I don’t know what made me smile more: when my son crawled for the first time last Saturday, or when my wife started bawling when he did.
It was one of those perfect, real, beautiful moments that can knock you on your emotional ass. So simple, so normal –- and yet powerful beyond description.
The kind of thing that makes you glad to be alive, no matter how fucked up the Bush administration is making the world. (Oops, politics crawled in there…)
(Crawled. Get it?)
Anyway, it's the kind of thing that, if it were a scene in a movie, could either be remarkably cheesy or the moment that makes you finally believe those actors up there are real people. And once you believe that, the movie can take you anywhere (even to a hotel being blown apart by FBI SWAT and North Korean gangsters [Right Greg?]).
This is where the director and actors are much more important than the writer. The writer needs to know when, where and even if to put in that scene. But then the director and actors are in charge of making it work. Or making it fail miserably.
I think this is why I tend to over-write in my early drafts. I know I need to keep everything lean. But there’s something inside me that thinks at first that this…
INT. LIVINGROOM – DAY
DECLAN spies a toy just out of reach, plops onto his stomach and crawls to it. AMY turns to DAVID and breaks down in tears.
…as a scene might be misinterpreted as a throwaway, hackneyed nothingscene, and people reading the script might think I’m a throwaway, hackneyed nothingwriter.
So in early drafts I tend to write it out much more descriptively so anyone reading could see what I was intending.
And then Greg yells at me for being too wordy. “It’s not a novel, you fucking hack!” he screams, throwing Jell-o at me (which, sent flying by his mighty hands, nails itself to the wall).
So I trim it back.
It’s a good lesson to learn: trust the reader.
But don’t trust the North Korean gangsters.
And crawl before you walk, I guess is another good lesson.
Thanks Decs. Thanks Ames.
And thanks Greg. Though you don't have to be so cruel.
And Ryan, more Dismal news soon...
Thursday, June 29, 2006
Thursday, June 22, 2006
Dismal. The Story Of Dismal. How Dismal Got Started.
I realize I’ve never really told the Story if Dismal here.
I might have to do it in a few installments – but I promise to keep it lean and not go into all the gory (boring?) details.
For years now I’ve been working with Ray and Jeff at a small but successful television production studio. I was producing and writing, Ray was working production in various roles, Jeff seemed to have a dozen roles in pre-production and production.
We made a lot of shows that were well received, and that was cool, but after a while you tend to feel a little bit in a rut.
One day in January 2005, Jeff and I were talking.
Jeff: How’s it going?
Me: All right. You?
Jeff: All right.
Long silence.
Jeff: I’m bored.
Me: Me too.
Jeff: Let’s make a movie. A short. You write the script, I’ll raise a few grand, we’ll make a movie, send it to Sundance. You know, make a movie.
(Jeff has a tendency to say things three times…)
Me: Good idea. Cool locations, but only a few, simple story, small cast.
Jeff: Let’s do it.
Me: Done.
The next day, Jeff called me into his office.
Jeff: Talked to Ray. He’s been thinking the same thing. He’ll direct, but he wants to do a full-length feature.
Me: Even better.
Jeff: He’s been thinking of a story for a while. He’ll have an outline Monday. Ready Monday. Man's gonna have it Monday.
On Monday, there was Ray’s outline on my desk with a note: “David, can you make this into a script?”
And so I got to work.
Right away we knew we had a good team put together. It’s a good dynamic, each of us bringing something different in terms of skill set and mind set (and complimentary yet non-overlapping psychiatric disorders), and no one bringing too much ego that THIS THING IS MINE. Hate to sound like one of those inspirational posters that feature soft-focus photos of a group of ants lifting a loaf of bread together, but we know we need each other to get this done, and we know the project is more than any one of us.
Once we had a good draft in place, we started sending it out to people in the industry we know and have worked with. Some folks with good, hands-on, real-world (if anything in Hollywood can be considered real) experience.
Scary, really.
But the response was overwhelmingly good. We got some notes, some of which were very, very helpful, some not so much. Because I’m so smart it was the helpful notes I worked into the next revision. Clever, huh?
Then there was getting the money. Jeff’s job.
First we planned to do it on weekends for $14,000. Open Water-style.
But our contacts said to go larger –- no need to kill yourself trying to make it for 14K.
So then we upped it to come in under the SAG ultra-low budget deal. $200K to get it in the can, up to $500K more deferred.
And so Jeff made a list of ten potential investors. Not long thereafter, Jeff called me.
Me: Hello?
Jeff: Didn’t get past the first one. First one gave us almost all of it. First one.
At that point we thought we should bump it up to $2 million –- it had been so easy to raise money so far (sorry, I know other independent moviemakers will hate me for saying that, but it was). Went back and forth on this a lot and finally settled on the ultra-low budget budget. For that we could make a really strong movie that could hopefully lead to bigger ones later.
The crew was fairly easy to get. A lot of talented people around here, all of them itching to do something new that’s put together well.
Casting was a little tougher, but we soon met a fantastic actor for the lead. Went to LA to meet him, knew right away he was the one. Then one by one we cast the rest. The three main dudes are from LA and North Carolina-via-LA, the rest are regional. (I think I’ll be able to name names soon, once the paperwork’s signed.)
And maybe actors always say this, but everyone was saying how excited they were about being on the project – that it was a good, tight script, that we obviously had our shit together, that they knew it was gonna turn out well.
Know what? I think it will.
More later. Later. I’ll tell the rest later.
I might have to do it in a few installments – but I promise to keep it lean and not go into all the gory (boring?) details.
For years now I’ve been working with Ray and Jeff at a small but successful television production studio. I was producing and writing, Ray was working production in various roles, Jeff seemed to have a dozen roles in pre-production and production.
We made a lot of shows that were well received, and that was cool, but after a while you tend to feel a little bit in a rut.
One day in January 2005, Jeff and I were talking.
Jeff: How’s it going?
Me: All right. You?
Jeff: All right.
Long silence.
Jeff: I’m bored.
Me: Me too.
Jeff: Let’s make a movie. A short. You write the script, I’ll raise a few grand, we’ll make a movie, send it to Sundance. You know, make a movie.
(Jeff has a tendency to say things three times…)
Me: Good idea. Cool locations, but only a few, simple story, small cast.
Jeff: Let’s do it.
Me: Done.
The next day, Jeff called me into his office.
Jeff: Talked to Ray. He’s been thinking the same thing. He’ll direct, but he wants to do a full-length feature.
Me: Even better.
Jeff: He’s been thinking of a story for a while. He’ll have an outline Monday. Ready Monday. Man's gonna have it Monday.
On Monday, there was Ray’s outline on my desk with a note: “David, can you make this into a script?”
And so I got to work.
Right away we knew we had a good team put together. It’s a good dynamic, each of us bringing something different in terms of skill set and mind set (and complimentary yet non-overlapping psychiatric disorders), and no one bringing too much ego that THIS THING IS MINE. Hate to sound like one of those inspirational posters that feature soft-focus photos of a group of ants lifting a loaf of bread together, but we know we need each other to get this done, and we know the project is more than any one of us.
Once we had a good draft in place, we started sending it out to people in the industry we know and have worked with. Some folks with good, hands-on, real-world (if anything in Hollywood can be considered real) experience.
Scary, really.
But the response was overwhelmingly good. We got some notes, some of which were very, very helpful, some not so much. Because I’m so smart it was the helpful notes I worked into the next revision. Clever, huh?
Then there was getting the money. Jeff’s job.
First we planned to do it on weekends for $14,000. Open Water-style.
But our contacts said to go larger –- no need to kill yourself trying to make it for 14K.
So then we upped it to come in under the SAG ultra-low budget deal. $200K to get it in the can, up to $500K more deferred.
And so Jeff made a list of ten potential investors. Not long thereafter, Jeff called me.
Me: Hello?
