test screening should be.

I'm excited. And nervous. And excited.

Here goes.

What's Up Chuck?

Went to work yesterday feeling fine, but within half an hour I got wicked nauseous. Drove home, and when I was almost back to the safety of my very own bathroom, I did some rather indelicate regurgitation. The ol’ pull over, whip the door open, blast.

Still not feeling great today, so it's two days home from work.

(Sorry about the regurgitation thing. No one wants that image planted in their head. My bad...)

Anyway, I barely wanted to get out of bed yesterday, so I did absolutely no writing. Today I’m feeling a little more mobile, so I’m gonna try. Not a lot of energy though, so it’s hard to get my mind focused and my body motivated.

First up: finish the freaking script for the Dismal trailer so Andrew can cut that bitch.

Then, finalize the feedback form for the test screening we’re doing Saturday.

And then, the more interesting stuff: work on the outlines for the next two scripts, or one of them anyway. Don’t think I have it in me to dive into the Harlem movie right now…

I might have had it in me yesterday morning, but a lot of the stuff I had in there then, isn’t in there anymore.

Okay. I’m sorry again.

Not Dreaming Of Daisy

Had one of those awesomely detailed dreams last night.

It was the opening scene for a crime thriller, complete with dialogue, movements of a ton of people, opening titles and a score.

Isn't the brain cool? I mean, even a pedestrian one like mine? Where did the backstory come from? The faces of all the people? The Massive Attack-like music? The floor plan of the club where that guy was doing that thing?

I take this as a good sign. We all remember the dream in college in which you get to the end of the semester and realize you never went to one class and have failed it. When I was teaching, I had dreams of class sessions, some inspired, some ridiculous. When I was knee-deep in producing the latest show I did and I was working 16 hours a day, my dreams often took the form of Avid editing -- start a scene, pause, rewind, recut, start over.

So now dreaming about a movie opening, maybe it means my mind is getting back to focusing on crafting a new script from the ether. Or wait. Would that take a dream about typing on an old laptop in the dark with a glass of bourbon next to me?

Anyway, this morning my son fell asleep as I drove him to daycare, which means only a 10 minute nap, so I wanted to give him a little more time to rest before toddlers started howling and throwing Elmo dolls at him. We sat in the parking lot, idling, Cannonball Adderley playing on the stereo, him conked out in the car seat, me scribbling down all the details I could remember from the dream.

Who knows. Maybe it'll be something.

If not, at least it reminded me about the weird process of creativity and made me take down some story notes...

And no, dear, Daisy Fuentes did not make an appearance. Promise.

Free Time? What Free Time?

It's there. Dismal is in the offices of the Sundance selectors. Whoever they are. So our future in Utah is no longer in our control.

Today (my anniversary by the way), Ray, Jeff and I meet to plan out the remaining work on Dismal to get ready for the next festivals we'll submit to. SXSW and Tribeca both have early December deadlines, so we hope to be finished with the fine cut by Thanksgiving.

This means a more editing to tighten up a few places, fix some problems, make the moments we haven't made yet, plus giving the various fellows the time to do the full score composition, full sound mix, full color correction, etc.

And we'll cut a good trailer, print up some one sheets and prepare a press kit for when we'll need them.

But what I think this means for me is that while there's still much work ahead, it's mainly managerial stuff, which should free up a little more time to get back to that thing we do.

Writing.

It's been a while.

I mean, I've done a lot of writing for the regular job -- which has been fun and has worked out well, since we're on the verge of signing two pilots and some MOWs -- but no scripts.

My plan is first to bang out some outlines for the next two movies for 1944, then dive back into the Harlem movie. Then, as I'm working on the Harlem rewrite I can let the 1944 outlines percolate, and when I go back to fixing the 1944 outlines I can let the Harlem rewrite percolate.

Seems like that's the way it works for me. Good to have one thing to work on immediately, to distract my mind from the other thing -- which is when the good ideas come for the other thing. And vice versa.

