Told Ya So

So I open this morning's newspaper, head straight for the comics, and after turning one page I read "Pickles."

The first two panels confirm what I've been saying since late August of 2007 -- the Sandman is an entity we've left untapped for a long time, which is part of the reason I wrote "Sweet Dreams: A Sandman's Story."

A pile of envelopes went out yesterday for "Summertime Blues." Another will be leaving for "Sweet Dreams" in the near future.

Take notice -- just like with my Igor\Frankenstein\B-movie monster parody series "Life and Times of Igor," I again stumbled upon something modern day America is just waking up to.

And, again, it's always someone else with connections that gets noticed first.

2004 for Igor's antics, 2007 for the Sandman.

I'm not saying I'm psychic, I just happen to have fallen into the right place ahead of time, and was completely trampled on in the rush by everyone else catching up.

The Hollywood Gaming Association

I hate gambling.

Maybe "hate" isn't the correct word. Let's try something more along the lines of this:

"Boring."

Yeah, that's better -- it's such a standard, uninspired word to describe something that promises MONEY! SEX! BRIGHT LIGHTS! ADVENTURE! FAST TIMES! THE HIGH LIFE! and so on.

Promoting myself is a lot like gambling, it's two quasi related activities in which the gamer (or writer) hopes to advance in life, wealth, happiness, by means of making this small investment in the glowing machine with ringing bells and lights.

There are casinos all over this country, and I would go visit them, but not to play their games. I've visited one casino across the border in Oklahoma, and smaller ones in Colorado. I dropped five dollars in a machine just past the state line, pressed a button or two, and was immediately bored by the prospect of it all. I simply have no real affection for gambling.

Arguably, I saw past the neon induced haze of glamour and riches and quickly decided that the best way to get money was by having a job.

I make similar, uninteresting investments in the gaming machines of Hollywood -- a small investment comes by means of dropping money into envelopes, postage stamps, and other such means of this life I have.

I then take all that the money has bought me, place it in the machine of an Out Of Town box stationed at the edge of the local post office, and pull the lever. After ten years of playing this game, I'm bored.

To be honest, it wouldn't surprise me if those on the receiving ends of our letters are also bored, as it's arguably a two way gamble -- Hollywood is place of glamour I'm not enchanted by and I, most likely, am just another strobe light and disco ball act these harried agents are likely walking by because they are unable (or unwilling) to make possibly unwise bets on.

I can't speak for those men and women, but I can speak for myself: this game is soulless. Sure some win, more of us lose, and it really doesn't matter how you play the game. I find I have more fun writing my actual scripts than I do in placing the bets.

In other words, I'm walking through the casino, and sure the lights are fun to look at, but they're really just blurred streaks of the visible spectrum as I make my way to the word processor.

In casinos, it doesn't matter how you play the game, because you can still lose. In writing, you can win or lose, and how you play that game is a determining factor.

In the Hollywood Gaming Association, it again doesn't matter how well you play, because winning and losing comes down to just pulling the lever and seeing what happens.

It's a shame the HGA isn't more like a video game, as then it'd be more interesting. A person could make mistakes AND learn from them, then alter how they play the game, while continuing to improve their game with every press of the button.

Casino based gambling isn't anything special to me. Hollywood gambling also fails to hold my interest.

A person can learn more from the games that offer both success and failure than the ones that advertise success with the odds stacked against them. And that is what maintains a person's interest and challenges them to improve their tactics. Gambling just to get ahead is a certain way of falling further and further behind, and I've no interest in that.

But there is one thing these types of gambling can teach you, if you pay close enough attention to the lesson: "winning isn't everything, and walking away from the table doesn't mean you're a loser."

Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got literary games to play. And when those games end, there's always "The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess."

--Updated--

Some reading this might feel I'm just "mad at the system," or otherwise angry\jaded. Some years ago, that would've been true.

Now these thoughts laid out upon your computer screen are carefully thought out to actually examine what it is like.

The above comparisons to gambling establishments are not incorrect. But there is one matter that casinos have that Hollywood doesn't -- the notion of the smaller wins leading to what some would hope to be even larger jackpots.

Casinos are there to serve as bait for your paychecks. You can put a little in and would actually receive a small amount back. This is designed to keep you interested, to keep you from becoming bored, so they can, in fact, keep you fishing in an increasingly emptying lake devoid of fish or treasure.