Jeff: Didn’t get past the first one. First one gave us almost all of it. First one.
At that point we thought we should bump it up to $2 million –- it had been so easy to raise money so far (sorry, I know other independent moviemakers will hate me for saying that, but it was). Went back and forth on this a lot and finally settled on the ultra-low budget budget. For that we could make a really strong movie that could hopefully lead to bigger ones later.
The crew was fairly easy to get. A lot of talented people around here, all of them itching to do something new that’s put together well.
Casting was a little tougher, but we soon met a fantastic actor for the lead. Went to LA to meet him, knew right away he was the one. Then one by one we cast the rest. The three main dudes are from LA and North Carolina-via-LA, the rest are regional. (I think I’ll be able to name names soon, once the paperwork’s signed.)
And maybe actors always say this, but everyone was saying how excited they were about being on the project – that it was a good, tight script, that we obviously had our shit together, that they knew it was gonna turn out well.
Know what? I think it will.
More later. Later. I’ll tell the rest later.
Saturday, June 17, 2006
Nailing Jell-o To The Wall
As I keep trying to figure out the new angle for the Harlem movie, I start to get a little focus on the story arc or a character's back story -- and then I start plotting out a new script entirely.
Where's the focus, David?
Is this me telling me that I should just scrap Harlem and move on? Or is it just because I'm a scatterbrained knucklehead and I just need to force myself to focus more on the one project?
When I put it up to a vote with myself, the stick-with-Harlem side usually wins by a hanging chad.
Just feels like there’s something there. Or I’m too emotionally attached to it to just drop it. Either way, I think I should keep clawing at the thing until my nails finally sink in and take hold.
It would help, then, if I would stop biting my nails.
Getting a full grasp on the whole of the new project is (to borrow a phrase my wife used in a conversation a few days ago) like nailing Jell-o to the wall.
But it feels like I need to keep trying.
Of course, that also means devoting more time to actually TRYING. Jell-o doesn’t come already nailed to the wall, after all.
Where's the focus, David?
Is this me telling me that I should just scrap Harlem and move on? Or is it just because I'm a scatterbrained knucklehead and I just need to force myself to focus more on the one project?
When I put it up to a vote with myself, the stick-with-Harlem side usually wins by a hanging chad.
Just feels like there’s something there. Or I’m too emotionally attached to it to just drop it. Either way, I think I should keep clawing at the thing until my nails finally sink in and take hold.
It would help, then, if I would stop biting my nails.
Getting a full grasp on the whole of the new project is (to borrow a phrase my wife used in a conversation a few days ago) like nailing Jell-o to the wall.
But it feels like I need to keep trying.
Of course, that also means devoting more time to actually TRYING. Jell-o doesn’t come already nailed to the wall, after all.
Thursday, June 15, 2006
Honestly Offensive
Driving to work today I was listening to an interview with John Updike (thanks Joe), and he mentioned that being a good writer meant being courageous and ruthless enough to be honest.
True dat.
I find myself struggling with that a lot in my writing.
I don’t mean being truthful with real events. I’ve never been much of a liar -– what’s the use, really? And I’m certainly no Million Little Pieces fraud trying to impress the world with my memoirs.
What I mean is being honest with a character, a story.
Maybe it was my white-bread upbringing, but I think I subconsciously worry about hurting people all the time. I’ll be writing a scene, and highlight a character’s flaws, and my first instinct many times is to soften the flaw or resolve it right away.
But reality, and people, and relationships, and life, and love -– all the good stuff that’s interesting in the world and worth writing about –- it’s all dirty and messy and weird and flawed like a motherfucker.
So why hide it or sugarcoat? Am I such a dork that I worry about insulting a character? Or even a viewer/reader who might identify with the character?
Sometimes I find myself worrying that someone I love might think something is based on them and then take offense, so I pull it back. And often it is. Based on them, I mean, or on a situation we shared. But it’s just BASED on them -– the real person or event gave me the jumping-off point, and then I made it something else.
It’s like in Biloxi Blues when Eugene’s bunkmates find his journal and read it aloud. It mentions them, even by name, and he paints no one in a flattering light. He tells them it’s all bullshit, just stuff he makes up, fiction he weaves from reality threads, but they don’t believe him.
And so I tend to chicken out in first drafts. I worry my wife might think a certain character is her, or my daughter might read meaning into a situation that I don’t mean to be a reflection of or comment on our real life.
I’m getting better, though. I’m trying anyway. Often I can catch myself and stop being so damn polite. And that’s when things can get interesting.
Because good writing has to be honest, and honesty is ruthless, and life is ruthless, and good writing is life.
I mean, you've seen Six Feet Under, right? That's some unbelieveably good writing -- the best on TV in my opinion -- and fucked up as anything... like life.
By the way, sorry Mr. James Frey. Didn’t mean to offend.
True dat.
I find myself struggling with that a lot in my writing.
I don’t mean being truthful with real events. I’ve never been much of a liar -– what’s the use, really? And I’m certainly no Million Little Pieces fraud trying to impress the world with my memoirs.
What I mean is being honest with a character, a story.
Maybe it was my white-bread upbringing, but I think I subconsciously worry about hurting people all the time. I’ll be writing a scene, and highlight a character’s flaws, and my first instinct many times is to soften the flaw or resolve it right away.
But reality, and people, and relationships, and life, and love -– all the good stuff that’s interesting in the world and worth writing about –- it’s all dirty and messy and weird and flawed like a motherfucker.
So why hide it or sugarcoat? Am I such a dork that I worry about insulting a character? Or even a viewer/reader who might identify with the character?
Sometimes I find myself worrying that someone I love might think something is based on them and then take offense, so I pull it back. And often it is. Based on them, I mean, or on a situation we shared. But it’s just BASED on them -– the real person or event gave me the jumping-off point, and then I made it something else.
It’s like in Biloxi Blues when Eugene’s bunkmates find his journal and read it aloud. It mentions them, even by name, and he paints no one in a flattering light. He tells them it’s all bullshit, just stuff he makes up, fiction he weaves from reality threads, but they don’t believe him.
And so I tend to chicken out in first drafts. I worry my wife might think a certain character is her, or my daughter might read meaning into a situation that I don’t mean to be a reflection of or comment on our real life.
I’m getting better, though. I’m trying anyway. Often I can catch myself and stop being so damn polite. And that’s when things can get interesting.
Because good writing has to be honest, and honesty is ruthless, and life is ruthless, and good writing is life.
I mean, you've seen Six Feet Under, right? That's some unbelieveably good writing -- the best on TV in my opinion -- and fucked up as anything... like life.
By the way, sorry Mr. James Frey. Didn’t mean to offend.
Sunday, June 11, 2006
Zen And The (Depressing) Art of (Not) Cycling
Went for a bike ride today.
Depressing.
Three things, specifically, were depressing.
1. I realized that my cycling computer's clock was the right time. This meant I did not have to change it back to adjust for the end of daylight savings time. Which means I haven't ridden between falling back and springing forward. Oh, Time, you relentless bitch with your nasty sorcery!
2. When I got home and undressed to take a shower (eww, I know -- bad image, sorry) I noticed that I no longer carried that clearly dorky (but, I’ll admit it, ego-boosting) mark of the cyclist: the cycling tan lines: sharp lines separating shocking white from not-so-white toward the bottom of the thigh and halfway up the biceps made from being out in the sun wearing those ridiculous tight poly-something shorts and jersey that mortify my daughter. I am all shocking white. Shocking, I’m not kidding.
3. Standing in the shower (I know, I know, I'm sorry -- but I'm almost finished) I had that fantastic muscles-so-drained-I-feel-so-goddamn-alive-I-could-kick-Churck-Norris’s-ass feeling. And then I couldn't remember when I last felt that.
So I need to ride more. Yes, for the health and all that, but also for my writing.
