The Good, The Bad, And The Reasonably Competent

"Until it is demonstrated, one forgets the really great difference that exists between the merely competent amateur and the very expert professional." -- Linus

A few weeks ago, a Classic Peanuts comic strip ran in the Sunday paper featuring Snoopy and Linus playing a game of catch with a little red ball.

Linus throws the ball, Snoopy walks out casually and retrieves it, then spits it out into Linus' hands.

Linus then throws the ball again as Snoopy watches dispassionately. He, again, walks out, retrieves the ball, and adds a flourish by spitting the ball out, then turns around and bounces the ball of the heel of his foot and kicks it back into the hands of Linus.

It is then Linus states the unspoken (and oftentimes unseen) obvious.

I have my own similar version of this philosophical nugget by stating "it's hard to know what is 'good,' but it's easy to know what is 'bad' when it comes to all forms of artistic expression."

To be honest, I've been called "brilliant," "talented," and "a genius," and all that.

But, frankly, I don't believe a word of it. And the instant I do is the day I lose my objectivity. I also don't consider myself an amateur by any means, although I will refer to myself as simply "competent."

Now I've seen both the competent and professional in action. I was once approached by someone who is a competent amateur (at best) and I've approached the professionals.

The truly professional are still writing papers and theses in the university system, but the truly talented I've seen are the ones who are not writing. (You know who you are.)

Then there are those who are amateurs, and nowhere near truly competent. Sure, they can string the words together in a coherent form, and one day they could very well elevate themselves to competence, but they've listened to the praise their works received and went forward far too soon.

It's sort of like Trevor Kane's statement in Jimmy Buffett's novel "Where is Joe Merchant?" Her quote follows:

"That is bad writing at its best," she muttered aloud. "They all come down here thinking they're Hemingway. That's what's wrong with the fucking world these days. Nobody wants to put in the time it takes to be legendary. Mythology is not fast food."

-Trevor Kane, pgs 118-119

Jimmy, and Trevor of course, are absolutely correct.

And this person I speak of came to me approximately this time last year, having tracked me down through various means, proclaiming he'd just published his first novel, heard I was pretty much "the best" (in other words, "the only") screenwriter in town, and wanted my input on adapting his first release for the big screen.

My first response was "how'd this guy find me?"

I ignored his written request, too concerned over having been "found" when I prefer to maintain a certain amount of solitude out here in these vast stretches of land. I'm only well known in the local city, and only one person there has the slightest amount of contact information on me: my home email address.

Given this, I was truly concerned this was some kind of scam, because I certainly don't encourage these kinds of happenings.

Then I called my contact in town. Well, that was the starting point. He stated everything I'd expect him to: that I enjoy my "privacy," that I rarely head towards town (unless necessary), and other precautionary tactics, but he did not give out any specifics of where I live or such.

Then this recently published author must've performed a background search (the potential of which thoroughly annoyed me), and found my mailing address.

At least he didn't find the phone number. It is an unlisted number, after all.

But his letter was polite and, after conversing with my contact, I let it all slide. I officially began communicating with him by means of email, and said I'd buy his book and let him know what I thought.

It took some hunting, but I found it -- a self published work that barely scratched the 100 page mark.

Uh oh.

I read it anyways.

Actually, that's not true - I let a friend read it first to see what she thought, and then I'd read it.

Her opinion of it was...less than glowing.

I still read the book, ignoring her comments, because I might've seen it differently.

After finishing the final page a few days later I realized something terrible: my friend was absolutely correct on every count.

There was very, very little going on in this novel.

The Prologue was the best of it, yet it lacked historical accuracy, a very troubling thought to me as he proclaimed the "Trail of Tears" ended at the Arkansas River which it, in fact, did not.

He'd relocated the final stop for dramatic effect, and then tied it in with a few other historically somewhat accurate moments in the location's recent memory, and tried to blend it all together in what became a maudlin attempt at redeeming the city for its past sins.

The biggest strike against this was the fact that it was, by every stretch of the phrase, a "creative writing project." It read like a collegiate assignment, it had all the vitality of one, and it garnered the absolute praise of those who he shared a class with, such as "it reads like a movie," which is, of course, what led him to me.

I'll give him this much: the basic elements were there. It just needed fleshing out. A damned good fleshing out, over the course of maybe a year, and not the treatment he'd given his pet project, which consisted of just a month.

I know this because it said so on his website. He seemed incredibly proud of this fact.

Knowing all this, and the fact that "were-kangaroos" showed up at the end of his "novel," I still sat down and worked out the structure of what the movie might've been. I also took to the local book shops, searching out volumes on Native American magick, rituals, and culture knowing full well that his 100 pages was, as it was written, take up forty minutes of time on screen.

I also explained this to him diplomatically my concerns were these: it's a start, it needs to be fleshed out, but to be perfectly honest, no one wants to see a sort of "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" offering in, of all places, Fort Smith Arkansas.

He replied diplomatically as well, stating that he didn't need a ghost writer, would share the script writing credit with me 60\40, and that I'd get the appropriate amount of residuals should the movie get made.

Things went downhill from there quickly.

Meanwhile he was going forward with the other two parts of his written trilogy, and I had a decision to make: I could devote all my time and creative energy to someone who hasn't fully reached the status he believes he's at and work within his parameters (while not getting paid for it), or I could just cut him loose and get back to my own work that needed a sizable amount of attention itself.

Given all I'd learned about him, his project, his level of expertise, I decided it would just be best to bid an amicable goodbye now and get on with my life, which is what I did.

I also then went to my contact in town and said "please, don't ever send him to me again"

Some time passed and I managed to track down his eventual sequel, and I thumbed through it briefly. It was thicker, nearly 200 pages, but it suffered the same faults as the first installment.

I have not searched for the third.