Hollywood can't manage that. It is just like filling a slot machine repeatedly in hopes of the bigger jackpots, when the smaller ones aren't there to entice you further.

This is simply how it works, and how it has been for as long as I've been making the attempts. I remain uninterested in the "payoffs," yet I keep stuffing the machine. There are times when one's mood will mirror that of the Jimmy Buffett tune "Defying Gravity," as in "I never dream I will win, and if it all ends tomorrow, then that's fine too."

If it all ends tomorrow...then I will simply turn away from the machine and be free of it. It isn't an addiction or a lesson in self mutilation, it's an (arguably) necessary evil.

But, luckily for me, every so often Life likes to smile down on me and grant me relief and respite from the ongoing madness, usually in the form of some perfect night's sleep and Technicolor dream sequences involving blooming Easter flowers and incomparably beautiful sunrises that George Lucas has tried to recreate on his many computers, and still finds himself unable to do so.

Its moments like this that keep me going -- not the need for fame, money, or such. It's the promise of happiness in a life (hopefully) well lived as we chart our courses across the cosmos or across state lines.

You can keep feeding the machines if you've got Dory next to you, because though her advice is necessary (not to mention potentially annoying) , its her smile and attitude that keeps you going.

That, Technicolor dreams, and Jimmy Buffett.

It's all good.

Wish I Could Fly...Among Other Things

I'm dealing with a somewhat dry spot in my brainstorming recently, and though I've a few ideas sketched out, I really don't know what to do next.

This past Sunday, I took myself to visit a friend, and presented three options to her as I needed to shake out the doldrums and such.

The first option was to visit Fort Smith, but we've literally been there and done that a million times. Xmart, Books A Million, Hastings, and Best Buy have revealed all their secrets. There's nothing new in that town.

The second option was to head west into Oklahoma, and visit what we refer to as "The Vortex," as it is a local supernatural hotspot that local mystics have stated will be only one of the few places that survives "when the world ends."

We visited that place once, and I must admit I was hoping to experience these things. I didn't.

The third option was one that displayed how truly bored I am: let's go to Fayetteville. And so we did. There were caves to explore, Barnes And Noble's high prices to decry, and so on.

The visit to northern towns helped...a little.

But inspiration is still a tricky thing to find.

I was cleaning yesterday, and just happened to place my favorite Roxette CD in the disc player and the song "Wish I Could Fly" begin to flow through the room, and it made me think for a moment while I was resting.

I heard the lead singer declare how she wished she could fly (and so on) and then I begin to consider the notion once stated "if man was meant to fly he'd have been born with wings."

Okay...so I considered that very notion.

A deformed child, born with wings upon his or her back. The child grows up, hiding said wings under oversized clothing on through their teenage years. Maybe he or she can fly, and maybe he or she cannot.

It's unclear right now.

But the point is, this would be taken in a dramatically different fashion than, say, the Angel character as seen in X-Men 3, which was just trash. I'm thinking more introspective, less heroics (actually no heroics at all), and so on.

There's two other stories I'm considering, which are (as usual) somewhat supernatural in nature: "Storm Front," and "Ghost Town."

So far "Storm Front" is more interesting as it deals with mysterious happenings that go on during thunderstorms as two people battle it out using the very forces of nature, yet they only appear which the skies turn active with rain, wind, and lightning.

This story was strengthened when I found a reprint of a wood carving that showed witches stirring up a cauldron to induce rain back in the 15'th or 16'th Centuries. I just have no real intention to include witches in it somehow. Think of it as a misplaced "X-File."

Maybe I should go revisit those caves, or head further north.

Or maybe I should plop myself down in some small overpriced cafe with a pen and paper to see what comes out, if anything.

The Two Sides Of The Coin

I've come to realize I have two main patterns in my creative aspects. The first is to just have fun. The second is to do an interesting exploration of certain topics.

"Summertime Blues," "Passion of Chris," "Life and Times of Igor," plus a few others are all in the name of fun. "Chris" does bridge the gap between both aspects, as it also serves as an exploration between Hollywood and the adult film industry.

Then there's the exploration ideas, like "Unbitten," "Interesting Times," and "Sweet Dreams: A Sandman's Story."