When I'm out there -- and I mean when I'm out there and get to the point that I'm no longer distracted by rednecks in pickups calling me Lance Queerstrong while they chuck half-empty cans of Bud Ice at me -- there's a meditative nature to the thing that really helps work through writing issues. Well, actually, it's not meditative like when I meditate (another thing I haven't done in embarrassingly long) because then the goal is to have no thought. But there’s something about the rhythm, the gliding, the physical exertion, the solitude that always encourages something to click in the imaginative leap department.
So I need to ride more. To write better.
Okay, set goals and then work to achieve them. Start easy, with saying once a week? Let’s see if I can pull it off.
Depressing.
Three things, specifically, were depressing.
1. I realized that my cycling computer's clock was the right time. This meant I did not have to change it back to adjust for the end of daylight savings time. Which means I haven't ridden between falling back and springing forward. Oh, Time, you relentless bitch with your nasty sorcery!
2. When I got home and undressed to take a shower (eww, I know -- bad image, sorry) I noticed that I no longer carried that clearly dorky (but, I’ll admit it, ego-boosting) mark of the cyclist: the cycling tan lines: sharp lines separating shocking white from not-so-white toward the bottom of the thigh and halfway up the biceps made from being out in the sun wearing those ridiculous tight poly-something shorts and jersey that mortify my daughter. I am all shocking white. Shocking, I’m not kidding.
3. Standing in the shower (I know, I know, I'm sorry -- but I'm almost finished) I had that fantastic muscles-so-drained-I-feel-so-goddamn-alive-I-could-kick-Churck-Norris’s-ass feeling. And then I couldn't remember when I last felt that.
So I need to ride more. Yes, for the health and all that, but also for my writing.
When I'm out there -- and I mean when I'm out there and get to the point that I'm no longer distracted by rednecks in pickups calling me Lance Queerstrong while they chuck half-empty cans of Bud Ice at me -- there's a meditative nature to the thing that really helps work through writing issues. Well, actually, it's not meditative like when I meditate (another thing I haven't done in embarrassingly long) because then the goal is to have no thought. But there’s something about the rhythm, the gliding, the physical exertion, the solitude that always encourages something to click in the imaginative leap department.
So I need to ride more. To write better.
Okay, set goals and then work to achieve them. Start easy, with saying once a week? Let’s see if I can pull it off.
Saturday, June 03, 2006
Tubby Little Cubby
Our set producer's flying in tonight from LA, and we have a location scout tomorrow -- hopefully the close-to-final scout. We have the basic areas identified; need to specify now. Gotta get that schedule locked down. Just over a month away from principal photography on Dismal.
So we get to spend the day in the swamp. Did I tell you about the last day I spent in the swamp? Couple weekends ago my wife and I took our son for a bike ride there.
And had to stop for a bear.
Not a beer.
A BEAR.
Pretty good sized black bear, about four feet at the shoulder I'd guess, standing in the middle of the path we were on.
That's the kind of thing we need to get on film. (Jeff tells me there's talk of jaguars out there, too.)
When we're out with the full crew, of course, we'll be lucky to see a squirrel. All those people stomping around, the lights, the ATVs -- likely the only wildlife we'll see will be mosquitoes. And ticks. And chiggers. Leeches. But we have a few days of second unit stuff scheduled before principal, so hopefully we'll get out wildlife inserts then.
By the way, the preliminary website is up: www.dismalthemovie.com
It’s just the first of three stages the web people are doing. This one is just the basic placeholder. The next one will have more info, more links, etc. The final one will add the flash animation and sound and music. (We have the website content sketched out, but because it's still fluid, suggestions are welcome. For example, I'm still not a big fan of the main logo and have been talking to an artist about it...)
Little by little, it’s coming together.
Ready Piglet? Let’s go see Pooh.
So we get to spend the day in the swamp. Did I tell you about the last day I spent in the swamp? Couple weekends ago my wife and I took our son for a bike ride there.
And had to stop for a bear.
Not a beer.
A BEAR.
Pretty good sized black bear, about four feet at the shoulder I'd guess, standing in the middle of the path we were on.
That's the kind of thing we need to get on film. (Jeff tells me there's talk of jaguars out there, too.)
When we're out with the full crew, of course, we'll be lucky to see a squirrel. All those people stomping around, the lights, the ATVs -- likely the only wildlife we'll see will be mosquitoes. And ticks. And chiggers. Leeches. But we have a few days of second unit stuff scheduled before principal, so hopefully we'll get out wildlife inserts then.
By the way, the preliminary website is up: www.dismalthemovie.com
It’s just the first of three stages the web people are doing. This one is just the basic placeholder. The next one will have more info, more links, etc. The final one will add the flash animation and sound and music. (We have the website content sketched out, but because it's still fluid, suggestions are welcome. For example, I'm still not a big fan of the main logo and have been talking to an artist about it...)
Little by little, it’s coming together.
Ready Piglet? Let’s go see Pooh.
Friday, June 02, 2006
Brokeback Rewrite
I thought I broke the story for the rewrite of the Harlem movie.
I thought I broke the story during our trip to Cedar Rapids. My brain had some downtime while we were there. No surprise really: the retirement home, while lovely, was not exactly a hotbed of buzzing energy, and Cedar Rapids itself -- well, it does have a Starbucks but not much else.
So what I'm trying to say is that I thought I broke the story.
I repeat: I THOUGHT I broke the story.
Now that I've had some time to think about it, back here in the madness of everyday life, I realize that story just doesn't hold up as is.
So I did not break the story, yet it is broken.
Maybe it means I can't think clearly when there's nothing else to think about.
Maybe now I'll go try to learn German in a weekend. Maybe then I'll figure this damn thing out.
I thought I broke the story during our trip to Cedar Rapids. My brain had some downtime while we were there. No surprise really: the retirement home, while lovely, was not exactly a hotbed of buzzing energy, and Cedar Rapids itself -- well, it does have a Starbucks but not much else.
So what I'm trying to say is that I thought I broke the story.
I repeat: I THOUGHT I broke the story.
Now that I've had some time to think about it, back here in the madness of everyday life, I realize that story just doesn't hold up as is.
So I did not break the story, yet it is broken.
Maybe it means I can't think clearly when there's nothing else to think about.
Maybe now I'll go try to learn German in a weekend. Maybe then I'll figure this damn thing out.
Thursday, June 01, 2006
El Bastardo, At Your Service
So the assisted living place we stayed in while visiting grandma in Cedar Rapids didn't have web access, so you all missed out on some especially witty posts I was planning.
Ah well. Your loss.
Interesting news on Dismal. A guy who's no huge movie star but is certainly well-known to most watchers of popular American TV -– especially the female version of said watchers -– got a hold of the script and wants to be in the movie. Cool, huh? Now, the dilemma.
We don’t have a place for him.
Well, that’s not entirely true. We do have a place for him. Thing is, that role has already been cast.
No contract or anything, but over the phone the other guy was basically told he’s in.
I imagine we wouldn’t be breaking any new ground if we recast, but it is an awkward position. But the guy we originally cast is an independent filmmaker himself. So he should understand. Hell, he should even applaud us.
Right? Hello?
The original guy has some obvious chops -– but this new guy has chops, too. Plus he’s a fairly big name. And he's hot. Girls like that kind of thing.
And anyone working on an independent feature knows that, in terms of distribution, financial success and all that madness, the name on the box usually means more than any clever writing the screenwriter happens to do.
So should we recast? No hard feelings?
Are we bastards?
Ah well. Your loss.
Interesting news on Dismal. A guy who's no huge movie star but is certainly well-known to most watchers of popular American TV -– especially the female version of said watchers -– got a hold of the script and wants to be in the movie. Cool, huh? Now, the dilemma.
We don’t have a place for him.
Well, that’s not entirely true. We do have a place for him. Thing is, that role has already been cast.
No contract or anything, but over the phone the other guy was basically told he’s in.
