I also had quite a bit on my mind with the holidays returning and the completion of principal photography for HorrorCon. Have I forgotten to get someone a gift? Have I forgotten to shoot something? There’s that gift card I wanted for a couple peripheral members of the family. There’s that stock photography I need to stand in place of something beyond the scope of my budget and time constraints. Will both or either suffice?

What the hell am I doing with Yellow Horse? Can it ever be more than a shingle? Its conceit is that a collection of quality products can shine light on one another as they become known, growing the brand, and filling the gaps caused by having not spent years of networking in the publishing and entertainment industries, industries that keep changing. What does it mean to place a book or market a film, anymore? What if a better than average film draws attention to a brilliant book, which in turn draws attention to an eerily adorable animated series. Can YHP&P be a golden pot of projects from which larger, more connected entertainment entities can mine?

Should I sell my condo at the shore? I love the inside, but I’m no longer wired for associations and their by-laws upon by-laws that seek to prevent all conflict with adults who cannot act responsibly with an intact intellect? How much longer can I allow a few dozen people to legislate my peace of mind? Mandatory annual inspections? Too many damn noses for too little whiffs of common sense, if you ask me.

Christ, I’ve got lots of driving to do in the next few weeks.

Then there are a few new projects I want to start. I think. I want to draft a sequel to HorrorCon that begins right where the original ends. I’ve got three book ideas, one a non-fictional account of the ten months it required to shoot the film. I think I want to call it My First Rodeo: A Year-Long Account of Indie Filmmaking. I also like Herding Cats: The Unlikely Capturing of HorrorCon the Film. Had thirty, terrifying days in the span of three months shooting a film in several busy, public spaces cooked my brain too much to focus on what would come after? Possibly. It could be that being “in over my head” had become what life feels like, which would explain my suicidal compulsion to complete two novels of fiction, with at least one in mind as a screen adaptation, all in the span of a year. The Thunders tells the story of a lonely, phobic writer who, while researching a little-known tribe of demon-battling Native Americans who used evil spirits to fend off imperialist settlers, follows too closely in their tracks. In doing so, he winds up caring for a desperate crush who he’s inadvertently helped fall into demonic possession. Another, The Unveiling, takes us back to the turn-of-the-20th Century when the Impressionists were making their mark on the art world and introduces us to a mysterious Picasso that may hold some important clues to a series of horrendous murders happening around Paris and New York.

And what about sWitch? Shouldn’t I adapt that one, too?

And I still haven’t experienced my “ahhh” moment, or that moment of blessed relief after a film’s final scene is wrapped. We shot it, I remember that. I remember a congratulatory hug from my leading man, and holding my leading lady while she expressed how things would be so “weird” from here on out. There would be no shoots to look forward to – or to fret over – in the foreseeable future. Then I remember packing up and the smack of bitterly cold air as I left the hotel. But I don’t remember feeling much of it. We wrapped very late after a very long day, so maybe that’s why I only rolled into a strange exhaustion and am now sitting here trying to piece it together a full ten days later.

There’s also still so much to do. I now have to prove that I knew what I was doing when I was forever pointing and instructing. Of course, I’m not sure I really did know. I went wholly on instinct, an instinct that I’d honed from nearly forty years of movie watching. At one point I was digesting three a day. It helped to lose weight when I was a wrestler. Instead of dreaming about food – any kind of food – I would enter the dreams of films. I did have my experience as an industrial video producer to help support some of my assumptions. Having been through some grueling shoots covering tens of thousands of square feet in a single day did teach me to move fast, yet carefully. How careful was I? I guess I’ll find out soon enough. One thing I’ve learned from my research is that, regardless of the name making the film, few have professed to know what they were doing when they were making it. That helps a little.

So, I find myself in a languorous sort of limbo. I’m tired, but my brain is busy. That seems to best describe my life up to this point. Oh…almost forgot the ticking bomb in the closet. That’s what I call the force that pushes me to finish these projects before some form of disease catches up with me. If one doesn’t in premature time, I’m thinking car crash. I’ve had my share, and a frayed nerve somewhere in my medulla feels I’m due. It’s troubling to drive, to be honest. I tap my finger whenever a car passes too close to the median stripe, or if a car rolls up too quickly at a cross road. There have been no fewer than three occasions in the last month where I’ve either had to lock up my brakes or swerve thanks to the thoughtless driving of others, and I sense the sickening moment is getting closer. Or is that just my mind, drafting another tale? How I loathe being between projects/tasks/opinions…holidays.

Have I mentioned all the driving I’ve got to do in the next few weeks?

And yet, I am happy. My kind of happy.