Now don't assume that these aren't fun, they just come from a difference place. "Sweet Dreams" is a light fantasy, "Interesting Times" is massive in itself, and "Unbitten" is a light exploration of the vampire culture, rooted in some history.

Then there's something new I came up with today completely by accident.

Since music is an important muse in my life, I often have something playing through my speakers. Today it was the old B-Side to an Elton John CD single from the early 90's entitled "Suit of Wolves."

It's a beautiful sweeping song that I have on the expanded and remastered edition of "The One."

And sometime, in the dark recesses of my mind, a legend I'm aware of and a song I'm hearing connected unconsciously and brought about a dark story I'm not certain I'd write or not.

I don't often deal with the darkness...simply because I don't like it. "Unbitten" had certain amounts of darkness in it, and this new story would have more than "Unbitten" would.

And yet I know, should I tell the guys over at Mania about it, they'd probably say WRITE IT!

I'll sketch out the basic idea for it, and see where it goes. Then I'll likely put it to the guys at Mania, because they can't seem to get enough werewolf and vampire movies, even though this isn't the standard werewolf movie project I've dreamed up, just like "Unbitten" is less about neck biting monsters and more about the tragedy within.

The Great Trek Throwdown - Aftermath

Okay so the dust needs to settle at mania.

My friend Hobbs posted a blog entry over there with spoilers of the new "Trek," and it prompted me to do a follow up.

His comes first, mine comes second.

The new and improved Star Trek??

Starlight's "Star Trek" Compromise

What do you think? I say, in "Trek's" universe, we can always undo such damage.

Abram's story has a tiny bit of wiggle room, so the next one should exploit it.

But read my "Compromise" for further details on that.

The Hunger

A week or so ago, someone at Mania (Xenomorph, specifically) sent me a private message, asking for my input in a story he wanted to write.

I prefaced it with the usual speech I give people: "ultimately, the best person to judge your story is you. You can ask input from outsiders, and in fact do so, but ultimately work on it until you can no longer find something wrong with it. Then, and only then, will be perfect shape."

I used the term "perfect" here loosely, because no one's perfect.

So after that, he sent a second message, detailing his story (which I won't reveal here for his out artistic confidentiality) and I wrote back to him what I thought not so much of the story, but the places he could look to enhance the story.

And that was it. He said it was a great help, and I hope it was.

Everything I write follows the above stated philosophy. I have a friend who has been right beside me reading everything I've come up with, good and bad, for a good decade now. We shared a few college classes together, we have similar ways of thinking, but we're also dramatically different in our styles.

I have her read anything I've come up with just to use her as a sounding board. She'll make a suggestion here, say this needs to be clarified there, and so on. For as often as I do take her advice, there'll be a lesser amount of times when I'll say "no, this is where I'm going with this."

For the most part, I cannot judge works "in progress," except my own and it's because I have a feeling for mine which states "there are no more rough spots to be smoothed out, now go work on something else, damn it, before you ruin it."

I tend to follow Sting's idea of artistic rule: it has to be a benevolent dictatorship. I wouldn't trust someone else to take over my material, but I also won't dip my toes in the world of someone else's material. I don't have the proper mindset to bring, say, "Twilight" to life on a screenplay.

And I've enjoyed the first two books in Meyer's series, as I'm crazy in love with the "Harry Potter" series, but I wouldn't make the attempt at bringing hers to life either.

The one exception to this is "The Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy," which was ruined in the movie adaptation in the whole second act. Frankly the filmmakers could've expanded upon the back story of Deep Thought, how it was created, the Great Day of Unveiling, and all that. I also would've loved to see the philosopher's come in and start demanding to shut down Deep Thought instead of all that mucking about on the Vogon home world.

Now new readers to my entries may feel "damn, you're an arrogant son of a bitch, aren't you."

I'd say "no I'm not. I'm passionate."

Never confuse arrogance for passion.

Passion is in the blood, arrogance is in the head.

Passion is a hunger, a desperate ravenous need for whatever its seeking. You'll find it in the heartbeat of those that need to take flight, you'll hear it in the cries of those who swim into shining, fast moving currents of life itself, you'll know it when it catches of the sails of your ship and pushes you to tropical lands as your vessel seems to lift up off the water and soars into the mysteries before it much like Captain Hook's vessel could when given a touch of pixie dust.