Sometime during this entire mess I tracked down the publishing house that accepted his manuscripts -- it was a self publishing house (which is fine), but when I told my friend this (the one that had read the first book), she laughed out loud and posed the question "he paid them to publish it?! That's the literary equivalent of tying a pork chop around your neck so the dog will play with you!"

And she was right.

But I tried to approach the whole situation with more optimism, I gave it a C Average rating, saying "this part here was very good," "this part needs work," and so on.

I also suggested he'd gotten ahead of himself by not waiting, and deliberately taking the time to polish it.

He wanted none of that, and continued to listen to those who said it was truly monumental, and he must've felt he was doing me a favor by saying he'd share the workload and the salary with me.

All one can really say about this is "it takes more than a month to write a book."

Also, don't listen to those who praise you. The reverse can be true for those who offer you constant criticism, but this seems to be more of a gray area at times, unfortunately.

I look back at the those projects I worked on in my creative writing course ten years ago, and double over in pain at the sight of them.

I'm still working on projects I'd declared "finished" five to seven years ago, knowing quite well that I can make them better, and that I must before I promote them.

Ultimately, I am the only one who can judge my work the most effectively, and that's only because I can say "the story is finished, there are no more potholes to fill in."

Once I fix those, then the general population can claim it's brilliant or that it sucks because, frankly, it's all subjective.

I won't say my works are good, but I can say (at the very least) they're not bad. And that is the highest self criticism I can offer.

I've had the great fortune of being made to take the time to truly work on something. Fate forced me to stay patient, stay objective, and I once railed against it with enough anger and pressure to form diamonds out of thin air, but Fate was right and I see that now.

Thank God, too.

I would've self destructed if I'd made it to Hollywood ten years ago.

The Hitchhiker's Guide To Hollywood

I hope Douglas Adams isn't spinning in his grave as I borrow the common phrase his great novel helped coin, but I feel I must say that there is one unlikely text among all those that I've read which serves as possibly the greatest lessons and provides the best inside information about the goings on behind the scenes at Hollywood.

I have it as a First Edition, when it was published back in 1994.

Over at Mania, The Movie Lord and I have made mention how we absolutely swear by this text.

And this oddly informative test is none other than William Shatner's "Movie Memories."

Yes, that Shatner.

Kirk himself.

Why was Trek I such a disaster, even if it was so profitable? What famous comedian was to be cast in Star Trek 4? Just what the hell was Bill thinking when he came up with the plot for Trek 5?

These are a few questions that are answered, but they're just the edge of the tip of the iceberg.

There's lots of studio glad handing, back stabbing, political maneuvering, people being fired, people quitting, people being rehired and others being unceremoniously kicked aside to make room at the top so the talent could get on with it.

And that's just "Trek 1."

But it is exceptionally informative, and should be read by anyone who wants to go out to the Dream Factory so they'll know beforehand that dreams are pre-formed and manufactured.

It really is a cautionary tale, unfortunately.

Sex In Cinema

Disclaimer: My intentions for this entry are purely for exploration of this phenomenon. I will likely use naughty humor, but hopefully I won't get too naughty.

I simply don't want to be Flagged as having Inappropriate Material(s) on my blog so that the warning page comes up.

Okay, so we're all adults.

Time we had The Talk, don't you think?

Sex in cinema is a multi-faceted thing. It can be naughty (Monty Python's The Meaning of Life), it can be really naughty (Zack and Miri Make A Porno) or it can be passionate (Cruel Intentions) or meaningful (Anything Else).

With sex comes nudity...or at least implied nudity. And here we find a double standard, as pointed out to me several years ago by a female cousin of mine while we and a few friends were at my place watching "Interview With A Vampire."

"Oh sure, the woman's always naked, but never the guy!" she declared.

And she was right, for the most part. Hollywood is, ahem, "gun shy."

For the most part, at least...

"Porky's" comes to mind. That delightful, rough around the edges naughty high school comedy that showed a room full of teenaged boys stripped down to nothing as they awaited their turn with Cherry Forever.

As a side note, that's one of the funniest scenes in the movie. A further side note, which should be added, herein states that the "Have You Seen This Penis?" conversation is, arguably, the funniest scene in the whole damned series.

I can think of very, very few instances where the lower half of a guy has been displayed.

Of course there's Jason Mewes' two full frontal scenes in "Zack and Miri," but that's also in the name of fun. Plus I secretly suspect Mewes' had been wanting to show off his goods since "Clerks II."

An implied display of such things was recently seen in "Beowulf." What Zemeckis did was meant to be convey a sense of seriousness, but it was kind of silly to me.

Beowulf is going to fight Grendel naked. Sure, I believe that.

Show me one warrior who'll actually strip down and risk having his beloved weapon severed by some grisly means and I'll be the first volunteer to reattach it with super glue and a staple gun.

As Bob Z's camera would swing around to follow the action (at a safe CGI distance not to reveal anything), it would always place itself to where a hand, a sword, or a vessel containing some kind of ale would be conveniently in the way.

Beowulf was reduced to "Austin Powers."

But those opening sequences in "Powers" were hilarious. Beowulf was laughable and wasn't meant to be.

I figure they'd gone to all that trouble to undress Beowulf, they might as well just show it all, at least in the Unrated Editions.

There are so few visual displays of various male's southern regions that I can really only think of what I've mentioned above. But should one ask me about a naked female, and it's not so matter of listing movies I've seen, it's a matter of knowing where to begin.

"American Pie" is most obvious to me, of course, but there's an infinite number of girls who've shed their clothes in various movies, be they serious dramas or about horny teenagers.

While male centered movies show sex as a series of headboard shaking wham-wham-wham up against the bedroom wall, the ladies try something decidedly different. Enter "Twilight."

This is where attempts at overt sex fail, especially if you've read the book.