I think most writers I know work this way.

And outsiders think we're just being lazy and unfocused.

Sheesh.

Now let's all waste some time Googling my current favorite phrase, from Greg's Web of Lies and Deceit: rusty Chinese tongue muscles.

Park City Bound

Okay, it's actually LA bound. Turns out the Sundance submission offices are in Los Angeles.

So much for independence in the mountains.

Anyway, we finished the rough mix today and they're laying back tonight.

Tomorrow we run dubs and send it off to beat the September 25 deadline.

Very cool.

It's just a rough cut, though -- still needs some picture changes, only has temp music, sound, etc. -- so we still have lots to do before the next round of festivals.

But anyway, it's nice to have met our first goal.

That is, if the dubs work out, and if we make the FedEx deadline, and if the container doesn't get pulled off the plane, and if...

Did Anyone Get The Mailing Address For Sundance?

Early last week, we finally got the approved rough cut of Dismal locked. Or, I think we got the approved cut locked – after the last set of notes I didn’t get a chance to watch again since it had to ship out. But hopefully all the changes are made. Makes me nervous, not seeing that last cut, but I trust our editor, so I know it’s okay.

Please. Tell me it’s okay.

The movie’s hovering at about 94 minutes, which I think is perfect, and now it’s off to the composer, color timing and the sound editors.

Or it was supposed to be.

Somehow, the sound guys never got the stuff they needed.

Arrrrgh!

These are some crack sound editors, so I know they’ll catch up, but it’s one of those little details that can really make a project stumble. They were supposed to have it a few days ago, and the deadline for Sundance is fast approaching.

After almost 10 years in the business, it still amazes me how complex it is, and how so much can ride on small things not being done – or being done wrong.

There was this show we did once. A crime show about a biker gang. The main enforcer of the gang was a giant martial arts master who, when he was arrested, sent a couple FBI agents to the hospital and shattered a door frame in the police station when a roundhouse kick he intended for a cop’s head missed by a hair. The guy was a monster, and I tried to relay this to casting very clearly: I need a bad ass motherfucker in the true sense of the word, someone large, with an intimidating physical presence, someone with a mean look who is very comfortable on a big Harley. A bad ass motherfucker.

What casting apparently heard was: he’s part Asian.

What they cast was a tiny little Chinese man who couldn’t have weighed more than a buck twenty, who had never been on a motorcycle, and who was frightened by the sound of grips yelling “Hot points!”

And I find this out when the crew and cast show up on location in Ohio, ready to shoot. Director calls me: "Uh. David? You know that bad ass motherfucker we talked about?"

Somehow we pulled off the show, but we obviously had to lose the idea of this character as an enforcer. Of library protocol, maybe, but certainly not of a biker gang.

Anyway, it’s the little details. You try not to obsess over them. You try not to micromanage. And you don’t want to be an ass about it, but damn if that doesn’t come back to haunt you sometimes…

Enough bitching. Gotta make sure we have that address down right.

Children's Books

Today is my son's birthday. The awesome little fella is one. His favorite book is, "What Does Baby Say?" Nice big, simple pictures of cute little kids saying things to fit their mood: "What does the hungry baby say? Ba-ba." I love reading this book -- and others like it -- to him. I love watching my wife read these books to him. Sometimes he's just not in the mood and instead wants to point at the ceiling fan or crawl after the dog. But most times he's looking intently at the illustrations, his big beautiful curious eyes moving all over the page, looking at all the little details, pointing, always pointing, at the stuff that he thinks is cool. "Duck! Duck!"

In a couple weeks it will be my daughter's birthday. The incredible young woman will be 18. She's at college now. She recently started a conversation with, "Dad, I think I'm an existentialist" and wants me to send her the collection of Hemingway short stories she accidentally left behind. She's jonesing for Hemingway and the existentialism she finds there. Cracks me up. I love talking books with her -- listening to her get excited about what she's read and what she thought about while reading it, sharing stuff I've read with her and the thoughts I had reading.

