Where I’m Calling From (England)
October 28, 2007
Cambridge, to be exact. The distinction is important, really, as it’s a place of intellectual inspiration. Love lives here, as well. So rare does one get both in a cozy pair, I find, but that’s how it is here. Cambridge is a wonderful place.
I spent some time in Dublin, as well. Literary inspiration abounds there and I felt very at home among the friendly and soulful people who call James Joyce and Guinness their chief symbols of pride. Both are worthy, I imagine, and both have brought me joy. The latter continues to do so. Once you’ve drank enough of it, Guinness moves in for what feels like forever. Its robust, yet smooth nature soothes and invigorates. A pint of Guinness is a beautiful thing. Once one accepts its superiority, nothing else will do, really.
So, as I sip my Guinness (not now, as it’s too early, although that is not an opinion widely held I reckon) I contemplate my future as a writer. I planned to write while I was here, but that rarely ever pans out. Traveling is a time to collect experiences and fresh perspectives, or sometimes reinforce those you already hold. It’s a time to watch people and look at things. Really hard. Both in front and behind the eyes. I have done. One can’t help it in places like Cambridge and Dublin, I don’t think. London is for action, however, and to admire the beautiful game with friends. But that’s another song for another time.
Each morning I check my email for a sign that the agency who requested my screenplay hasn’t forgotten me. I pore over the details of the story, seeking moments that I think may have hit home for them. I convince myself that there are many and yet, for some reason, I go over them again and again. So far, nothing’s come. But the writer’s strike and the sad news of the fires burning out of control must certainly be giving everyone plenty of real time horror to deal with. So I wait. It’s cool. Mostly. I worry about my sister, Terry, her husband, and the kids a lot.
And I remember Raymond Carver. I cite him as a major influence, and while he wrote short stories, his beats transfer so vividly to scenes. I could consider myself a “dirty realist” perhaps. I just prefer a few imaginary creatures to spice things up. But that may not always be the case. I may bang out a quick horror/comedy before settling in to pen my first novel. Or novella. A mystery/thriller, I think. I haven’t decided, but it’s clear I’m being called. From where, I’m not sure.
But, like Ray, I love to listen.
Expectancy and Fear
October 13, 2007
Have you ever gotten the encouraging news that something you want so badly, something you’ve worked so hard for, just might come to pass? And as much as you effort to keep at bay the thoughts of it becoming reality for fear of being disappointed, there’s just too many seconds in every minute and too many minutes in every hour and too many hours in every day to not cultivate some expectation? Well, good listeners, I’m here to tell you that, despite all internal resistance, I have. In fact, it’s happening right now.
About a week ago I sent out a bunch of letters to a few agencies introducing them to my screenplay Outside Men in the hopes that they would find it interesting enough to request the complete file. A few days ago I got an email from one of those agencies. That in itself was exciting. But if you consider that it was the number one company on my dream list of representation, the situation takes on a whole new layer of “are you fucking kidding me?”
Outside Men is a screenplay of which I am extremely proud. It has everything I would love to see in a considerately mixed genre picture and is structured in a way that feeds me chunks of shocking goodness in just the right measure to ensure a long-lasting, rich taste. It’s weighty, but brisk. And it has some of my favorite characters I’ve ever created. However, I set it aside in my mind because I thought it was maybe too sprawling for some of the smaller agencies I’d been rubbing up against to consider as a project. I figured that someday I would pull it out from the bottom of my drawer and hand it to a first time director who had inherited a trust fund and a lust for zombies, World War II, and eskimos. Yes, I said eskimos. It works, actually.
So I sent off the .pdf and faxed in the signed submission form and set about waiting, deciding to put the whole thing out of my mind and get going on the next one while researching the one to follow that. And that’s exactly what I’m doing. But you know…dammit if I don’t visit the website of the agency everyday and marvel at their creatively couched genius. Their projects have all been unique, edgy in a number of interesting ways, and some of them are just plain brilliant in concept and execution the likes of which one would hope all time and monetary investments would be. Their philosophy on working with and developing writers couldn’t be any more ideal and they seem dedicated to making and assisting the creation of films and TV simply because they have a passion for good shit. Blimey, I even love the colors they use on their homepage! I would redecorate my entire condo with them, to be honest, and I think I just might.