The book is a sensual collection of lightly placed kisses and states of longing. The movie is the same, but midway through there's a moment where hormones seem to take control while Bella strips her pants halfway off and Edward is on top of Bella....and then nothing happens.

I sat in that theater going "well, that was a waste."

It was anti-climactic, and didn't belong in the movie. In terms of dramatic tension, you cannot go halfway, only to pull back and then have a montage of Edward and Bella laughing and talking after completely failing to have sex.

Yeah, it's a PG-13 movie, and thirteen year old girls really don't need to see Robert Pattinson rolling around naked (or half naked) with the one girl they identify most with. But, outside of that, the dramatic tension is, essentially, a supreme letdown.

Bella and Edward could've still been intimate, and it should've been in the same sensual manner of the book.

But if that happened, the Mormons would've shouted and screamed at how we Hollywood degenerates have nothing but sex on the mind, no matter how sensual it was.

There's another double standard that is very slowly breaking down, and it stems from the previous statements about how Hollywood is "gun shy."

You know, I know it, and Heath Ledger would refer to it as "Brokeback Mountain."

Another side note, because I like it, says that Mel Gibson didn't want Heath to do it because of it's controversial nature, and Heath did it for it. Of course, Mel is...well...an alleged anti-Semite with possible strains of conservative Christianity in him.

I'm convinced Jesus is giving Heath a hug for what he did in that movie.

If Hollywood is gun shy about one guy, then two rolling about in bed is even more forbidden, though I can't really figure out why. You could place two air headed bimbos in bed and entire rolls of film will be dedicated to the scene.

I'm not in the least opposed to air headed bimbos rolling in the hay, I just expect fair play.

Certain sectors that are post products of the Sexual Revolution and the era of Free Love are awfully repressed. And by certain sectors, I mean exclusively and exceptionally arrogant heterosexual males that are scared of one thing: that they might like it.

For me, there are few taboos left, especially after witnessing one particular scene in "Last Tango In Paris" where Marlon Brando requests his female friend...uh...well, she unlocks his back door, and that's all I'll say.

Then there's the film called "The Dreamers," which makes use of cinematic fandom and sexual liberation in certain particular scenes: a pair of siblings (if I remember correctly) like to re-enact old movies and the other has to name that film, or suffer a punishment.

One scene has her enacting an old scene, he cannot recall, so she has her brother kneel down in front of an old picture and masturbate to it.

Did I mention all this is unfolding while another male is watching? Yeah, I left that out intentionally. This third young man keeps a picture of the female in next to his "heart," (penis) which is discovered when she undresses him in the kitchen while her brother watches.

She and the third young man proceed to have sex while he goes about his business.

In independent and foreign films, sex is more overtly displayed.

I once watched a series of short films from France that dealt with the subject matter in very, very unique terms.

There's also the much whispered about movie that was called "The Brown Bunny," which featured a scene between the lead actress actively performing oral sex on the male lead who served as director as well. Some would call this porn, but that is debatable.

I say that because I'm quite familiar with adult films as well. Digital Playground has long since held my attention, but their series "Pirates" and "Pirates II" have captured mainstream attention for being the biggest adult production in history.

I still haven't seen them...yet.

But the fact something like this can be accomplished in the adult realm says something, not about the company or the genre, but about the power of its production: it is being taken seriously, and I even hear that "Pirates II" was screened at an upscale college in Los Angeles one evening.

People may have...uh...came for the sex (no pun intended) and stayed for the movie.

And I'm no stranger to displaying the intimate moments of a character in my own works. No sense shying away from it, although I admit sometimes it's gotten away from me.

In the spring of 2007, after having seen a documentary on the History Channel called "Vampire Secrets Revealed," I determined that there was a great story there as part of it dealt with the part of culture who refers to themselves as vampires, and they participate in the exchange of energy, not blood.

I devised an incredibly seductive young man who had the power to not only topple those with three times his strength, he could break their barriers down with a simple touch of flesh upon flesh and then, if he so chose to do, he'd initiate an intimate relationship with them, and feed upon their sexual and spiritual energies (i.e. the kundalini) during lovemaking.

This character was meant to be bisexual, as having no real preference, but when I introduced the character of a male escort, my lead decided he liked the handsome young man more than anyone else, including the two girls he'd had sex with simultaneously in a previous scene.

The escort was just there for this young man to feed upon, which is what my original intention for the relationship was going to be. Then, damn it, my vampire fell in love with someone that preferred girls, yet shared his body with this young man repeatedly.

Even though it wasn't what I'd expected, it did provide a key dramatic point needed which I hadn't counted on that changed the story considerably and made it better than I'd originally envisioned.

"Twilight" fans will hate it, I'm sure.

And so will Hanso, who also despises "Twilight," but that's okay as well. I write only for myself, not for the world. And I've always managed to gather a following, so I'm not worrying about popularity issues.

Whew.

Damn this has been a long entry. My word processors tells me I'm at Page 5 of 5. That's my clue to wrap it up.

The point here is, basically, we're awfully repressed these days, yet our past was somewhat much more explicit.

You can have nudity, you can have overt sexual behavior, and you can cross into realms that haven't been explored. You can and you should, cinematically speaking, as long as it's necessary for dramatic reasons, or even if it's just for a laugh.

But the key term is "necessary." Throwing in a scene just for the hell of it (outside of comedy) is pointless, and will likely end up on the cutting room floor, or under the heels of the MPAA.

As for me, I see challenges set up in the form of barriers being rebuilt.

Let's break 'em down again because, for me, it's a lot of fun to make people think.

Visual Experiments Of Light And Darkness

In my family, I'm the one that's given the role of capturing moments of time.

I'm often handed a digital camera or a video camera, but whatever the occasion, I'm the one called on to make the memories solid.

And I really don't know why.