Now, off to locate two, 2-terabyte drives. I woke in a panic this morning realizing that a few of my shoots hadn’t been backed-up in triplicate.

There was a moment during the Monster Mania 17 shoot where I felt the sharp, sharp slap of folly. My stomach knotted and dropped to the floor, and I nearly cracked into the kind of hysterics brought on by the sudden realization that I had miscalculated my risk by too great a distance. The exact moment of which I write is captured forever in the picture you see above. In a way, it was freeing. The jig was up. My tip-toe dance on and around eggshells would finally devolve into a madcap snow angel on the hilariously hideous carpeting.

To be fair, I wouldn’t have been completely surprised. What I was trying to do looked clinically insane to those who hadn’t spent months and months carefully planning it, and I was told as much by one of my very own actors. It actually reaffirmed my faith in her good sense. Going into a live convention unannounced to the public and attempting to shoot a feature film with everyone and everything as my multi-million dollar backdrop is the kind of idea that usually withers into dust whilst nursing the hangover caused by the bender that brought it on. But like so many projects I’ve undertaken, it made perfect sense to me. All I had to do was execute the plan to perfection, which meant directing a crew of almost 40 people for three days to never put a foot wrong lest we be escorted out by the authorities. Easy.

Anyway, the moment in question involves a scene where my main character throws her car keys to a friend on the other side of her vendor table. This friend is in the process of shooting her for his documentary, which meant he had to read his lines from behind the person running the camera. The first take went fine. Said keys hit him square in the chest and he fumbled them to security. The second take, however, saw the keys go over his head and onto the vendor table behind him; a table run by some very nice people who had already spoken with me about blocking their traffic with my sound cart. We’d been there for too long a time, and their angelic patience was quickly running out. When I heard the keys hit, well…I did that.

The folks at Fortress Press, Inc. had woken up very early in the morning and loaded their car full of two $300 tables worth of merchandise and driven to Cherry Hill, NJ from Lemoyne, PA with the only expectation being a possibly challenging task of making back their money in three days of noisy convention atmosphere. Now, they had a friggin’ movie being shot in front of them. We all know how most people react to seeing a camera: they run. One serious complaint to the hotel staff and we were history. So what did they do? They let us do another take, with the assurance it was the last. It was, and we got what we needed.

I’ve written a film about a young woman suffering the awful repercussions of the black underbelly of human nature, and I’d been rewarded by human nature of a very different kind. Sure, I promised Fortress Press, Inc. a mention on the film’s website and in the final credits, but they didn’t have any more assurance that would be good for business than the sudden arrival of some half-decent, weekend weather. I was humbled, and continue to be as I work my way through this somewhat daunting process. The question remains, however, if being rescued by the good graces of others (who, frankly, must have also been intimidated by the notion of shutting us down) will bring us the kind of luck we’ll need to carry us through the production, or help create a monster that will put me in deep emotional and financial debt for the rest of my life.

You can’t turn back after one head slap, can you? We look to shoot again in mid April. And if you would, please check out our blog, Facebook, and Kickstarter page. We could use a little more good nature, and again we promise to give back in kind.

So, very quickly: been busy with the film, which is coming along. Principal photography begins March 11th at the Monster Mania convention, and while it’s going to be very tricky, I think I have all eventualities covered. It’s been a constant quest for permissions, really, and I’m nearly there with them all. I play over the shoot in my mind continuously, visualizing maneuvers in response to every obstacle. In all cases, there’s a deal being made: promises of rewards, credits, screen time, and, of course, straight-up cash; which I should have just enough of since the line of credit against my house went through. All I need is my pledge drive to be successful. Speaking of…

…on March 18th I will be asking the public at large to help me fund my film via Kickstarter.com. There are rewards in store for those who give, not to mention the warm feeling in your scary bone that you’ve helped make a very unique, indie-horror film happen. Love in advance to all of those who reach out, and I’ll be posting the direct link very soon.

In other news, sWitch continues to enthrall. Be sure to check out the blog for reviews and mostly daily updates of its progress and peeks into the darker windows of this beautiful planet. We have fun over there. Won’t you join us? The Amazon page has even more reviews, so do have a look.

I leave you with one of my favorite songs of all time. See you…

Somewhat daunted, I go forward, prepared to learn from my scars.
Ready to fall.

Then I’ll get up,
Go again,
And go a little further, as I always do.

Might need a lift, though.

While the marketing of sWitch continues, mainly in the form of soliciting book reviews and updating the blog, I’ve been hard at work gathering my cast and crew for H,tM. That title works for my purposes here, as there could be confusion with the novella, but it will be released simply as HorrorCon. Cue screaming and fainting. Hopefully.