I imagine we wouldn’t be breaking any new ground if we recast, but it is an awkward position. But the guy we originally cast is an independent filmmaker himself. So he should understand. Hell, he should even applaud us.
Right? Hello?
The original guy has some obvious chops -– but this new guy has chops, too. Plus he’s a fairly big name. And he's hot. Girls like that kind of thing.
And anyone working on an independent feature knows that, in terms of distribution, financial success and all that madness, the name on the box usually means more than any clever writing the screenwriter happens to do.
So should we recast? No hard feelings?
Are we bastards?
Friday, May 26, 2006
Musical Note
So, our movie is set, primarily, in a swamp.
Therefore an edict:
No banjos or fiddles are allowed anywhere near the score.
Period.
Therefore an edict:
No banjos or fiddles are allowed anywhere near the score.
Period.
Road Work Ahead
Well, if you're reading this post, you've probably been reading Greg's posts (which are always more interesting anyway) so you know about the trip to Minneapolis. 'Twas a fun time, productive too, and a bit of a pain in the ass as well. But I enjoyed it, and I didn't get any raspberry iced tea in my lap or on my taquitos. Not everyone was so lucky.
As a TV development guy/producer, I don't get out on the road much, so it was good to see what it's like -- and what I've been inflicting on others for years. I am amazed at that which is called a "continental breakfast," I think I might have contracted something from the hotel room, and I'm fairly certain there is no non-chain restaurant in existence.
Oh, and the Chevy Aveo simply rocks.
But there was the exhilarating creative challenge of thinking on our feet and working together, and we ended up with good stuff. Let's just hope we sign a show from it.
Lots of work at, um, work as I continue developing a few ideas a few networks are interested in. A lot of that work is writing a treatment for a pilot -- so that's been taking a lot of my energy.
No real work on the Harlem rewrite, besides going through the script while flying to Minneapolis and striking through everything I hate. The good news: it wasn't that much. The bad news: it’s still a lot of goddamn work, because as soon as you take out one important nugget, everything changes.
Off for a long weekend to visit grandma with wife and son (daughter staying behind as friends trump family in the teenager’s game) and I’ll bring the laptop. I know I have to do some work for work. And I know I want to do some work for the script.
May I find the time and energy for both, and a good breakfast, in Cedar Rapids.
As a TV development guy/producer, I don't get out on the road much, so it was good to see what it's like -- and what I've been inflicting on others for years. I am amazed at that which is called a "continental breakfast," I think I might have contracted something from the hotel room, and I'm fairly certain there is no non-chain restaurant in existence.
Oh, and the Chevy Aveo simply rocks.
But there was the exhilarating creative challenge of thinking on our feet and working together, and we ended up with good stuff. Let's just hope we sign a show from it.
Lots of work at, um, work as I continue developing a few ideas a few networks are interested in. A lot of that work is writing a treatment for a pilot -- so that's been taking a lot of my energy.
No real work on the Harlem rewrite, besides going through the script while flying to Minneapolis and striking through everything I hate. The good news: it wasn't that much. The bad news: it’s still a lot of goddamn work, because as soon as you take out one important nugget, everything changes.
Off for a long weekend to visit grandma with wife and son (daughter staying behind as friends trump family in the teenager’s game) and I’ll bring the laptop. I know I have to do some work for work. And I know I want to do some work for the script.
May I find the time and energy for both, and a good breakfast, in Cedar Rapids.
Monday, May 15, 2006
Your Script Doesn't Matter
So two good things happened with Dismal today.
One is directly script-related: we distributed the official locked white shooting script. Pretty important milestone for me. Celebrate baby steps, right? I mean, it’s no Oscar nomination, but let’s face it, that’s not a milestone I really need to occupy myself with. The locked shooting script, though? That’s all right. While by no means is the script finished, at least it’s in a good solid place. If we needed to, we could shoot tomorrow. I’d probably get queasy, cry out for my mommy and soil my underthings, but we could shoot.
There are, of course, a few bits I’m still thinking about (there always are, as every writer understands), but they’re the types of things that mean mostly dialogue changes here and there: a possible adjustment of a character’s tone in a few scenes, some professional jargon I’m unsure of, one instance of possibly shifting the placement of a scene. So blue pages – and pink, and yellow, and all the way to goldenrod (HELLO, BEAUTIFUL AND HORRIFYING GOLDENROD!) – are sure to follow, but the heavy lifting is done.
I think.
Who knows? Everything might fall apart, we might lose a couple locations or get that Movie Star the director wants to troll for. And then the heavy lifting will resume. These spaghetti biceps of mine might get more of a workout after all.
The other thing that happened is still script-related, but maybe not so apparently so: tonight we had a very productive, very eye-opening, and in some ways very terrifying post-production meeting.
We collected a pretty amazing team of experts and got them all together, with Ray (director), Jeff (executive producer) and me. Code names: Sound Guy, Editor, Engineer, DP, Visual Effects Guy and Post-house Owner. For a couple hours, we just hashed everything out, trying to solve problems before they have a chance to occur. These guys really know their shit, and they’re willing to pitch in with their knowledge and experience and artistry and skill and make this fucking movie sing.
Fantastic.
And terrifying. As you know, there’s far more that goes into a film than most of us realize. And the more that goes into a film, the more potential for things to go haywire. Hence the terror.
But mostly, it was a great meeting.
Those of us up front on these things (writers, I mean) often forget about these fellas. But we’d be lost without them. Sure, superstar, you can write a genius goddamn screenplay, but if no one is there to shoot and post it, how’s it gonna knock anybody’s socks off?
Since I’ve been a producer for years, I have the benefit of having worked with all of these departments, and more, and that experience is invaluable. Or, I should say, the experience of screwing things up and then having guys like this help me figure out a solution and how not to screw it up next time is invaluable.
And by guys, of course, I mean people. Girls are cool, too.
I think it’s made me a better writer to have, lurking always in the back of my mind, the sense of what good sound design can do to a scene, how important lighting and framing is, what music can carry, how FX can alter the landscape (literally and figuratively) of a visual story, how a line will work if you build the edit up to it properly.
Also, since I’m no big budget Hollywood power player, being a producer has trained me to think wardrobe, art direction, casting, locations, schedule – and maybe most importantly, cast and crew morale and collective team energy.
All this -- I hope -- on my best days -- informs my writing. Or at least is a factor in it, at some subconscious level. And with writing screenplays, all this matters. Because, as I just read in a book by Alan Bennett: There are no good scripts, only good films.
That’s right, friends and neighbors. When your movie’s a big hit, and you’re the darling of Sundance, and Simon & Schuster publishes your screenplay in a snappily-packaged paperback… it doesn’t matter. Not really.
What matters is the movie that the schlub just getting off work in Toledo takes his date to.
He might only have this one date to impress that cute girl from the neighborhood with, just ONE DATE… so think it through, all of it.
Your script doesn’t matter.
Okay. Your script matters. A lot.
But a lot of other stuff matters, too.
Because, in all fairness, the Toldeo schlub’s not taking his date to cuddle up at the film section of Barnes and Noble.
One is directly script-related: we distributed the official locked white shooting script. Pretty important milestone for me. Celebrate baby steps, right? I mean, it’s no Oscar nomination, but let’s face it, that’s not a milestone I really need to occupy myself with. The locked shooting script, though? That’s all right. While by no means is the script finished, at least it’s in a good solid place. If we needed to, we could shoot tomorrow. I’d probably get queasy, cry out for my mommy and soil my underthings, but we could shoot.
There are, of course, a few bits I’m still thinking about (there always are, as every writer understands), but they’re the types of things that mean mostly dialogue changes here and there: a possible adjustment of a character’s tone in a few scenes, some professional jargon I’m unsure of, one instance of possibly shifting the placement of a scene. So blue pages – and pink, and yellow, and all the way to goldenrod (HELLO, BEAUTIFUL AND HORRIFYING GOLDENROD!) – are sure to follow, but the heavy lifting is done.