It wasn't like I had an unfulfilled desire to become a photographer, but as time passed I slowly realized that the art of imagery makes up a healthy percentage of what happens in a Hollywood studio.

Then, and only then, did I become somewhat interested in capturing life as it happened, wherever it happened.

So that's how I became interested in framing and stealing images from the world around me by placing them on my Olympus' memory card.

In fact, the profile image you see on here is one of my experiments into amateur photography. It is a soft time lapse image of a novelty lamp I have here in my bedroom, and fits my chosen handle for here and Mania quite well, I've felt.

I've also gathered a small portfolio of black and white images that I've taken over the last two years that I'm particularly fond of, and since I am currently unaware of how to commercially viable they may\may not be, I've tended to keep them locked away.

Until now.

I'll a few selections below for you to (hopefully) enjoy.

But when it became clear to me that I was devoting serious creative energy to this field, I started grabbing published works of photography to see what had been done, and what was possible.

Granted some of these books were...well...let's just say "homoerotic," in nature, but it was obvious to me this particular person behind his lens had his own style, and his obvious preference for a particular set of models.

But even it was informative. I won't turn away from something if it's informative, or sets an example of what can be accomplished.

Besides, a Humanities instructor of mine once defined the difference between "naked" and nude" when it came to the arts through the last several centuries. In the arts, they're nude, not shamefully naked with the intent of exposing their naughty bits.

--Updated--

Well after a lot of fumbling about with posting the images directly into the blog, nothing really worked as it should've.

Photobucket's never failed me before, but for some reasons the images are getting cropped and I'm not currently sure of how to fix this glitch, so I'm just going to paste the direct links in and let you find your way to the images themselves.

And when I figure out what went wrong, I'll fix this sad mess.

Beyond The Forest

The Great Tree

Faerie's Waterfall

Sock Monkeys

Shadow Hunting

Old World Stories And Beliefs

I live in a very rural area, yet I'm not one of these people.

Outsiders (and some insiders) look at this state as the land that time forgot.

Well, it is to be perfectly honest.

But I see it differently: I have sloping hills, long green pastures, ponds, creeks, dense forests, plus I'm arguably in the foothills to the Ozarks.

If anything, I'm not in a land of backwards people: I'm in Middle-Earth. But I'm fortunate enough to have most of the various landscapes all wrapped up in a roughly fifty mile radius (or less) region that encircles me.

I have plains to the west, valleys to the south, high mountains to the north, and this particular area has rising and falling hillsides that are pretty much everywhere, as are the untouched woodlands.

There are, as Bilbo describes to Gandalf, forests, fields, little rivers.

I might as well be Frodo, living at peace in the Shire, hearing of tales of the outer lands but being quite content to stay here as well.

I'm also the only one here who would proclaim I have no need of the six (6!!!) churches in my very tiny community. If anything, I'm closer to being a follower of paganism.

And its in paganism I find my next major project will take place (although it won't happen for a few years.)

I say to myself that one day I will buy a house in Ireland, lock myself away there for a year in an attempt to absorb the culture, the language, and the old world beliefs of the people, and begin writing a collection of old fashioned fairy tales.

Then there's the gaming geek in me that is gathering unused sources around me that would make for an epic video game story. Such sources include Caitlin and John Matthew's "Encyclopedia of Celtic Wisdom - A Celtic Shaman's Sourcebook," and Pierre Dubois "Great Encyclopedia of Faeries - Secrets Revealed."

But that's just two sources. I will need more.

I say this is for an epic video game for a reason - I could take all this material and make it into another movie series (as I'm doing with the six part "Interesting Times" series I'm working on), but in the last year I started returning to my gaming roots.

My dad bought me a refurbished, first generation Nintendo for my birthday, and I was able to play all my old favorite games once again that I'd been without for a good fifteen years.

I never threw away my games or such. I kept them, mostly for sentimental reasons.

But then I could play "Mega Man" again! I was finally able to beat "Zelda II - The Adventure of Link" for the first time in my life. The same goes for "StarTropics," and several others.

When this happened, I started looking around for Super Nintendo and Nintendo 64 games, and have managed to expand my gaming library considerably.

But I lost touch with the gaming world when the GameCube came out, and even more so when the Wii arrived. I'd love nothing more than to play both, and I've even bought a few strategy guides for "Zelda - Twilight Princess" and "Metroid - Prime Corruption" because, you never know, I just might be able to buy them one day.

So the Celtic mythology and such I'm researching will hopefully, one day, be used for a massive gaming project.

I'm going to end this particular entry with a song I'm quite fond of that usually comes on the New Age music channel, Spa, on XM\Sirius Radio.

All Souls Night
by Loreena McKennitt

Bonfires dot the rolling hillsides
Figures dance around and around
To drums that pulse out echoes of darkness
Moving to the pagan sound.

Somewhere in a hidden memory
Images float before my eyes
Of fragrant nights of straw and of bonfires
Dancing 'til the next sunrise.

I can see the lights in the distance
Trembling in the dark cloak of night
Candles and lanterns are dancing, dancing
A waltz on All Souls Night.

Figures of cornstalks bend in the shadows
Held up tall as the flames leap high
The Green Knight holds the holly bush
To mark where the Old Year passes by.

Bonfires dot the rolling hillsides
Figures dance around and around
To drums that pulse out echoes of darkness
Moving to the pagan sound.

Standing on the bridge that crosses
The river that goes out to the sea
The wind is full of a thousand voices
They pass by the bridge and me.

My Heroes Have Always Been Non-Conformists

Actually, "non-conformists" may not be completely accurate, but for now it's better than some of the alternatives I'd considered.

Hmm.

Upon further thought, I should change it. "Non conformists" is a word conformists would use. It's stale, it's bland, and reeks of the odor of those that aren't like the people who are my heroes.