Actually, the story is more emotionally harrowing, and very different from what one might expect of a horror film these days. In fact, I describe it as an indie-horror, as it deals far more with character development and circumstances than blood-soaked peril. It’s actually amusing to think how few traditional elements of the typical horror yarn are in attendance. There is no nudity (although, it is implied), no blood (save a few small drops), and no body count (per se). But what is there is suggested in an exciting and intriguing way. In other words, if I do my job, you’ll feel far more than what you may be used to. Every piece of dialog and action counts, with grave circumstances looming like a yellow moon.

At the moment, I’ve got my hands filled with casting. Back in July I posted a notice on the industry networking site Massify.com, and took out an ad in Backstage magazine. Before I knew it I had nearly 400 resumes and replies in my inbox. Picking through them was fun, but also extremely challenging. There was no way I was going to be able to see all those interested, so how do I pare down my choices? Obviously, those with the best looks for the various roles found themselves in a special folder. Then I checked all corresponding reels and related media. Once I narrowed it down to those who seemed both capable of what I was looking for and legitimately enthusiastic about the project, I found myself drafting an email to over 80 hopefuls. Since I was dealing with 6 principal characters and a handful of minor roles, I still needed to get the number down to a manageable list. Again, what was most important to me was genuine interest in the material. I wanted actors who believed in the project and saw participating as a way to both further their careers and create something special.

After sending the script to a more select list, and few email updates later, I opened the process to video submissions. This allowed those who didn’t have a reel to compete on the same level. They could read from the script, juggle kittens, make a sandwich, or just say hello. And they only had to show me what they wanted me to see. It gave those who I might not be able to meet with in person a distinct advantage in some ways, and could submit as many videos as they liked. Enthusiasm and ability: that’s what I’m looking for. So far, I’ve received a couple and am waiting on a few more.

As it stands, I’m still working on a date to travel to NYC for in-person reads and meetings. The number in contention is much smaller now–down to a few dozen–and I’ll say it’s getting very difficult to decide on some of the roles. Everyone has their strengths, and my mind has been opened to various physical types for the characters. What makes it even more difficult is that I’m dealing with what seem to be some very nice people. Damn them.

There will be a new website/blog once production gets underway, and I’ll include those updates here so those who follow scottStories can take the journey with us. I’ll also be asking for hand-outs. Literally. I’m submitting my proposal to crowd-funding website Kickstarter.com this week, and there will be some juicy rewards for even the smallest donations.

We’re making movies, people, and I’m really very excited. Next update may include my attempts at licensing movie clips and music, and after that, photos and descriptions of shooting locations. I think I’ve found some great places to scare and move the faithful, and by then, a few talented people to help me. For now, I leave you with an example of something I may have done as a boy…

1) My novel sWitch is looking tone and fit and you will be able to order it forthwith. I have to say I’m thrilled with end product, thanks to the very accomplished design work of my Yellow Horse Publishing partner Lisa de Araujo, our super-talented staff editor Louise Woods, and trees. Why trees? Because without them, there’d be no paper and we’d be too busy wheezing to read. But since there are trees, lots of them, there’s a ton of fun info at the official website, and you may want to subscribe to our blog for even more frivolity–the dark kind, natch.

2) I’ve also posted a casting notice at Backstage NY for the Hi-def web series adaptation of my novella HorrorCon. For a project that only promises deferred pay, the response has been a little overwhelming. Sure, most actors are just trying to read for as many projects as they can, but I got some personal notes, too, and they were encouraging to say the least. The script is coming along swimmingly, too. I’m having a blast keeping in mind my limitations with location and such, which I always believed made for better writing. I hope to have a solid first draft ready to distribute in the next two weeks.

3) Let me say that, while this is the third project report, it’s by no means an indication of importance. Teapott Fables had a restful summer, but it’s back in full swing with my partner Teddy working up some gorgeous frames for an iPad book that will serve as the companion piece to the animation (which won’t be ready by Halloween, sadly). But the book technology allows for some magical enhancements, and it’s another Yellow Horse project that will help lift the imprint into the rarefied air of major publishing and production player.

4) My next novel is in the process of being outlined, and it’s another dark story with a colorful personality called The Fold. Not to give too much away, but it involves a Yellow Horse writer under contract and his experiences with dermisted beetles, a colonial journal, Indian spirits, and the writer’s very unlucky, lifetime crush. As a “non-fiction” horror story, it will deliver the scares that will make you question every little noise in your house. As a metaphor for dependent, yet loving relationships, it’ll take you on an exploration into the concepts of obsession, addiction, and the possibilities and limitations of selfless love. I’m such a romantic.