I think.
Who knows? Everything might fall apart, we might lose a couple locations or get that Movie Star the director wants to troll for. And then the heavy lifting will resume. These spaghetti biceps of mine might get more of a workout after all.
The other thing that happened is still script-related, but maybe not so apparently so: tonight we had a very productive, very eye-opening, and in some ways very terrifying post-production meeting.
We collected a pretty amazing team of experts and got them all together, with Ray (director), Jeff (executive producer) and me. Code names: Sound Guy, Editor, Engineer, DP, Visual Effects Guy and Post-house Owner. For a couple hours, we just hashed everything out, trying to solve problems before they have a chance to occur. These guys really know their shit, and they’re willing to pitch in with their knowledge and experience and artistry and skill and make this fucking movie sing.
Fantastic.
And terrifying. As you know, there’s far more that goes into a film than most of us realize. And the more that goes into a film, the more potential for things to go haywire. Hence the terror.
But mostly, it was a great meeting.
Those of us up front on these things (writers, I mean) often forget about these fellas. But we’d be lost without them. Sure, superstar, you can write a genius goddamn screenplay, but if no one is there to shoot and post it, how’s it gonna knock anybody’s socks off?
Since I’ve been a producer for years, I have the benefit of having worked with all of these departments, and more, and that experience is invaluable. Or, I should say, the experience of screwing things up and then having guys like this help me figure out a solution and how not to screw it up next time is invaluable.
And by guys, of course, I mean people. Girls are cool, too.
I think it’s made me a better writer to have, lurking always in the back of my mind, the sense of what good sound design can do to a scene, how important lighting and framing is, what music can carry, how FX can alter the landscape (literally and figuratively) of a visual story, how a line will work if you build the edit up to it properly.
Also, since I’m no big budget Hollywood power player, being a producer has trained me to think wardrobe, art direction, casting, locations, schedule – and maybe most importantly, cast and crew morale and collective team energy.
All this -- I hope -- on my best days -- informs my writing. Or at least is a factor in it, at some subconscious level. And with writing screenplays, all this matters. Because, as I just read in a book by Alan Bennett: There are no good scripts, only good films.
That’s right, friends and neighbors. When your movie’s a big hit, and you’re the darling of Sundance, and Simon & Schuster publishes your screenplay in a snappily-packaged paperback… it doesn’t matter. Not really.
What matters is the movie that the schlub just getting off work in Toledo takes his date to.
He might only have this one date to impress that cute girl from the neighborhood with, just ONE DATE… so think it through, all of it.
Your script doesn’t matter.
Okay. Your script matters. A lot.
But a lot of other stuff matters, too.
Because, in all fairness, the Toldeo schlub’s not taking his date to cuddle up at the film section of Barnes and Noble.
Saturday, May 13, 2006
My Brother and I
Okay. So I feel like Blair, taking so long between posts. Sorry Blair, but you’re the cautionary tale I have to cite. I still love you, though.
Baby's been sick, got an offer on our house, put an offer on another house way out of our price range, traveled to DC for pitch meetings, work's in one of those ultra-busy phases, got sick myself, blah, blah, blah.
I guess I shouldn’t feel too bad, though. I'm fairly confident my legions of faithful readers were able to dig deep and find a way to occupy themselves during the last couple weeks without me.
But I really should post more regularly. It's healthy for me as a writer. That's right, O legions of faithful readers, I'm thinking I should be posting more for my sake than yours. Although you will benefit. Oh yes, you will.
When I was posting more regularly (in my short term as a blogger) I was writing more regularly. Like, the screenplay-type kind of writing. If not actually writing, at least working on the things –- planning structure, sketching out scenes, tweaking characters, spell-checking.
It's nothing new; everybody knows this: when you write regularly, you're more likely to find that one tiny gem among the vast expanse of crap that’s spread about your brain.
A couple years ago, my little brother talked me into doing Nanowrimo. Do you know this? If not, check out www.nanowrimo.org. The basic idea is that from November 1st through November 30th, you have to write a 50,000-word novel. Now, obviously, your novel’s gonna suck. Mine sure did. The point is not to try to write a clean, elegant 50,000-word novel -- it’s only a month, after all -- but simply to bang it out.
And bang it out we did, my brother and I. One great thing was forcing myself to write every day. Kind of like what Greg and Blair did with their five-page-a-day rule. Another great thing was having my brother there to bitch to and celebrate with. Kind of like this blogosphere thing.
What we both found, my brother and I, is that as we wrote regularly, at a disciplined pace, we loosened up, it got easier to write longer, we got less intimidated by temporary writer’s block, we found ourselves strategizing about the story more when we weren’t actually writing, we had that weird thing happen when the character starts to write itself (you’ve had this happen: when you write a line of dialogue and stop and think, “Where the hell did that come from? It certainly wasn’t me.”).
My brother, right now, is trying to take that novel he wrote that year for Nanowrimo, plus another one he wrote, and revise them into a combined, cohesive story by adding a third element that ties them together. Very ambitious. Very cool.
And so I have to get off my goddamn ass and post more on this blog, and hope that helps me dive into the next rewrite of my next script, which I'm just calling the Harlem script right now.
I have to get in there and get revision dirt under my fingernails -– or I’ll end up trying more to figure out the weird story about astral projection, a runaway tractor-trailer, infidelity and abduction that came out of a dream I had after taking my wife’s codeine-laced medicine a few nights ago.
And figuring that out will take some time.
For both my brother and I.
Baby's been sick, got an offer on our house, put an offer on another house way out of our price range, traveled to DC for pitch meetings, work's in one of those ultra-busy phases, got sick myself, blah, blah, blah.
I guess I shouldn’t feel too bad, though. I'm fairly confident my legions of faithful readers were able to dig deep and find a way to occupy themselves during the last couple weeks without me.
But I really should post more regularly. It's healthy for me as a writer. That's right, O legions of faithful readers, I'm thinking I should be posting more for my sake than yours. Although you will benefit. Oh yes, you will.
When I was posting more regularly (in my short term as a blogger) I was writing more regularly. Like, the screenplay-type kind of writing. If not actually writing, at least working on the things –- planning structure, sketching out scenes, tweaking characters, spell-checking.
It's nothing new; everybody knows this: when you write regularly, you're more likely to find that one tiny gem among the vast expanse of crap that’s spread about your brain.
A couple years ago, my little brother talked me into doing Nanowrimo. Do you know this? If not, check out www.nanowrimo.org. The basic idea is that from November 1st through November 30th, you have to write a 50,000-word novel. Now, obviously, your novel’s gonna suck. Mine sure did. The point is not to try to write a clean, elegant 50,000-word novel -- it’s only a month, after all -- but simply to bang it out.
And bang it out we did, my brother and I. One great thing was forcing myself to write every day. Kind of like what Greg and Blair did with their five-page-a-day rule. Another great thing was having my brother there to bitch to and celebrate with. Kind of like this blogosphere thing.
What we both found, my brother and I, is that as we wrote regularly, at a disciplined pace, we loosened up, it got easier to write longer, we got less intimidated by temporary writer’s block, we found ourselves strategizing about the story more when we weren’t actually writing, we had that weird thing happen when the character starts to write itself (you’ve had this happen: when you write a line of dialogue and stop and think, “Where the hell did that come from? It certainly wasn’t me.”).
My brother, right now, is trying to take that novel he wrote that year for Nanowrimo, plus another one he wrote, and revise them into a combined, cohesive story by adding a third element that ties them together. Very ambitious. Very cool.
And so I have to get off my goddamn ass and post more on this blog, and hope that helps me dive into the next rewrite of my next script, which I'm just calling the Harlem script right now.