Passion can seem like arrogance, I grant you that. I tend to do my own thing, and to hell with everything else because if I'm lumbered to others or certain guidelines I know I'll fail because I don't need barriers to hold me in, I need them to go crashing through while spectacular showers of glass rain upon the land while refracting the lights of above into serene patterns of light onto the lands below.

I know passion. I experience it whenever I go see a movie I want to see in the theaters. I get an electric chill in my spine that radiates through my body as I arrive at the local theater AN HOUR EARLY because I love the experience so very, very much.

Especially at these new all digital theaters.

But don't mistake the setting and the technology as what causes the hum and vibration. It's not.

I was at several movies, and they all had previews to "Speed Racer." There was absolutely no electric bite upon my skin when that was previewed, but then previews for "Nim's Island," and "Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince" would come on and, what do you know, the passion is back.

You gotta be receptive to passion. You also have respect it in order to let it flow and grow within you and around you.

I am NOT passionate about popcorn movies in general. To be honest, most of those I've seen since the mid-90's have really been instantly forgettable. To this day I still wonder what I saw in "Independence Day," "Spiderman," and "Armageddon."

Hype, most likely. Hype is artificial. Passion is absolute.

I've also been debating (some might say "arguing") my points with the rest of Mania over J. J. Abram's bastardization of "Star Trek," something he admits to not having been a fan of.

The man has no passion for 'Trek,' yet I do.

In great abundance.

A lot of movies (but not all) of today's movies are just over formulated. They lack passion, especially when quite a few of them have three screenwriters or more. It's just a job to them, one of counting out pages and plot points.

It lacks passion.

I once tried an experiment, to see if I could "run with the crowd," as it were. My friend (the one mentioned above) and I decided to write something together, which was a novel idea.

I'd also discovered Michael Hauge's screenwriting structure, and over the course of two weeks or so we stayed at it, night after night, and the end result was....terrible.

Absolutely terrible.

We'd sent it in to a contest that was happening that year, and got our review. The story and dialogue was just average (which was fair enough, we were new at this) but the format was excellent.

I turned to my friend and said "the format was excellent? It was as exciting as a goddamned aluminum ladder with just as much personality to boot."

"Well, don't do it anymore."

I tossed Hauge's proven formula out the window and went on to create, I feel, some truly wonderful things.

Formula's be damned.

This isn't math we're taking here kids. Leave the formulas at home.

My friends who have known me for a long time no you can reason with the passions I have for music, movies, games and ultimately debate, should it become necessary.

I don't simply "want" to hear the song "Thunder Island," I NEED to hear that song. This is a current, awfully potent passion I'm dealing with right now.

Thanks to my dad, my family has (at the very least) 5,000 LP's and EP's in the vinyl format.

And that's not including the hundred's of 45's or 78's.

"Thunder Island" is from the 70's, and guess what? They had records in the 70's! So my first trip is, not to Best Buy, but to the storeroom where the records are kept safe.

I've turned two boxes of 45's inside out as of an hour ago, and still haven't found it. And I won't stop until I've searched every single box and discounted them all as not having Jay Ferguson's dedication to loving a woman out there on Thunder Island.

Then I'll go to Best Buy.

You may argue "just go buy it and get it over with," and my response would be "I'll do that anyways, but I want to hear it and I may very well have it. If I do, I can feed the hunger to tide me over until my next trip to Best Buy."

Passions must be accepted. They must be fed...for if they aren't, it leads to starvation and death.

I'm always able to feed my passions...and if I can't right at this moment, I'll fight to claim the moment in which I can feed said passion.

I've been promoting to Hollywood nearly a decade now. They haven't called back yet...but the hunger is there.

It will always be there...and my passions are always fulfilled.

Always.

I encourage passion in those who come to me for advice, I encourage it in myself.

And I get pissed off when I find a lack of passion and vibrant vitality in modern day movies. There is less passion, less vitality, and less craftsmanship.

And that's how they sustain themselves - they lack the hunger.

And those that lack the hunger are easily satisfied.

Don't be easily satisfied. And never compromise your passion in anything you write, or do.

The Great "Trek" Throwdown Continues...