That’s all for now. I’ll be updating more regularly about the above and sundry now that our little sWitcheroo is able to fly on its own. There are many promotional activities ahead, however. Ain’t nobody knocking down our doors to get at our goods just yet. But as Barbara learned at that dark and hungry lake, the power of belief knows no bounds. Now, let’s dig The Black Angels.

Waiting on the proofs of your book is an excruciating, aggravating experience. I’ve got a few beta readers who are waiting on a copy, and if memory serves, my previous five copies arrived in under a week. This time around, it’s going on two for two. I’m about to find someone named Lulu and find some way to aggravate them back. Maybe I’ll disagree with everything they say for two minutes, or twice insult their shoes. Bah.

But I can’t stay grumpy for too long. You can’t keep your chin down if you’re looking at the stars, so allow me, if you will, to share:

1) The sWitch placeholder website is up, and there’s a blog (huge thanks to the wonderfully talented Lisa de Araujo for both) where you can bask in the darkward tone of the novel. There will also be character discussions there soon, but of course I can’t say exactly “when”. My proofs have yet to arrive, you see? Anyhow, if you’d like to become a fan, check out the Facebook page and don’t forget to say hello. There may also be cookies in it for you, so you don’t want to miss out.

2) My cooking/reality show Table 42 with Chef Darryl Harmon has a teaser trailer up, and so far response to it has been overwhelmingly positive. Shooting for the first episode will begin on March 24th. I’m excited, and I know my peeps are, too.

3) Teapott Fables has a placeholder site up, and I can tell you the real thing is going to be fantastic. Teddy‘s showed me some sketches, and all I can say is you’ll definitely “fancy a cuppa”.

4) Lastly, or fourthly I guess, I’m planning on adapting HorrorCon for the screen, with further plans to make it myself. I will be working on another book at that time, as well. Somewhere in between, I will slip into a lovely coma.

That’s the lot, I suppose. There’s some music being made, as well, but I’ll hold off on that until I’ve got something for you to hear. In the meantime, have a look at a talented, writer friend named Ryan Chin who we can expect great things from in the not-so-distant future.

…so much might have changed in my life. I might have had a special sash made, and I certainly would have put a photo of me wearing it on my book. The publicity may have seen me pose for similar pictures at various horror conventions and Rue Morgue may have contacted me for a gate-fold spread. What would it have been like to tell Elvira, Mistress of the Dark, that I would happily have tea with her and discuss her playing a role in my next, independent feature? I may never know. Just a few more votes at 2:59 am on February 1st and the world of horror might have groveled like Renfield at my feet.

But alas, it was not to be.

For those of you who have no idea what I’m talking about, I was crowned Pretty Scary‘s “Scary Stud of the Month” for the month of August. At year’s end, the most excellent Heidi Martinuzzi (the owner of the site) entered me into the Scary Stud of 2009 Contest, along with other notables such as Eli Roth, Corin Nemec, and…to be honest, I didn’t recognize the names of the others. But they were all at least as worthy of their Stud of the Month titles as I was, probably more so. But we’re talking about me here, so let’s try and stay focused.

The concept of the contest was for visitors of the site to vote for their favorite Stud. You were only allowed a single vote per person, and each contestant could do whatever they wanted to drive people to the site to vote for them. Thinking it would be fun to win, I sent an email out to about 20 of my friends and colleagues and asked them to vote. I also posted the contest on my Facebook site and decided to let matters settle themselves. I never expected to be in with a shout, and the customary notion of being “honored to be nominated” was more than enough for my ego.

And then, things changed. Most notably, I jumped out in front. Where was this influx of support coming from?, I wondered. Soon, it was clear the contest was to be a two-horse race between myself and a fella by the name of Billy Garberina. I have to admit I’d never heard of Billy nor have I seen any of his movies, but he was clearly interested in winning. In fact, he’d made his Facebook page public and even opened another one just for the contest. He was obviously connected, and being in Los Angeles, had a late-night advantage of three hours on me. Each time I would pull ahead, he would pip me just enough to piss me off. I would have to do something pretty drastic to overtake his fierce determination. So I did. I hired this man…

If you died at the hands of this man, it was probably just business. Probably.

It’s more fair to say he volunteered as I could never afford him, but his name is Carl Norton and he’s my very successful uncle who lives in Houston, Texas. Once a celebrated attorney, he now runs several printing companies and is an expert coin trader. He’s also a very competitive person, as you might have guessed. Kind and caring to those he loves, if you happen to wind up his enemy, you may come to wish you’d never met him. Needless to say but I’m going to say it anyway, I felt my campaign was in very good hands.