Every night of my daughter's life, until she learned to read herself, I read her a book. Now, that's what my wife and I are doing with our son.

Cheers, kids, to your books. Trust them: they won't let you down.

Whose Hat Has Your Head Been Under?

It hit me last night -- or, this morning, really -- as I drove home from an edit session at 3:45am.

Not a deer crossing I-64 in a frantic flight from Hampton Roads sprawl. No, what hit me was a thought that eased my recent bout of self-disappointment. Not that that’s a word, even hyphenated, but you get the idea and I’m too tired to whip out the thesaurus.

I’d just spent seven hours with the editor and one of the other producers, whittling down the Dismal cut so that we’re pretty close to where we want to be by the next screening with all the producers.

We needed to cut about half an hour, maybe a touch more, and so the bulk of the revision was hacking stuff out. It was a weird, splintering experience.

As a writer, I really wanted to hold on to a lot of the moments and lines and story developments in there. I mean, I spent a lot of time coming up with them, and frankly I think most of them worked pretty well -- developing character, building tension, adding depth to the story.

Don’t get me wrong, there were some places I thought, “What the hell was I thinking when I wrote that,” but overall, I thought the story worked nicely.

But we had to lose half an hour. Shit had to go.

So I reminded myself what hat was currently topping my slam-bald head. Right now, I’m a producer. I happen to be the producer who wrote the script, but still, I’m a producer. Producers have to keep the full scope of things, the Big Picture if you will, in mind always, and not get too bogged down in the art if the thing.

I mean, the thing needs some art of course, but it has to keep asses in seats, too.

So anyway, as producer, I worked with the team to get the cuts made –- sacrificing some of the subtle moments that intellectually I enjoy, but don’t get us where we need to get. My wife calls it “being willing to kill your babies.”

And they were good cuts.

(Poor little babies.)

And then, as I was weaving down the highway with fatigue, I realized I don’t need to get down on myself for not writing a lot right now. Because right now, I’m not a writer. Not primarily anyway. I’m a producer. And having the skills of a producer, well honed and exercised regularly, can only help me in the long run. The Big Picture if you will.

I don’t know. Maybe I’m just exhausted. I mean, damn. A Shania Twain reference for a title?

So Why Don't You Kill Me

Whoa.

That was a long break.

I'm a loser.

But you knew that.

So here's a quick update -- not that anyone's reading this anymore...

On Dismal: The rough assembly came out last week at 2 1/2 hours. It was just an assembly -- but you could see the movie within, so it was very exciting. Peed my pants. Really.

We sat and reviewed and gave notes to the editor who is busily chipping away. Sound editors and composer are all waiting with bated breath for the locked rough cut so they can work their temp magic in time to make the September 25th Sundance deadline. Which we're still on schedule to make.

After that, we all get back to work to make the fine cut, to send out to other festivals and distributors.

The editor's also hoping to have a trailer by the end of September.

So we have ins at Lions Gate and Sony, and I'm trying to get in touch with a friend of a friend with contacts at The Weinstein Company. Other suggestions? Rogue? Focus?

As for festivals, we're gonna try Austin, SXSW, Tribeca and Toronto. Suggestions?

Oh yeah. And we're shooting a day and a half of pick-ups/inserts this weekend.

And on the Harlem movie: Not a damn thing in months.

Here's the conundrum I face. I have SO MUCH SHIT TO DO just with family and my regular job. Add to that all the work left to do on Dismal and my time runs slam out. But then there's the Harlem movie that my heart is really telling me to get done now, plus there's the three other scripts I want to outline for 1944 Films, so that when someone sees and likes Dismal and asks what's next, we can tell them.

Man.

Everybody says this, but... there's just not enough time.

Wow. Not only am I a loser, but I'm a cliched one.