In case you haven't been paying attention, there's a sort of "Star Trek" civil war going on at Mania, and I'm one of the few leading the charge in the war against J. J. Abrams.

Follow the links, judge for yourself, and take it all in.

Ten Reasons To Be Worried About "Star Trek"

"Star Trek" Mania Review

DVD Shopping Bag -- The Best of Star Trek: The Next Generation

What Are You Laughing At?

The proper question should possibly read "are you even laughing at all?"

Thank you, World Health Organization, for dragging me back into a bleak, hilarity lacking world.

It only makes me want to spin comedic yarns even more, because I need to tell them just as much those around me need to hear them.

Laughter is an escape, and given current world trends, we'll desperately need something to laugh at.

But who will provide it? Comedy movies haven't been very "comedic" as of late. Sure Jim Carrey's "Yes Man" was a return to form, Kevin Smith gave us "Zack and Miri Make a Porno," and...well, that's about it.

Oh yeah, "Paul Blart - Mall Cop" is a contender, but since I was unable to get to the theater to see it, I can't judge it as being funny or not, even though I admit I'm willing to get it on DVD so you can tell I'm leaning towards the funny side.

Then there's Seth Rogen - a nice enough guy, and he is conversationally funny, but that's about it. I state "conversationally funny" because it's a different type of material, where two or three people are just hanging out, making instantly funny, yet quickly forgettable jokes.

I have my conversationally funny moments -- and they're nowhere near as funny as the sketches or scenarios I've written in the past.

We've also had a lot of the over polished, run of the mill, by the numbers teen sex comedies which really aren't that funny to begin with: "Sex Drive," and "Fired Up!" come to mind. It's like all the funny ideas are ran through a calculator, made to equal a particular number, and when the solution is made clear, the laughs are supposed to happen.

Well that's not happening.

There's no presentation in comedy anymore -- and this I know for experience.

In high school, to be taken seriously as a person (i.e. diffusing situations) I lashed out with my wicked style of humor, which finally earned me respect I didn't have with the overall population while I also managed to assert myself creatively in ways that simply weren't possible.

Nothing is rougher than high school, especially if you're just a 90 pound kid, six feet high, known for mastering video games and a peculiar love for cheese. The "white" Steve Urkel is what I was called. It's a fair cop.

But I wasn't alone, I had two others that were just as crazy as I. But I was the more flamboyant one.

When my 10 year reunion came back in '06, the old twitch (that never really went away) came to the forefront of my mind: "Weird Al" Yankovic had his hit "White and Nerdy" at that time, so I toiled with the idea of coming in, boombox in hand, blaring said song, while dressed up as the whitest gangsta rapper Arkansas had ever known.

I would then proceed to sing the entire song, while meeting and greeting everyone from days gone by.

It never happened...but I should've done it.

I also should've attended my prom (which I didn't) dressed up as "The Mask:" green face, yellow zoot suit, and all.

Two of my friends similarly had the notion to dress up like the guys in "Dumb and Dumber:" light blue and orange suits, matching walking sticks, and all.

That didn't happen either.

We were teenagers, we didn't have that kind of money...or any at all, which kept us from living out our fantasies.

Presentation is everything, you literally have to be a madman to break the monotony of life. Conversational humor won't do it, which is why Seth Rogen (and Judd Apatow's) movies cannot illicit a true lung busting laugh from yours truly.

No one is rolling on the floor laughing at anything anymore. I used to find myself, laughing so hard with tears streaming down my face, pounding my fist into the floor at the movies we used to get.

And I miss that experience. It's one I only get when I'm writing my own material (because it is a throwback to those days when comedy was actually funny) and, of course, Michael Xavier Maelstrom who is a fellow blogger at Mania.

The man is brilliant. He's also insane.

He obviously realized presentation, and the willingness to go far beyond the safety barriers, is what it takes to be genuinely funny. His blogs are the funniest I've read (no matter how serious they are in tone) and they are the only other source of material out there that can bring about the phenomenon of laughing so hard that it hurts, while tears of joy just wash down my face.

There's a potential for collaboration here, but it has to be like the experiences I had in high school: two half crazed people, looking at the world, knowing it's a screwed up place, standing up in defiance of it while declaring war on it with his "Mystery Apparatus" and the destructive "Butterscotch Catapult."