And I was right. Were it not for his connections across the country and world, I would have floundered helplessly at the bottom of the tank with the other also-rans, feeding off Billy’s carp-scented droppings and tussling over bits of green celebrity algae. But my uncle’s efforts were, to say the last, tireless. When I arrived at work early in the morning, he was already sending me emails with updates on who had voted for me and what they were planning to do to help me get more votes. Keep in mind that Texas is one hour behind New Jersey, but there was nothing “behind” about his methods. Before I knew it, I was reading well-wishes from people whose names I couldn’t hope to pronounce, many of them from China. I was blown away, and the feeling that I needed to now work harder came over me like a tidal wave.

So, I began to visit the various blog forums I frequent asking for help. I sought the support of sports fans and writers alike, even promising editing assistance for one group––a promise I’m still fulfilling and will be for some time. Yet, no matter how large a lead I enjoyed before turning in for the night, by morning we were again neck and neck, with me playing “catch up”. Since the contest lasted the entire month of January, it was more of a marathon than a sprint, and as my uncle and I sought more votes in every nook and cranny we could find, I knew our legs were beginning to tire. Still, we refused to give up, and our busy lives––as demanding as they were and still are––would have to share our strength. Every time it felt too much to fight, the feeling of what it would be like to lose at this point was a far grimmer prospect.

And here’s where I need to pause. There’s a much larger story here, and it needs to be told. You see, my uncle just recently got married to one of the most beautiful people on this planet or any other, and it just so happens she’s been battling ovarian cancer for the last few years. Our entire family really love Shouling (our American spelling of Xaioling), and she returns the favor with every opportunity. It’s unthinkable how such a horrible disease could threaten to take her away from us, and yet, to see her––sorry, “see” isn’t the right word; one can only “behold” Shouling––one wouldn’t be criticized to think that cancer was more a blessing than a curse. She always looks terrific, and her spirit in our company is palpably positive. Shouling is one of those people who seems to be always shining light on those around her. To see her with my uncle is a joy, and their laughter together rarely ceases. It is, in every way, the stuff of great literature. For now, this simple photo will have to do…

Carl and Shouling Norton taking a time out in London.

It is hardly important that I didn’t win the little contest that became something bigger before I knew it. What is important––to me, at least––is how selflessly hard my uncle and Shouling worked so that I might have a shot (okay, I’m sure my uncle had some personal pride invested, but that’s one of the greatest things about him). In between half-day long visits to MD Anderson for Shouling’s check-ups and treatments, and reports ranging from hopeful to disappointing to heart-wrenching, and at times, despair, they kept the love alive not just for each other, but for me. To say I was inspired would barely cover it. In truth––with how it touched my family and all those emails of support from people I most likely will never, ever meet––I was changed.

So, had I won scary stud of the year, I would have been able to reward the efforts of some very special folks with perhaps a page on a blog and maybe even more news of industry interest (I was contacted by a literary manager during the contest who had read my interview on the Pretty-Scary site and to whom I have since sent some of my work). But the lasting affects of having participated would still have outweighed any direct spoils. As I write this, I’m filled with gratitude for all of those who voted for me, in particular my Uncle Carl and Shouling, and all of their friends so far, far away. Thank you, from the bottom of my not-so-scary, and somewhat studly, heart.

One last thing before you go. Please visit the website for The Ovarian Cancer National Alliance and help me return the favor. Any amount will do to help fight this truly scary disease. Finally, today’s inspiration comes from this blind Chinese boy’s rendition of a beautiful Mongolian song. I can’t find out who he is, so if anyone knows his name, I’d love to learn it.

]]> http://scottstories.com/2010/02/05/had-i-won-scary-stud-of-the-year/feed/ 9 scottyus http://scottstories.com/2009/12/22/where-ive-been-2/ http://scottstories.com/2009/12/22/where-ive-been-2/#comments Tue, 22 Dec 2009 18:13:52 +0000 scottyus http://scottstories.com/?p=2144 ]]>

Hello, chaps and chappettes. Time for a year ending thingamapost to placehold my wordpress account before they kick me off for lolligagging. Truth be told––and those of you who know me already know this––I’ve been attacked by many projects at once. Those of you who really know me also know that I tend to check out from the world when embroiled in a number of creative adventures, and I’ve come to find that includes online worlds, as well. Sure, I supply my share of comments in this forum or that blog but when it comes to concentrating on reportage of the more personal variety, I tend to leave it go. The idea overwhelms me a bit, and I’m sure you’ll see why very soon.