"Bohemians" might be better. It certainly sounds better, and definitely is a more colorful adjective.

First came G.W. - an ex-hippie that was only partially "ex" who had long gray hair in a ponytail tied up in a rubber band even though he had long since gone bald, plus the large Santa-esque beard that he religiously shaved once a year upon the arrival of his birthday.

After that came A.F. - possibly five foot five, read headed instructor who bounded across the front of the room constantly that also adopted Spanish aliases in an attempt to get his various works published in certain Latin corners.

Then came C.J.R. - the archetypal wise old woman who, at first glance, seemed cold and strict, but was actually incredibly intelligent, vital, and despite her many contributions back to society which took up the vast majority of her time she still found time to read trashy romance novels and eat chocolate.

She's never owned a television, listens only to National Public Radio, lives in a fully refurbished house in the local historic district, plants trees, is learned in the craft of origami, is active in the local theatrical scene, a leader in a local historical society, gives tours of various haunted locations by means of the trolley system and, arrives everywhere she goes with a flourish that is unmistakable, even if it does seem to be projected from a woman of deceptive understated means.

Then there are the two truly Bohemians who are Chicago transplants that were married decades ago, came to my area, opened a pottery studio, retired some years back to the south of France, came back, and picked up where they left off.

She always wore long, flowing, second hand dresses that looked fresh from the 60's. She had an active fascination with fertility gods and goddesses, and was the epitome of a genuinely good person.

I met him once, and he was just as crazy as she, but she was far more eccentric and sought my help on technical issues while I sought hers to read and critique whatever it was I was working on at the time.
There was also J.B. - a late twenties cheerleader that dressed conservatively, yet remained her sex appeal, who had a specialty in British Literature, a sexual appetite for the young Marlon Brando, and the glorious habit of climbing on a desk and was only momentarily embarrassed when her panties were exposed to the entire classroom.

The moment, though, was wasted on a room full of female students so she thought nothing of it and continued her unusual demonstration, short black skirts and exposed underwear be damned.

She also had her fondness for Madonna and a love of singing Alanis Morissette's greatest hits in class.

Later in life, along came R.B. - a quiet soul who was widely respected among the suits all across the state, and who also had the most inventive classroom activities designed to get his students to find ways of communicating by non verbal means in an attempt to get the lot of us arranged in a straight line according to our birthdays.

He pulled it off. How we did it I still can't figure out.

This man shared my affection for Hawaiian shirts, Enya, and openly declared on several occasions he had nothing to teach me.

I still learned a lot, even if he did honestly feel he had nothing to offer me.

There were a few others I've known and greatly respected (M.G. come to mind: he had a family crest and knighthood in his blood), but I long ago promised a few I wouldn't write about them in any way, shape, or form.

Which is fine.

You wouldn't believe those stories anyways.

So my heroes have always been bohemians and other colorful characters: those that look at the world around them and actively refuse to be a part of it or even acknowledge it.

I fit in well with this group of crazies.

In fact, R.B. openly stated to me that he was glad there was one other crazy person in his class besides him.

I guess lunacy loves company, while chaos obviously needs companionship.

But we'll always need conformists - they only help to make us look that much more interesting.

That Place Where Ideas Come From

Where does a good story come from?

Well, in the case of my friends, it comes from experience. (See the "Stories To Tell...") entry on that matter.

But, in the case of fiction, they sometimes can come from anywhere.

I'm not entirely sure how I came up with the idea of "Sweet Dreams: A Sandman's Story," but I do know the condition I was in when I sketched it out:

Sick.

Very, very sick.

I'd spent the previous day with a chain smoking friend who had little to no ventilation in his small trailer, and no matter how I tried to avoid it, I caught a lungful by the end of the day.

The next morning, which was a pleasant late Summer\early Fall morning, saw me laying in bed with my windows open listening to the 90's On 9 XM Radio station.

A mid 90's dancehall tune came on, called "Sweet Dreams," by La Bouche.

The chorus went like this:

sweet dreams of rhythm and dancing
sweet dreams of passion through the night
sweet dreams are taking over
sweet dreams of dancing through the night

I then casually looked at the DirecTV display (yes, XM on DTV), read the title, and sort of just laid there a second.

"Hmm, sweet dreams."

It had obviously gotten me thinking.

Prior to all this I'd casually thought of one day doing a story about a sandman, but I never had any details and never really gave it any thought. It was just a statement.

But I rolled over, managed to grab a note pad, a pen, and while coughing up a pound or two of second hand smoke, I sketched out the most basic ideas of what would become "Sweet Dreams: A Sandman's Story."

Odd that a 90's tune should inspire this script, 'cause my real inspiration (which was at that time unknown) came from a more magical presence: 50's doo wop music, and staring up at the night sky in the very early morning (5:30) and the early evening, just after the sun had gone down and the first stars had appeared.

I'd been doing that all summer.

I'd also been paying attention to the lunar phases.

And all these notions formed an alliance in my mind and I immediately set to work writing a story about a 17 year old guy living in 1953, becoming a Sandman, and living out the rest of his life watching the modern world go by.

Of course it's a little more complicated than that, given the mares, the Egptian Mau, Kieran the other Sandman who disappears mysteriously (only to reappear just as mysteriously in the 80's), and ultimately passing the bag of sand to a younger man who really fouls things up by rejecting his new duty and puts the entire town of Twilight Place to sleep.

So, the night, music, and a sickened state of being.

That's one place where ideas come from.

There are others.

Oh yeah, I was writing this in the fall of 2007, a full year before I had even heard of Stephenie Meyer's series "Twilight." I just want to clear that up.

And, again, I can prove it to be so. Hell I only started reading "Twilight" after I saw the movie back in November.