Any man that can come up with weaponry like that should be made a saint. That's all I'm saying.

I silently suspect if such a partnership arose, it would definitely burn bright and energetic, in the same style of "Monty Python's Flying Circus" and "I'm Sorry, I'll Read That Again," which we both love dearly, coupled with the styles of Jim Carrey, Mike Myers, and Steve Martin, with a raw naughtiness unseen since "Porky's" was last seen flickering of a movie screen back in the 80's.

There are no funny movie trailers or concepts on the horizon....except for the possibility of a "Who Framed Roger Rabbit" sequel, which I dearly loved.

There really isn't anything truly inventive on the television set anymore...except maybe "Dollhouse," which I cannot see as I do not have a Fox Affiliate I can tune in, and "Eureka" used to be brilliant, but I fear its becoming a victim of its own success.

But those shows aren't really comedies, per se.

Thankfully, we do have Lewis Black, Jeff Dunham, Kathy Griffin, and John Pinette. But they haven't actually starred in any blockbuster comedies lately.

Comedic movies, like my own "Summertime Blues," need to have a wicked attitude, a Cheshire cat grin, and the nerves to stand up and flip off the establishment and the social norms while belting out Italian Operas while also dressed up in blue Speedos, swimming fins, a snorkel, and tuxedo jacket complete with tails and top hat .

Comedies literally have to have the cajones to be brash, loud, fast, and absolutely off the wall, just like we used to see in the mid 90's. It's a proven formula, and along with a certain naughty inventiveness, some of us could truly create something the world has never seen before that won't simply be quoted, it'll be emulated.

Quoting movies is nice, but it then becomes conversational humor. Acting like a maniac while throwing yourself whole heartedly into the material is where American comedies should be going.

We need trailblazers, and I absolutely consider myself one of them in this jungle. No one else is going to do it, no one else really understands it, and you can't really describe it to others, so you might as well just show off what you can do and, like me, watch them keep coming back for more.

So what are you laughing at?

I'm laughing at my own jokes and sketches: they're ten years old, and they haven't lost their comedic sting in a decade. They are timeless, just like "Ace Ventura: Pet Detective," "The Mask," "Liar Liar," "Bowfinger," and "Austin Powers."

I'm laughing at Maelstrom's blogs, namely "The Chronicles of Sarah Palin" and "Tokyo Stomp" which we both devised quite by accident.

I'm still laughing at my old sketches like "The Remains of Babe Ruth" and "There's A Penguin In My Trousers!"

Hell I'm still laughing at all the crap I wrote in high school.

And I plan to keep on writing everything that delivers a right hook to current comedy standards, because they need to be knocked down. I plan on dreaming big while the world worries about all the possibilities of things that can kill us.

I'm not afraid to proclaim that there truly is no one out there as inventive as we are, Maelstrom. Not by a long shot.

Now, if you'll excuse us, the Mystery Apparatus needs to be oiled.

(It does use oil, right Maelstrom?)

PS - Come on Hollywood, not only do I need to do this as I have always done (and always will continued to do so) but the world needs something to laugh at to take its mind off all our collective troubles.

Film it, and they will come...by the millions.

Of this I'm very, very certain. And that's a statement I'll risk fifteen years of writing and performing experience, and an untold amount of friends (both real and online) upon.

The audience, (my audience) already exists. It has only grown bigger since I left high school, and it continues to grow. I'm laying my reputation on the line, and I know with absolute certainty that I will be victorious.

Staying Ahead, Yet Falling Behind In Hollywood

I'm a masochist. That must be it.

So in previous blogs I've stated what my "Life and Times of Igor" project has been about, the difficulties it's faced, and so on.

I even posted an entry with a link to the article at Mania which shot me down again.

But now I typed in "I, Frankenstein" into Google and saw my envisioned world crash down again.

The page was filled with news items on their movie, their upcoming comic book, and with absolutely no way for me to get a script in edgewise.

So the CGI animated "Igor" movie bombs, now this.

But what really stings is this quote:

"I don't know of any other projects past or present that gives you the chance, in a single movie, to re-invent the 'MOST CULT CREATURES OF ALL TIME'. All of this in a very unique, dark and stylistic world. I would never pass on such an opportunity," says Tatopoulos.