Novels –– I’ve completed what really feels like a polished edit for sWitch. I’ve queried it around, gotten some positive feedback and some garden-variety rejections. Next up: get it to print so I can send it around in its complete form (I think of it as an art piece of sorts, so it has to be framed) and create a website for it. I’m thinking of using social networks to create a naughty buzz. I feel I’ve written something the likes of which you’re not likely to find at your local bookstore, and I’ve decided to make that an asset rather than an obstacle. You don’t get the chance to review your own work in a query, and to be honest it’s not really my style. Still, I’d like to take this opportunity to say that sWitch is challenging, smart, fun, scary and not afraid to push all of your dirty buttons. Who knows, if it becomes cultishly popular in the next year, maybe I’ll work up an illustrated coffee table version that will offend and delight your guests in equal measure. Or perhaps I’ll edit a trailer for the outrageous film it’s begging to be. My ultimate dream is for people to throw “sWitch Parties” where everyone dresses like a suburban square save a few sexy, paganistic touches and dances to lounge music while eating pentagram cookies. Can you dig it, man? Anyway, also coming soon is Square One –– a science fiction novel about the rediscovery of humankind by our own cybernetic creations centering on the most unlikely love story of all time against an all-too-familiar sounding rebellion. Notes are being taken with the first chapter not far off in the horizon.

Screenplays –– I’m still querying Shelf Life and am considering a few fledgling filmmakers to send it to. I’ve given some thought to making this one, as well. Since becoming pretty handy with my relatively new Canon XH A1s digital video camera, the idea to shoot something for a festival has greatly appealed. I write like a filmmaker, so why not take the next step? Ditto for Welcome to Cydonia, which needs making in a bad way. Cape May is still waiting, and you don’t keep an old girl like that waiting for long.

Other writing projects –– my animated vignette The Ballade of Haunted Hill will hopefully be completed sometime early in the new year thanks to the extraordinary efforts of my wonderfully talented collaborateur and sometime tea lady Teodora Parvanova (Soon to be Teodora Jones, which is probably the coolest name since Cleopatra Jones). She and I are also working on an animated TV series that we’ll be entering into a European animation contest. The story is based on an old Bulgarian Fable of sorts about an incorrigible young boy who finds his heart after losing his head in hell and it’s pretty rad in an Alice in Wonderland kind of way. And if you’re wondering, yes, finally getting my big break with an animated TV series after collaborating with a Bulgarian animator I met over the Internet by answering her “ad” for a writer is exactly how I envisioned my career path to go. All kidding aside, Teddy’s a delightful gem with a bright future and it’s been educational and fun to work with her. Whatever comes of our projects, I’m already proud as punch to have created what we have and hope to continue our partnership long into the future.

Music –– because there’s still a little time left between working, eating and sleeping, in addition to gigging and embarking on various projects with my band Surrounded By Idiots I’ve been putting my solo acoustic act together and am available for hire come the new year. It’s been an embarrassing amount of fun to get serious about––not only writing new songs and finding my identity as an acoustic artist––but honing my guitar skills. Most of my weekend is taken up playing and rehearsing and if you’re interested in learning more, head to my website and check out my artist list (which is constantly growing).

TV/Web Productions –– for the past few months I’ve been developing a cooking/reality show called “Table 42 with Chef Darryl Harmon” that takes place at The Water Works Restaurant in Philadelphia. Chef creates special dishes for a lucky couple who have been selected to dine at the famous “Table 42″ where over 300 wedding proposals have taken place as well as all sorts of other special moments. For more info on that, check out the website and look us up on Facebook. Shooting is scheduled to begin next month and we’re hoping to host a premier party at The Water Works for Valentine’s Day. Forks and fingers crossed we’re able to pull it off. So watch all spaces and keep an eye on your HDTV sets, as the table is set for us to be there, too.

And that, folks, is all the time I can afford to give you. It doesn’t mean I don’t love you, it just means you’re a few pegs down the list. Hey, at least you’re on the list, you ungrateful, time-stealing, bas–just keeding. Allow me to leave you with one of the most beautiful folk guitar performances I have ever seen and a song I hope to include in my repertoire. Ladies and gentlemen, Jesse Winchester singing Sham-A-Ling-Dong-Ding on Elvis Costello’s excellent Sundance Channel series “Spectacle“.

I agree, Neko. Have the best damn holiday ever, everyone. Peace to you all.

First, let me apologize for the long gaps between posts. I’m editing a book which has left my eyes and brain bacon sizzly, and I’m only able to focus on things like sports and Real Chance of Love 2 at night. Occasionally I’m able to squeeze in an episode or two of Real World/Road Rules: The Ruins, The Biggest Loser and So You Think You Can Dance, but––

Hmm? Sorry? Did I hear you say something? No? Okay, let’s move along.