The Great Trek Throwdown

Fights (albeit thoughtful fights) always seem to break out when the topic of J.J. Abrams' revisionist version of "Star Trek" comes to the Mania front page.

Just follow the links to mania, you'll see me, Hanso, Hobbs, and a few others getting into the act.

Part One

Part Two

--Update!--

The debate continues, although instead of being a phaser fight to the death, it marches on intelligently.

Check out the comment Hobbs' left on my mania profile page, and doubly click his avatar for the reply I posted on his profile page.

The Tao of Bartlett

If you're an up and coming screenwriter (or at least you hope you are, like me, wanting to kick open the seemingly permanently sealed shut doors of Hollywood) then you're likely aware of Bruce Bartlett's Screenwriting Tips.

His is a blog I follow, and only just recently as I only discovered it, well, just recently.

But I've known the name for a good long time now because he's the guy to contact at the Above The Line Agency out in California. His listing is among the first, if not the first, in a long list of agencies that are listed alphabetically both in published form and on the WGA Agency list.

Bartlett has stated two things I'm keeping in mind - one of which I knew, the other which is a helpful thought to have.

The first statement is to "own the room."

This is for those lucky bastards who actually get called in to promote themselves. You have to, basically, own not just yourself and all those in the room, but the room itself.

This doesn't mean "be a cocky bastard."

It means YOU GOTTA RAZZLE DAZZLE 'EM!

That, fortunately, is something I'm quite familiar with.

In the past, when I've filled in for the Humanities\Music instructor I worked for back in my collegiate days, I had to not only keep a class of unruly freshmen interested, I also had to keep their respect.

That, I must tell you, is very difficult. They're like predators, and if they get the slightest scent of fear they'll eat you alive in a second.

But I, thankfully, was born under the star sign of Leo. I'm a natural showman.

(Egomaniac some might've said a decade ago.)

But, as a sort of crazed wannabe entertainer, I tend to need to shine as bright as I can to get as many people to notice me. If I can get them to notice me, and if I can hold their attention, I can do whatever I need to do.

And these were the underhanded tactics I used to keep countless groups of freshmen & sophomores intrigued as I would climb up on the teacher's desk, walk an entire row empty desks in the classroom, jump, shout, scream, play movies on the expensive DVD theater system, and pipe various forms of modern music through the speaker systems before and after class.

I had to remind them that, not only was I one of them, I understood them. I was them once. And it always worked.

I was also called in for a few talks at my old high school by my former art teacher, who asked me to show a few of her newer students how to get things done properly. And, of course, I'd climb the desks, draw on the chalkboard, and even sing and dance if the subject called for it.

So I can own a room.

Hell, I do more than that. At times, it's like I've purchased the entire building.

The second thing Bartlett mentions is have three projects completed when you get in that room.

I have that as well: "Sweet Dreams - A Sandman's Story," "Summertime Blues," and "The Life and Times of Igor."

"Sweet Dreams" is about a young man who has his entire life taken from him at 17 due to an automobile accident, but he is reborn the very same night as a Sandman. We follow this young man from 1953 on through present day as he watches the ones he loved fade away, while joining in the nightly battles against nightmarish creatures called "mares."

In case you're wondering, this particular project involves the Starlight Guard and the Sandman's bag of magic sand, which of course served as the inspiration for this blog URL, it's description, and my handle both here and on Mania.

The Starlight Guard is group of recruited individuals who fight the mares nightly, along with the Sandmen, only these select people have no absolutely no idea they lead a different life at night. Only the Sandmen are aware of this fact.

"The Life and Times of Igor" is, simply put, a Transylvanian story gone completely bonkers.

Dr. Frankenstein, a former circus clown, gets arrested for dumping toxic waste, Igor tries to fit in by doing various odd jobs, The Wolfman is part Jack Russell Terrier, The Mummy is an accidental subject of reanimation by Igor one day at the Natural History Museum, and Dr. Jekyll suffers multiple personality disorders such as the evil Mr. Hyde, along with Richard, the Tango Dancing Squirrel.

Other featured stars are Quasimodo, Igor's incessantly jealous cousin, not to mention Dracula, and The Blob who is a living science experiment and door to door salesman.
As Igor tries to fit into life of modern day Transylvania, Utah, things unravel completely for the hunchback and he realizes there's only one place he belongs: with his beloved master.

"Summertime Blues" may borrow the title from the old Eddie Cochran song, and some of its themes from the Bob Seger tune "Night Moves," but it's based more so on what my misspent youth would've been like had I'd been healthy enough to undertake these manic adventures.

It's partially true.

And it's a hell of a lot of fun as it revives my preferred style of comedy: that with grand gestures, lots of shouting, and uncivilized behavior. Think Jim Carrey's earlier works with the naughtiness of "American Pie" thrown in.

I should note these are all copyrighted. I've got the proof to back it up, so no funny business.

A note on my style of comedy: comedy should be passionate. It should have you doubled over laughing with tears streaming from your tightly closed eyes while you pound your fists into the floor.

This is something I personally feel has been lacking for a good....well....several years.

Judd Apatow is the comedic Anti-Christ, and its his movies that have dominated screens for far too long.

I've tried watching a few of his movies, I understood the jokes quite clearly, and I couldn't see an ounce of humor in his bland, rice cracker comedy style.

Sorry Apatow, but for the good of the nation, you've got to go.

Stories To Tell...

Everyone has stories to tell.

In fact, if you're a writer (or you're simply interested), you should go up to people at random and listen to the stories they tell at random. You never know what they might say.

I have had the very good fortune to encounter lots of people with stories to tell.

Take my high school friends, for instance: while I was running around, making a goof out of myself and being hyper twenty-four seven, some of my guy friends were running around, getting drunk, and starting bar fights.

And some just preferred to sit back and watch, but they did participate only by means of making said bar fights worse.