So, before this sounds like a diary entry about this really cool dude in school who everybody likes and who I hope invites my to his supercool party and stuff, let me say that it’s very difficult not to start dreaming when the whole reason you write is because you can’t help but dream. I mean, what are writers but craftsman who look ahead and imagine how things could be? This certainly may not go down, and to be honest, if it doesn’t it’s already too late not to be a little crushed. But at least I will have learned a lot about my ideas, my query letter style and what this agency responds to. And that in itself is fantastic because no matter how small the validation, if it helps you believe in yourself another .001 %, that can really help when you suffer your next crisis of confidence.
You know, there’s a writer’s strike looming over Hollywood like something wicked this way coming over the crackling cornfields of a haunted, Midwestern hollow, and for important personal reasons I really hope it doesn’t happen. But if it does, perhaps the timing is finally right.
Sheer, Unadulterated Terror
October 3, 2007
It’s frustrating sometimes being a writer of horror. For instance, no matter how finely tuned my imagination may be to the darkest corners of humanity, I could never think up anything quite as horrifying as the picture to your left. It’s important to remember that there will always be someone out there outdoing your best efforts, so the difference between failure and success might come down to such arbitrary matters as perseverance, serendipitous contacts, and – as is likely in this unfortunate case – pure, dumb luck. Sure, the photographer may have known that both of these individuals would be attending whatever event was tasteless enough to let them both in the door, but who could have really predicted this morsel of malevolence and morbidity. Look at them. Their brief union maintains enough combustive loathing to wipe out half the room if held for too long. And I want you all to know that I posted the above image after great deliberation, and considered several times to abort the idea, but in the end I thought it held too important a message for those writers and lovers of horror to censor: monsters are real. Therefore, our work is important to expose them and their minions.
Especially the minions.
Okay, away from my “scared straight” segment and onto other news with a nicer picture. I’ve received my first rejection letter from the good people at Trident Media Group. I name-drop them not because I want to rail them for refusing to stop the presses and herald my obvious genius, but to thank them for such a thoughtful return correspondence. Even though they touched a small nerve by saying they weren’t “enthusiastic enough” about my pitch to consider representation, they referred me to a website that might help me find someone who was. Forget that I was a screenwriter contacting an agency dedicated to authors of novels and so forth, they still cared enough to reward my stupidity with what little direction they could offer. So, I salute you TMG! You’re a credit to your industry. Who knows, perhaps we’ll meet again.
And I’m not just joshing about that. As I’ve mentioned in some detail several times before, I’ve been hopelessly and passionately drawn to my next project, currently titled The Unveiling. It affords me some new and fun challenges regarding a very different kind of story and main character (although related in the way all my reluctant heroes seem to be, not to mention this painting jones I’ve got) and requires that I do quite a bit of research. But I love research, and am looking forward to digging into the six books I just purchased on various aspects in and around the City of Paris on and around the turn of the 20th century. So much was happening there at that time, that it must have been regarded as the most culturally exciting and transforming place on earth, which dovetails nicely into my emerging theme. So I did what I usually do and hit my bookstore in the hopes of finding some interesting and enlightening reading material. Six books and $72.68 later, I’ve got plenty to keep me busy for awhile. The last time I did a period piece was Outside Men, and I’m seriously looking forward to tackling this one which will be of a completely different tone and, if you will, hue – it will be spooky but cooler, much closer to Picasso’s blue period than the brash and bold imagery of the Second World War. And I have an “opening credits” sequence which I’m dying to write that should seduce as well as chill. Excellent.
But first, it’s time to hit the books and decide if what I come up with belongs as a screenplay, or perhaps in the form of another submission that the folks at Trident Media Group can actually use.