Once the Expo opened up its arms to me, I felt alive and free to express my true self and tore through its fabulous layout like a flimsy blouse. Wait, let’s try that again––once I began moving around the many interesting booths at the Festival of Fear end of the floor, the patience I managed to display throughout my long journey was finally rewarded. Among the prized attractions was nightmare photographer Joshua Hoffine‘s modest booth that really should have been at least as prominent as the one where you could take photos with a few actors hired to look like none of the characters in “True Blood”. Below, please find one of his latest unpublished works that he rolled out for those who had made the trip.

Josh himself wasn’t there when I stopped by, but I pledged to come back when he was and have him autograph a print. Please check out his blog when you get the chance (a sequence of photos documenting the creation of the shot above is among some of the cool things you’ll find there). Trust me, you won’t be disappointed––which is more than can be said for me an hour or so later, but let’s keep moving, k?

The next order of business was to have a look at the row of celebs set up on stages that made them look a little like judges for an AKC dog show. If this was to make us feel like properly leashed bitches, I’d say for the most part it worked. The majority of the esteemed guests were relatively easy to access, but the line for Bruce Campbell might have been the line to receive properly sterilized hand release such was its length and width. You almost couldn’t make out the row of judges behind it unless you cut through. Among them were Mary “Snap a Pic without Paying for it and Get Sent Out the Air Lock” Mcdonnell , Udo “Yes, I’m Drunk, So What?” Kier, Linda “C’mon, Terminator Was a Hundred Years Ago and I Don’t Believe in Plastic Surgery” Hamilton, Tom “You Know Anyone Else Who’s This Famous for Making People Look like Linda Hamilton” Savini, and lastly, the woman who inaugurated my prepubescent formative years and is therefore responsible for why I’ve traveled all this way, Barbara “I’m Signing as Fast as My Arthritis Will Let Me” Steele.

Erin Grey on planet Prince.

Please, good readers, remember that we here at ScottStories make it a habit of exaggerating the truth for comic benefit. I assure you the luminaries I mentioned above are more than worthy of their elite status for both their bodies of work, and in most cases, their ageless charisma and beauty. To be totally honest, I’ve rarely seen any of the starlets at these conventions look better than they do in person. That includes Erin Grey, Dee Wallace Stone, Linnea Quigley––the list goes on and on. And I must add that, completely separate from their star power, is almost always an inherent star quality that only a few people in this world are lucky enough to possess. Whether this is me being sincere or just a good doggie, I really can’t say. But it’s how I feel, and having breathed their air for approximately one entire month, I believe I speak from an informed position regardless of how fleeting it was.

Sadly, as wonderful and beautiful as Barbara looked, yours truly never got the chance to meet her. This is one instance where the fault is all my own. I did observe her from a satisfyingly stalkery vantage point before approaching and what I saw gave me pause. Ms. Steele was pre-signing photos at a blistering pace and rarely looked up when someone approached. The scene reminded me of one of those carnival freak show exhibits where some shill in front sells the lark and blocks your view as you try to get a good look at the drooling “wonder” behind him. In this case, the shill was a convention volunteer who collected the loot and received you as a potential threat. It’s not always their fault as they’re dealt a lot of responsibility, and in this case, his was to protect the one woman that really deserved her likeness on a denomination of horror currency. So after deciding my title of Mr. August was too lowly to warrant eye contact, I took one last look at the fabulous star of The Mask of Satan, silently wished her well, and went off to find the next bit of royalty on my list: Max Brooks.

Max is the son of Anne Bancroft and Mel Brooks. That alone is enough to warrant a quick “hello”. What makes him worthy of braving hordes of the unwashed is he’s the author of the excellent The Zombie Survival Guide and the utterly stupendous World War Z, the latter being adapted for the screen with plans to be released next year. Earlier this year, I purchased the book at a New York City Borders Book Store where he had recently done a signing, and was fortunate to find a signed copy in a pile of those unsigned and for sale at the regular price. Now, I’m not a rabid autograph hound despite the impression I might be giving here, but Max lifts my authorial spirits. To know that someone of such prestigious stock applies his very prodigious talents to horror––and zombie horror, no less––makes me feel like I’ve got the right planet after all. I suppose you could say he’s an inspiration, so when I learn where his booth is from one of the Rue Morgue staff (who was kind enough to work up a map of the floor for me), my professional bones grow sturdy. It would be no problem navigating the masses to find him at the other end of the expo. No one could explain why he’d been relegated to the comic section, but no matter: I was on a spiritual mission. So, onward I forged, map in hand…