Then there's another friend of mine who literally left not just the state, but the whole damned country some years ago in a mysterious bid to get away because, as he puts he, he had to.

This friend, I'll simply designate as M, well he's a gentle mystery to me. A very beautiful, gentle mystery to be honest.

No, I don't mean I want him to bed me. I mean there's real pain hiding in that old soul of his that, though long since forgiven, still calls out in pain yet very few seem to truly hear it.

That pain can be best heard in his music, though. He was in Alaska for several months, needed something to do, and taught himself how to both tune and play a guitar without use of various instruments or manuals.

I greatly envy him for that.

M has stories to tell. Lots of them. I know they're there, because it's almost like they're about to burst for through for all to hear and know yet some supernatural force of will just barely holds them in.

Another friend of mine (namely the one who helped to aggravate barroom brawls) told me of a local supernatural hot spot he encountered our senior year in high school, and that a bet came along with it. He took up the challenge simply because he was bored and wasn't the least bit scared. In fact, he's not going to shy away from things like that, supernatural or not.

He's a braver man than I.

Then there's the stories my dad and a friend's dad have told me about: running moonshine in Oklahoma, shooting up churches in the middle of Sunday service, and so on. I should state that no one was hurt by the church altercation, it was for fun.

Yes, they had that kind of fun here in the wilds of Arkansas back in the '60s.

I seem to have a lot of angry, restless souls around me.

Maybe I should correct that: "angry" isn't the word. I think "restless" and "reckless" best apply. Think of the old Bob Seger song and how it goes "we were angry, restless and bored, living by the sword."

That's what life for them must've for them back in their days, my friends included.

I never had the good fortune to be, as my aunt put it, a hoodlum. I had a major operation when I was 4, I'm far from being in any truly strong physical condition at all, and I spent a lot of my youth in the hospital. Those visits weren't because I broke an arm or fell out of a tree, it was from being ravaged by various illnesses and exhaustion.

I have stories to tell as well, and since I lacked the proper means of having an active life to make a few good memories, I had to make up my own. I feel I've done pretty well with the stories I've created.

And, I'm proud to say, there are no broken bones, cop cars, mountain lions, bar fights, discharged rounds of ammunition, nude beaches, or spooky dares in my past (although that doesn't mean they haven't found their way into a few of my projects).

If I tried to live that kind of life, it'd probably kill me.

So I'll just have to be content to sit back and watch, and listen to stories other tell me.

"Disc" Envy

One of my quiet little goals of making it to Hollywood entails a pet project of mine: adapting a Terry Pratchett Discworld novel to the big screen.

Personally, I'd like it to be "Wyrd Sisters" as I'm quite fond of the Witches-of-Lancre series of books which deal with the lives of Granny Weatherwax, Nanny Ogg, Magrat Garlick, and Perdita X. Nitt.

But I may not get to, or have to, follow through on this little dream of mine. Apparently there have been animated movies following the exploits of Discworld and, more recently, two live action mini-series have been produced which also delve onto the Disc.

Last night, for example, the Ion Channel premiered "The Color of Magic." And, over a year ago, "Hogfather" debuted right before Christmas. The Disc had twice been brought to life, and wonderfully I might add: you can see the Great A'tuin in all its glory; there's the Unseen University, and its orangutan shaped Librarian. Plus you also get to see the Assassin's Guild, the Patrician himself, the completely incompetent wizard Rincewind, the loyal (but deadly) Luggage, the foreboding presence of Death, and so on.

In the past (for a giggle or two) I tried my hand at adapting my chosen story to the script format.

My first attempt was somewhat...well, it was the novel brought to life by just placing the characters in their setting and having them say what they've already said in the book which, of course, isn't the best way of adapting a book.

And then I tried again a few years later and, I feel, had something much closer to what it should be like. And here it is...

FADE IN:

EXT. SPACE

The vast emptiness appears before us, as we begin to slowly drift forward through the unending cosmos.

DEATH (VO)
(deep voice)
Here, among the unimaginable stretches
of time and space, is a world unlike
anyone has ever seen before: The
Discworld.

We rocket through the empty space, and come upon a planetary scene with a sun and a small moon at opposite ends of each other. We cannot make out the complete shape of the planet, yet.

DEATH (VO)
It is a world of magic. Magic that is
slowly generated by its slow rotation
as it is faithfully carried across the
cosmos upon the backs of four elephants
which, as it turns out, are also
supported on the shell of an enormous
star turtle: the Great A'tuin.

We pull back slowly to reveal the four elephants, and circle around to come around the right side of the giant turtle, and hang there as it stares off into infinity before returning to a scene above the planet and its means of supports.

DEATH (VO)
It is unclear as to the reason such a
world would exist, but one prominent
theory states that the gods of the
Discworld decided to do away with the
standard planetary models and have a
bit of fun for once.

It should be noted that this, apart from
being the most prominent theory, also
happens to be the only truly accurate
creation theory in all of existence.

We zoom down through the darkened sections of the Discworld, into a very rural and mountainous area known as The Ramtops. We glide along until we come across a large, majestic castle.

DEATH (VO)
But, even in a world as unique as
this, it must be noted that Death still
comes to claim his own charges when the
time is right.

We continue to glide across the landscape, and come across black, shrouded figure mounted atop a magnificent, white stallion. The figure holds a large scythe in one bony hand, and an old fashioned hourglass in the other.

Meet DEATH, a grim reaper of sorts. In his vacant eye sockets are tiny pinpricks of blue flame. Death considers the hourglass in his skeletal hand that is quickly running out of sand. Upon the glass are the words KING VERENCE.

Death places the hourglass back within his shroud and gathers his scythe about him.

DEATH
It is almost time. Onward, Binky.

Binky rears up, and gallops off across the landscape, headed for the castle. He then leaves the ground and gallops through open air.