I have to get in there and get revision dirt under my fingernails -– or I’ll end up trying more to figure out the weird story about astral projection, a runaway tractor-trailer, infidelity and abduction that came out of a dream I had after taking my wife’s codeine-laced medicine a few nights ago.
And figuring that out will take some time.
For both my brother and I.
Monday, May 01, 2006
Doin' It To You In Your Earhole
On Sunday morning we did a table read of Dismal with seven young actors from Old Dominion University. Props to Steve at ODU for putting this together. And props plus to the actors who came out to help.
I tell you what... if I can make a humble suggestion:
GET SOMEONE TO READ YOUR SCRIPT ALOUD.
It's invaluable.
At least to me, it's so goddamn helpful to get the goddamn dialogue out of your goddamn head.
I mean, writers all know this: there's the story you have in your head; then there's the story you actually manage to get down on paper; and then there's the story the consumer consumes.
It's hard enough to formulate a worthwhile story in your head. Shit, I've written more bad stories in my head than all the debt dollars rung up by George Bush. Or, better said, if the bad stories in my head were tax breaks for the rich, George Bush would somehow get re-elected to a third term.
And then. And then it's even harder to get a good story down on paper. You know the drill: the long lonely nights, the self-loathing, the pained and blurry eyes, the vague taste of puke in the back of your throat. And in the end, after all that, let's all be honest: it's never as good as the one in your head -- and that either speaks to our lack of talent or our delusion regarding how good the one in our head is.
So then --- THEN there's the one that the viewer views.
Who the hell knows what that one's gonna be.
I really respect my friend Andrew. He loved Ang Lee's Hulk. I couldn't stand it.
I think my friend Mike is really smart. He thought Kingpin was brilliantly funny. I didn't even chuckle once.
Harley Davidson and the Marlboro Man is one of my favorite movies.
'Nuff said.
Who knows?
Well, you can inch one step closer if you try to bridge the gap between the story you wrangle onto the page and the one the viewer comes away with. And a good way to do that -- on the cheap -- is to try to fake yourself out and try to act like a viewer... by having people (actors, if you can swing it, just a group of friends if you can't) read your script aloud.
The funny thing is, of course, that real filmmakers don’t need to do these silly exercises. They don't need to bribe college kids with a promise of free coffee and a free lunch. They can hire focus groups. Or run it through a complex development system.
But those of us in the real world, us peons who are shuckin’ and jivin’ trying to get movies made – we, we can use a little help.
Now I’m no one to give advice; I’m a nobody with a bunch of TV but ZERO FILMS to my credit. But from where I stand, I suggest this: once you write it with your fingers, get it in your earhole.
I tell you what... if I can make a humble suggestion:
GET SOMEONE TO READ YOUR SCRIPT ALOUD.
It's invaluable.
At least to me, it's so goddamn helpful to get the goddamn dialogue out of your goddamn head.
I mean, writers all know this: there's the story you have in your head; then there's the story you actually manage to get down on paper; and then there's the story the consumer consumes.
It's hard enough to formulate a worthwhile story in your head. Shit, I've written more bad stories in my head than all the debt dollars rung up by George Bush. Or, better said, if the bad stories in my head were tax breaks for the rich, George Bush would somehow get re-elected to a third term.
And then. And then it's even harder to get a good story down on paper. You know the drill: the long lonely nights, the self-loathing, the pained and blurry eyes, the vague taste of puke in the back of your throat. And in the end, after all that, let's all be honest: it's never as good as the one in your head -- and that either speaks to our lack of talent or our delusion regarding how good the one in our head is.
So then --- THEN there's the one that the viewer views.
Who the hell knows what that one's gonna be.
I really respect my friend Andrew. He loved Ang Lee's Hulk. I couldn't stand it.
I think my friend Mike is really smart. He thought Kingpin was brilliantly funny. I didn't even chuckle once.
Harley Davidson and the Marlboro Man is one of my favorite movies.
'Nuff said.
Who knows?
Well, you can inch one step closer if you try to bridge the gap between the story you wrangle onto the page and the one the viewer comes away with. And a good way to do that -- on the cheap -- is to try to fake yourself out and try to act like a viewer... by having people (actors, if you can swing it, just a group of friends if you can't) read your script aloud.
The funny thing is, of course, that real filmmakers don’t need to do these silly exercises. They don't need to bribe college kids with a promise of free coffee and a free lunch. They can hire focus groups. Or run it through a complex development system.
But those of us in the real world, us peons who are shuckin’ and jivin’ trying to get movies made – we, we can use a little help.
Now I’m no one to give advice; I’m a nobody with a bunch of TV but ZERO FILMS to my credit. But from where I stand, I suggest this: once you write it with your fingers, get it in your earhole.
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
No Sheep Balls
If you're looking for clever imagery or a hee-larious story of Asian tomfoolery, go to webofliesanddeceit.blogspot.com
-- because this is just a boring, colorless update post.
No lamb's testicles, I promise. So you might wanna leave now. If you're into that kind of thing.
Tonight with a little pinot grigio and a little Joshua Redman, I got through the bulk of the heavy lifting on the Dismal revision. (I wish, by the way, not only that I shared Greg's worldly travels but also his ability to put text in italics.)
It feels pretty good. And it'll be really great to hear it, during the table read we have scheduled for Sunday morning. Eight actors from the local university will be reading through the script -- which will help immensely.
Really a screenplay is not a written document but an oral and aural one, so I'm forever grateful to these young'uns for taking the time to do this.
Sunday afternoon, we hold our first casting session for supporting roles. Looking forward to that, too.
Sent scripts to two Pretty Cool Mainly TV Actor Guys so they can check it out and consider playing the bad guy, Croaker. Both of whom are on my wife's two favorite shows, so either would be a hit.
Man, I'm shivering like lamb's testicles, I'm so excited.
Oops. I promised.
-- because this is just a boring, colorless update post.
No lamb's testicles, I promise. So you might wanna leave now. If you're into that kind of thing.
Tonight with a little pinot grigio and a little Joshua Redman, I got through the bulk of the heavy lifting on the Dismal revision. (I wish, by the way, not only that I shared Greg's worldly travels but also his ability to put text in italics.)
It feels pretty good. And it'll be really great to hear it, during the table read we have scheduled for Sunday morning. Eight actors from the local university will be reading through the script -- which will help immensely.
Really a screenplay is not a written document but an oral and aural one, so I'm forever grateful to these young'uns for taking the time to do this.
Sunday afternoon, we hold our first casting session for supporting roles. Looking forward to that, too.
Sent scripts to two Pretty Cool Mainly TV Actor Guys so they can check it out and consider playing the bad guy, Croaker. Both of whom are on my wife's two favorite shows, so either would be a hit.
Man, I'm shivering like lamb's testicles, I'm so excited.
Oops. I promised.
Saturday, April 22, 2006
Algebra
Revision, it seems to me, is a lot more like algebra class than English class. Or at least it seems that way to me today – or it did tonight, anyway, driving home through the rain with a small boy asleep in the back seat and Eric Reed on the CD player.
As I was driving, I was thinking about my revision of Dismal, which I'm neck deep in. (Auditions for most of the supporting roles in a week.)
That's when I thought of Mrs. Goodrich's algebra class.
I thought it was gonna be a fairly simple revision, Dismal. The bulk of the changes I want to do come in the first third of the script, not much in the last two-thirds. Easy, right?
Wrong.
When the story has been put together with at least a modicum of care, then even the smallest changes are gonna ripple out and affect everything. Well, not everything, but a lot. Especially in the first act. That’s when all the juicy bits have to be set up. If it’s gonna work, it has to be pretty tightly wound – so if you start fucking with it, well, get another beer, hombre, ‘cause it’s gonna be a long night.
But I was talking about algebra and English.