I walked for an HOUR. That’s three-thousand and six-hundred seconds of weaving in and out of lines, scouring booths and dodging supervillains. Alas, Max was nowhere to be found. There wasn’t even a sign for him. I asked a comic book artist where he might be and the guy looked like he wanted to punch me. “Do you know how many people have asked me that in the last ten minutes?” he squeaked. “In the meantime, why don’t you look at my work, some of which can be found under the bag you’ve rested on my very expensive rental table.” I had to admit he had a point, so I looked at his stuff, found it well done, and walked away. As an aside, ever been hit with a pencil? I guess the odds of getting the eraser end are pretty much the same as the pointy end, right? Or is there a technique to assure one or the other? I’m off to experiment but if anyone knows, see “comments” below. Cheers.

At this point, I’ve worked up a savage appetite. Unaware there was a food court accessible via teleportation (or so I assume since it was hidden so well they might have been enriching uranium), I pushed against the tide in search of an exit.

The above photo should give you some impression of what confronted me, but fails to capture the octopussian layout of the Expo center wherein every escalator looks the same and every door leads your sorry ass back to a giant, rampaging Pikachu. I literally found myself outside by accident, as they had closed the way I came in due to something no one could effectively explain. Once out in the open downtown Toronto air, I walked a few blocks until I found a bar/restaurant showing the Arsenal game. The place was called The Loose Moose, and its name perfectly described how I felt. Minus the moose part, probably. Although I felt like I could eat one.

Food, beer, and Arsenal FC up 0-1 against Man United: these are things that, if experienced collectively, can make for a powerful, nirvanaesque sensation. In fact, I was in no hurry to return to the madness of the convention despite having achieved exactly zero percent of my goals. But I would soon be introduced to someone who had actually achieved a lower percentage, and he would be the man who’s demo reel I posted earlier. Andy Powell never even got in. His table, paid for and on which he would have surely enthralled his share of conventioneers, remained empty. For all either of us knew, people were being sent there to meet Max Brooks. But due to the expo center being filled to maximum capacity, neither of us would ever find out. To be honest, Andy could have easily been added to my goodness list as he was one entertaining chap with mind-boggling talent. It didn’t even matter that I missed Max, Josh and Barbara or that Arsenal ended up throwing away their lead, I got the opportunity to talk shop and break bread (the yeast, hops and barley kind, mind) with a real professional in a great city and the night was only just beginning. Fair shakes, Toronto, and cheers to you, Mr. Powell.

The only thing left to do was get my ass to the official party of the Rue Morgue Festival of Fear, otherwise known as the Dance of the Deadites. So after dropping off my fliers and throwing a little water on my face, I left the hotel, grabbed a cab, and directed my driver to my destination. You know how you can tell when someone is a really good person just by the vibe he or she exudes? That was my driver. And he certainly went on to prove it. It didn’t matter a whit that he had never heard of Revival Nightclub or that he couldn’t even pronounce it, he was determined to aid me in my travels. So we drove around Toronto for awhile in a nice tour that only occasionally repeated itself, and he made several phone calls to a number of colleagues, each with their own interpretation of the locale. I tried to get him to let me off so that I could grab another cab, but dammit wasn’t he so obsessed with helping me that it almost seemed like he was pretending not to hear. That’s just the way he rolled, I guess. Personally, I felt paying the extra fare for such a regal demonstration of personal responsibility was more than worth it. You can’t buy that kind of karma. Well, actually, here’s hoping you can.

You’ve already seen a video of the band Psychocharger, and that’s pretty much what you got once they let you in and the beers got flowing. What you can’t see, however, is the true, horror-loving atmosphere of everyone there and how sweet the most evil-looking people can be. Udo made an appearance and did his drunken best to add a touch of class to the festivities, and I think I speak for everyone in attendance when I say he was terribly successful. Which is really the best way to describe the entire trip, I think. Did I get what I went there for? To some extent, I could say I did. But as I waited out another flight delay and looked through my various pieces of swag, I realized the reason I love the horror genre and all the wonderfully frightening things that come with it is partially because you rarely ever do. In fact, much of the delight comes from the unexpected and the challenges so often attendant with the experience. I suppose the ultimate question is, “will I go again?”

You know what…I don’t know. But I’ll say this: my Stud of the Month reign may be over, but my love for the world of horror grows stronger and deeper with every effort I make to know it. There might be a lesson in there somewhere. You may choose to look for one or you may not, but like horror’s greatest monsters, chances are one will find you.

And lastly, this is for you Joshua.