DEATH (VO)
It should be noted that, on nights such
as this, evil deed are committed. Good
deeds as well are undertaken, but it's
mostly evil deeds on the whole.

If mine would be worth of Terry Pratchett's approval, I don't know.

I do know Pratchett has a "mucked about by" credit for the television adaptations of "Color of Magic" and "Hogfather."

And that's fine.

In fact, I'd invite him to muck around with my draft as well.

But, even if I don't get to be involved with the Discworld anytime soon, at least I know there are talented people out there who are intent on bringing at least portions of it to life, and maybe they'll get around to "Wyrd Sisters."

I'd settle for that.

After all, I've got plenty of my own stuff to be worrying about.

The Screenwriter's Meaning of Life

Excerpt From Monty Python's The Meaning of Life:

MAITRE D
You know, Maria, I sometimes wonder if
we'll ever discover the meaning of it
all working in a place like this.

MARIA
Oh, I've worked in worse places,
philosophically speaking.

MAITRE D
Really, Maria?

MARIA
Yes. I used to work in the Academie
Francaise, but it didn't do me any good
at all. And I once worked in the
library in the Prado in Madrid, but
it didn't teach me nothing, I recall.

And the Library of Congress you'd have
thought would hold some key, but it
didn't, and neither did the Bodleian
Library.

In the British Museum I hoped to find
some clue. I worked there from nine till
six, read every volume through, but it
didn't teach me nothing about life's
mystery.

This scene goes on further, but for the purposes of this entry all that is needed is what is entered above.

I remember my college days as I was taking on a load of various Rhetoric, Philosophy, Psychology, and various Humanities classes. For the most part, my mind was elsewhere, but when I was engaged in these areas of study, I was arguably at my best.

I wanted to write, and in fact was already quite capable of doing so, but I wanted to write screenplays.

I had the good fortune of having a mentor who was a Humanities\Music instructor that I was working for. I had more fun, and learned far more in that office than I possibly ever could've if the opportunity hadn't been there.

In those roughly two and a half years, I served as a writer\director\editor for two films that were used as means of promoting our campus' online academic opportunities. We had no film courses to speak of (and I had no active training) but my passionate interest in filmmaking and production held me steady.

I still remember when the first film was previewed for the members of the board (i.e. those important people in suits who helped produce it). They loved it, and I was quickly given the opportunity to do a follow up.

All the time this was going on, I had a Philosophy of Film class, and then there were all the books I bought on screenwriting that I was picking up on what seemed to be a weekly basis.

And you know what I learned from them? The only thing I needed: formatting.

There was a time when I had, approximately, fifteen to twenty volumes that had the golden formula of writing screenplays. Even several magazines proclaimed to be touched by Midas, and I bought them all.

I eventually sold most of them back to second hand bookshops.

The few books that I do still have are "The Complete Book of Scriptwriting," by J. Michael Straczynski, "Hollywood 101" by Frederick Levy, and "The Aesthetics and Psychology of the Cinema" by Jean Mitry. The magazines I picked up consisted of "The Writer," "Scriptwriting Secrets," and "Scr(i)pt."

Among all these sources, plus the ten or so I resold, each offered a small tidbit here or there. And some often contradicted each other. From all these published materials, plus a few others, did I teach myself the standard Hollywood screenplay format.

And of course I had to teach myself, as I was a penniless college student who couldn't find a copy of Final Draft. I had to learn the hard way, which was arguably the best way. In fact, these days when people tell me I should buy a copy of Final Draft, I say "no thanks, I have my word processor. That's all I need."

And it's true. Microsoft Word and Word Perfect have served me very, very well this last decade.

I've also rejected most of the theories I've read on how to format a movie. Michael Hauge can burn in hell, for all I care. His six stage theory is the most predictable load of garbage I've ever read, and it's too limiting for me.

I once wrote a script according to Hauge's principles: it was terrible. I trashed it immediately and abandoned the whole concept and moved onto much more promising fare.

So, here's my screenwriting meaning of life: read all you want, look at all you can, but the point will come when you realize the true heart and soul of scripting comes from within. All the rest is just formatting details.

A Home Away From Home

Welcome, friends and Maniacs, to the place which will serve as a sort of, how can I put this, "neutral ground" for me to promote myself and my work in such a manner that won't be impeded by the various technical difficulties Mania is enduring right now.

No, I'm not abandoning Mania. I love Mania.

I've found a great number of sounding boards, supporters, and equally vocal fanboys there that'll tell me I'm a nut if they feel like it.

Or they won't say anything at all, which is becoming more and more likely I fear due to the fact Mania's glitches are suspiciously un-glitched nearly four months into the new year.

Maelstrom hasn't been seen since February, Jarrod's probably still in hiding after the fembots incident, Tokyo is rebuilding after being stomped on twice, and (according to Hanso) "the Dark Knight still owns, son."

Plus there's Wiseguy and NotAFan, who both are still fans of "The Life and Times of Igor," even though the other hunchback movie was made and mine is still lost in a unique form of Development Hell.

Another reason to not abandon Mania is the fact that, after a year of being a Maniac, I have over 12,500 views to my name. To me, that is incredibly unique and suggests to me that Maelstrom was right: maybe I am doing something right.

To all those who are unfamiliar with the above, let me introduce myself: I am the founding member of The Starlight Guard. (See "Sweet Dreams: A Sandman's Story" for further details.)

If you are uncertain of what this "Mania" is of which I speak, go here.

My profile can be found here.

I sincerely hope this only temporary, but given the lack of technical exterminations we've had recently I feel this is the next best thing I can do.

I'll continue to rant, rave, and shout at Mania, and I'll do so here as well.

And, hopefully, this blog will evolve beyond its rather limited usage I, for now, intend it to be.