I recall in high school making a ridiculous (and now embarrassing) vow to my friend Jim. Borne of the arrogance of the teenaged boy, it happened like this: we were assigned to read Orwell’s 1984, and I did, and I got good grades on all the quizzes, tests and papers. At the end, I mused that I could have gotten an A without having read the book – and when Jim balked, I swore I’d never read another book during high school and still get good grades. That’ll show him.
Wow. I’m a genius, right? Impressive. What a cool decision.
(Fucking idiot.)
Anyway, it worked. I’m sad to say I didn’t read another book and I got As and Bs throughout my high school English career. Somehow, I just new the basics of stories and could weave enough of a compelling narrative myself to distract anyone with a grading pen.
(The irony? I went on to major in English education in college, got two degrees in it and taught high school English for a few years before moving into television. Like I said, I’m a fucking idiot.)
I recall in algebra class that it was a steady build of steps – at least for me. I’m sure there are those wizards out there who could skip right to complex trigonometric functions, but for me it was a slow build. First understand X + 2 = 3, therefore X = 1. Then work your way up to the Pythagorean theorem. Then your complex trigonometric functions.
I couldn’t have made such a vow to Jim in algebra class. I’d be dead in the water. I need the stepping stones. I miss Pythagoras, I flail about in the abstract darkness beyond him.
But I was talking about revision.
Once the story is laid out, revising it isn’t about your clever ability to bullshit on an essay question. It’s not just about your innate storytelling ability. It’s about your ability to understand a tightly interlocking structure and sequence – and about demonstrating your ability to unwind pieces of it to just the right point, then build a new sequence out, one that works better than before.
I hope I can pull that off. Because the Dismal revisions are tougher than I thought.
Y = MX + B indeed.
As I was driving, I was thinking about my revision of Dismal, which I'm neck deep in. (Auditions for most of the supporting roles in a week.)
That's when I thought of Mrs. Goodrich's algebra class.
I thought it was gonna be a fairly simple revision, Dismal. The bulk of the changes I want to do come in the first third of the script, not much in the last two-thirds. Easy, right?
Wrong.
When the story has been put together with at least a modicum of care, then even the smallest changes are gonna ripple out and affect everything. Well, not everything, but a lot. Especially in the first act. That’s when all the juicy bits have to be set up. If it’s gonna work, it has to be pretty tightly wound – so if you start fucking with it, well, get another beer, hombre, ‘cause it’s gonna be a long night.
But I was talking about algebra and English.
I recall in high school making a ridiculous (and now embarrassing) vow to my friend Jim. Borne of the arrogance of the teenaged boy, it happened like this: we were assigned to read Orwell’s 1984, and I did, and I got good grades on all the quizzes, tests and papers. At the end, I mused that I could have gotten an A without having read the book – and when Jim balked, I swore I’d never read another book during high school and still get good grades. That’ll show him.
Wow. I’m a genius, right? Impressive. What a cool decision.
(Fucking idiot.)
Anyway, it worked. I’m sad to say I didn’t read another book and I got As and Bs throughout my high school English career. Somehow, I just new the basics of stories and could weave enough of a compelling narrative myself to distract anyone with a grading pen.
(The irony? I went on to major in English education in college, got two degrees in it and taught high school English for a few years before moving into television. Like I said, I’m a fucking idiot.)
I recall in algebra class that it was a steady build of steps – at least for me. I’m sure there are those wizards out there who could skip right to complex trigonometric functions, but for me it was a slow build. First understand X + 2 = 3, therefore X = 1. Then work your way up to the Pythagorean theorem. Then your complex trigonometric functions.
I couldn’t have made such a vow to Jim in algebra class. I’d be dead in the water. I need the stepping stones. I miss Pythagoras, I flail about in the abstract darkness beyond him.
But I was talking about revision.
Once the story is laid out, revising it isn’t about your clever ability to bullshit on an essay question. It’s not just about your innate storytelling ability. It’s about your ability to understand a tightly interlocking structure and sequence – and about demonstrating your ability to unwind pieces of it to just the right point, then build a new sequence out, one that works better than before.
I hope I can pull that off. Because the Dismal revisions are tougher than I thought.
Y = MX + B indeed.
Saturday, April 15, 2006
The Avoidable Star
Okay. So I'm a geek and got all excited when a fairly big star's agent called us back and said he was free during our production window and we should send a script and an offer. We called everyone we knew in the business for advice and came up with a good plan.
And then the LA agent who's been advising us recommends that we steer clear of this particular fairly big star.
Now, I know it was the longest of long shots -- well, maybe not the longest... we weren't going after DeNiro or anything -- but it was exciting. Ah well.
But we have the lead role cast, and we have some good suggestions for who to go after for the juiciest role (the one for which we considered Mr. Fairly Big Star But Stay Away). We've started an extended-local talent search for supporting cast and are beseiged with headshots (like everyone says, actors want to act). The agent advisor really likes the script. All of the money's in the bank. About half the locations are chosen. We're scheduling a read-through of the script with some college kids this month.
Now I just need to get to these last revisions. It's really just the first third of the script, and a little at the end. Not a whole lot of heavy lifting, but damn if things haven't gotten busy.
And then the LA agent who's been advising us recommends that we steer clear of this particular fairly big star.
Now, I know it was the longest of long shots -- well, maybe not the longest... we weren't going after DeNiro or anything -- but it was exciting. Ah well.
But we have the lead role cast, and we have some good suggestions for who to go after for the juiciest role (the one for which we considered Mr. Fairly Big Star But Stay Away). We've started an extended-local talent search for supporting cast and are beseiged with headshots (like everyone says, actors want to act). The agent advisor really likes the script. All of the money's in the bank. About half the locations are chosen. We're scheduling a read-through of the script with some college kids this month.
Now I just need to get to these last revisions. It's really just the first third of the script, and a little at the end. Not a whole lot of heavy lifting, but damn if things haven't gotten busy.
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
Thanks All Around
Just a quick update.
So for those of you just tuning in, I've been working on "Dismal," an independent ultra-low budget feature my producing partners and I are shooting this summer.
We're fully funded, our production office is open and we've cast the lead. Feeling good about that. Gonna be fun. I'll write more about that soon.
And a round of thanks to everyone who's taken the time to read and give me feedback on the script. That means the world to me. Thank you.
So for those of you just tuning in, I've been working on "Dismal," an independent ultra-low budget feature my producing partners and I are shooting this summer.
We're fully funded, our production office is open and we've cast the lead. Feeling good about that. Gonna be fun. I'll write more about that soon.
And a round of thanks to everyone who's taken the time to read and give me feedback on the script. That means the world to me. Thank you.
Monday, April 10, 2006
The Old Man And The Scene
On September 4th, 1929, Ernest Hemingway wrote a letter to F. Scott Fitzgerald that included: “The good parts of a book may be only something the writer is lucky enough to overhear or it may be the wreck of his whole damn life — and one is as good as the other.”
Read that in Hemingway’s Selected Letters, 1917-1961. And damn if it ain’t hit home.
Who knows where the inspiration will come from, or when, or if you’ve earned it, or if it fell into your goddamn lap.
The cruel irony is as ol’ Hem said. You might wear yourself down to a nub of a man or woman, drinking heavily, muttering to the cat or dog or koi, bleary eyes squinting achingly into the vague glow ahead of you that might be your computer screen, might be the rising sun – all in an attempt to hone that perfect line, that ONE TRUE LINE that makes your scene positively radiate. Or you might hear that jackass automaton from accounting say the thing offhandedly while trying to hit on the new UPS girl by the smoker’s bench outside the building, her mannish brown shorts notwithstanding.
And either way counts. It’s just as valid. Don’t fool yourself into thinking something’s good just because you toiled over it. My friend Marc said Abe Lincoln wrote his Gettysburg Address in a couple minutes when he realized he was supposed to give a speech.
But then don’t fool yourself into thinking that the shit’s easy, that anything you write is good just because you LET IT FLOW. Ever read MLK’s “Letter From Birmingham Jail”? Probably the best thing ever written. That dude toiled and toiled over that. It’s goddamn perfect, every word. Plus, he was in a freaking jail cell when he wrote the first draft. That’s toil.
So it might be the wreck of your life, and it might come floating to you across the ether. Either way, grab it, and set it down. And make that fucking scene radiate.
Read that in Hemingway’s Selected Letters, 1917-1961. And damn if it ain’t hit home.
Who knows where the inspiration will come from, or when, or if you’ve earned it, or if it fell into your goddamn lap.
The cruel irony is as ol’ Hem said. You might wear yourself down to a nub of a man or woman, drinking heavily, muttering to the cat or dog or koi, bleary eyes squinting achingly into the vague glow ahead of you that might be your computer screen, might be the rising sun – all in an attempt to hone that perfect line, that ONE TRUE LINE that makes your scene positively radiate. Or you might hear that jackass automaton from accounting say the thing offhandedly while trying to hit on the new UPS girl by the smoker’s bench outside the building, her mannish brown shorts notwithstanding.
And either way counts. It’s just as valid. Don’t fool yourself into thinking something’s good just because you toiled over it. My friend Marc said Abe Lincoln wrote his Gettysburg Address in a couple minutes when he realized he was supposed to give a speech.
But then don’t fool yourself into thinking that the shit’s easy, that anything you write is good just because you LET IT FLOW. Ever read MLK’s “Letter From Birmingham Jail”? Probably the best thing ever written. That dude toiled and toiled over that. It’s goddamn perfect, every word. Plus, he was in a freaking jail cell when he wrote the first draft. That’s toil.
So it might be the wreck of your life, and it might come floating to you across the ether. Either way, grab it, and set it down. And make that fucking scene radiate.
Saturday, April 08, 2006
I Need A Five-Letter Word For Compose
My friend Terry used to be a clerk for a judge in Vermont who got in trouble a few times because he would do crossword puzzles during trials.
Poor Judge Eleven Across. They just didn't understand you.
But I do, Judge. I get you. Your Honor.
I was cleaning out the garage today, totally focused on reclaiming the place from the beasts and the elements (mainly because we're trying to sell the house). I was sweating, I had a furrowed brow, I was in the Cleaning Zone. And I got some good ideas about where to take the script I'm trying to outline for work.
That's the way it works. I think it's that way with Greg, too, judging by some of his posts, so I know I'm not alone.
Here's the thing -- though you probably know this already. Some of your best writing ideas are gonna come when you're not focused on the writing at all. Maybe most of them will, actually.
Which makes for a pretty fun contradiction. Most successful writers talk about the need for structured, consistent writing sessions. I've heard this from everyone from Bruce Springsteen to Rick Bass to Mary Oliver to Stephen King. It make sense. You write regularly, at regular intervals, and it opens a sort of portal so that you're ready when the good stuff comes through.
I believe in that. So I make sure I write every day.
But I also make sure I distract myself. I follow trails of links through the Guardian, I listen to Ludacris on my iPod, I walk, I make mix CDs for friends. I clean the garage.
It's usually then, when my mind has distanced itself from analyzing (which it is wont to do), when I'm not considering how to get a character from one decision to another decision, when I'm grooving on a bassline from Ron Carter... it's usually then when I get that one nugget that makes sense. Trick is, then, to remember it until you can write it.
So my advice? Be structured in writing. But wander. Far. And remember.
Poor Judge Eleven Across. They just didn't understand you.
But I do, Judge. I get you. Your Honor.
I was cleaning out the garage today, totally focused on reclaiming the place from the beasts and the elements (mainly because we're trying to sell the house). I was sweating, I had a furrowed brow, I was in the Cleaning Zone. And I got some good ideas about where to take the script I'm trying to outline for work.
That's the way it works. I think it's that way with Greg, too, judging by some of his posts, so I know I'm not alone.
Here's the thing -- though you probably know this already. Some of your best writing ideas are gonna come when you're not focused on the writing at all. Maybe most of them will, actually.
Which makes for a pretty fun contradiction. Most successful writers talk about the need for structured, consistent writing sessions. I've heard this from everyone from Bruce Springsteen to Rick Bass to Mary Oliver to Stephen King. It make sense. You write regularly, at regular intervals, and it opens a sort of portal so that you're ready when the good stuff comes through.
I believe in that. So I make sure I write every day.
But I also make sure I distract myself. I follow trails of links through the Guardian, I listen to Ludacris on my iPod, I walk, I make mix CDs for friends. I clean the garage.
It's usually then, when my mind has distanced itself from analyzing (which it is wont to do), when I'm not considering how to get a character from one decision to another decision, when I'm grooving on a bassline from Ron Carter... it's usually then when I get that one nugget that makes sense. Trick is, then, to remember it until you can write it.
So my advice? Be structured in writing. But wander. Far. And remember.
Thursday, April 06, 2006
Sting, And The Burning Pants
So last night I write that inane post using the A-Team helmer's mantra as a theme, and this morning I check Greg's blog (which, for the record, is much more entertaining, funny and actually useful than this one [he's at webofliesanddeceit.blogspot.com]) and in his post this morning HE'S WRITING ABOUT THE GODDAMN A-TEAM. I mean, his post, as I mentioned, is actually helpful in terms of writing, inspirational even, but IT'S ALSO ABOUT THE GODDAMN A-TEAM. Greg didn't even know I had a blog when he wrote his.
It gets weirder.
I come home tonight and tell Amy about this bit of synchronicity, and I end with, "I mean, when's the last time you thought about the A-Team?"
Her answer: "Today."
Whaaaaat?
Turns out today a coworker sent around a little joke e-mail about their work team with A PHOTO OF THE A-TEAM, their faces replaced with those of coworkers.
Okay. What's going on? Is the Face Man trying to tell me something? What is it Dirk Benedict? What IS IT? Speak to me son!
I love that synchronicity. (And I swear on all that is holy, if the Police come on the radio right now, I'm gonna light my pants on fire.)
Another small one happened this afternoon. I was going through some old scripts at my company, some stuff written in 1997, and I checked IMDB on one writer, thinking I recognized his name. But I didn't recognize anything on his IMDB profile -- he's worked on a ton of TV shows, but none I've really watched. And then, I get an e-mail from Creative Screenwriting magazine suggesting I buy a DVD of a talk given by this same guy.
Maybe the specifics aren't the message. Maybe it's not about Hannibal Smith and this show-runner on DVD. Maybe it's just a reminder that I need to pay attention, and things will be there.
Let it happen.
But for chrissakes don't be too passive about it.
I mean, "Message In A Bottle" didn't write itself.
It gets weirder.
I come home tonight and tell Amy about this bit of synchronicity, and I end with, "I mean, when's the last time you thought about the A-Team?"
Her answer: "Today."
Whaaaaat?
Turns out today a coworker sent around a little joke e-mail about their work team with A PHOTO OF THE A-TEAM, their faces replaced with those of coworkers.
Okay. What's going on? Is the Face Man trying to tell me something? What is it Dirk Benedict? What IS IT? Speak to me son!
I love that synchronicity. (And I swear on all that is holy, if the Police come on the radio right now, I'm gonna light my pants on fire.)
Another small one happened this afternoon. I was going through some old scripts at my company, some stuff written in 1997, and I checked IMDB on one writer, thinking I recognized his name. But I didn't recognize anything on his IMDB profile -- he's worked on a ton of TV shows, but none I've really watched. And then, I get an e-mail from Creative Screenwriting magazine suggesting I buy a DVD of a talk given by this same guy.
Maybe the specifics aren't the message. Maybe it's not about Hannibal Smith and this show-runner on DVD. Maybe it's just a reminder that I need to pay attention, and things will be there.
Let it happen.
But for chrissakes don't be too passive about it.
I mean, "Message In A Bottle" didn't write itself.
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