Well, I do - the very same project I've had since 2005.

Oh well.

The saying is true -- it doesn't matter what you know, it's who you know.

And there are countless people out there that know of my story (at Mania), yet the rest of the world won't.

Oh well, again.

That's life in this business.

--UPDATED!!!--

Last night I concocted an evil scheme to stay ahead, even if I can't get "Life and Times of Igor" out there.

I'm officially no longer promoting the actual project...but I have POSTED it (or what would've been the comic book script, which also would've become the first hour in the three part mini-series of the same name.

So here's it is fans and fiends:

http://thelifeandtimesofigor.blogspot.com/

Follow the labels off to the side, as they denote Parts 1 through 5.

I'll work on figuring out how to arrange them in the reverse order eventually...I hope.

The Passion of Chris

Let's discuss experiences in failure in my screenwriting quest, with a project I accidentally created in 2004.

But first let's rewind to 2004.

This was the year Janet Jackson's warm, round, Hershey Kisses shaped breast was exposed to all the world to see, which resulted in a right wing firestorm.

We'd already had two years of loyal Bushies and angry Neo-Cons mucking up the society (much the same way Fox News feels the Obama-ites are doing now), and the undercurrent of electric outrage was alive.

Frankly, I didn't see the fuss.

In fact I went out and found myself as many still images I could of the event.

But that was how the year opened, which led to all those Neo-Cons calling for harder censorship laws, people in Bush's administration trying to criminalize the adult film industry (I know the dude's name, just can't think of him right now), and it seemed the moral majority witch hunt was on.

MTV and VH1 were also suffering from these pitchfork carrying psychos, and I plainly remember a Maroon Five music video becoming censored because it was felt the lead singer and the not entirely clothed female in the video rolling around in bed wasn't pure enough.

Or something to that affect.

They probably just didn't want to risk raising the already inflated ire that burned brightly at the entertainment atmosphere.

Fast forward a few months, and this madness is really kicking in from what I remember. Then, hallelujah, a savior has been filmed and was to be projected upon big screens.

It was called "The Passion of the Christ," an arguably not too well executed movie that brought the Christians in by the pound. The MPAA gave that movie an R-Rating, but Christians kept taking their kids to see something they'd normally rail against if it was any other movie.

My considered rationalization for this was simple: "it's different! This is holy violence!"

Regular violence is evil, holy violence is great: Inquisitions, witch hunts, and nailing a guy to a piece of wood for saying "let's all get along, it'll be great."
Love those crazy Christians.

Now while this is going on, I've started an ongoing joke in my head which went something like: "The Passion of Chris! Feel His Passion!"

And I'd concocted this whole movie poster of this good looking guy tied to a bed, with a seductive smile looking out at the viewer, with a tagline that would describe this particular offering as "Witness The Final 12 Hours Of Chris' Virginity!"

So we've got a charged atmosphere, we've got censorship running crazy, there was great approval of widescreen closeups of nailing some poor dude to a plank of wood, and it all combined with one rather unlikely piece of information: a possible Writer's Guild strike.

I don't know what finally pushed me into writing the script, but one day the right neurons sparked in the perfect arrangement and a whole new story was born.

Now, during all of this, I'd stumbled upon the adult film studio Digital Playground, which had brought the adult genre into the 21'st Century. No longer would adult films be, well, terrible - badly shot, horribly lit, no story, bad acting, terrible use of video instead of film, and so on.

The production quality of one trailer I'd viewed, namely for a features called "Three Timing," said to me "The Valley has caught up with Hollywood. Everything now is possible."

It was clever, it had higher production qualities than the local CBS Affiliate channel, it was in anamorphic widescreen for Chrissakes!

Yeah, the acting was still iffy, but everything else had greatly improved!

So take all these elements, mix them up, and after a bit of research and four days of furious writing, I'd completed a first draft script that was around 100 pages long.

And the story was this: young up and coming writer\director is just about to sign on the dotted line when the WGA does go on strike, and he's out in the cold. Meanwhile, his agent finds him work to pay the bills working on an adult film called, appropriately enough, "The Passion of Chris."

He very reluctantly accepts the gig, finds a very talented actress who, he feels, is wasting her talent in this particular industry, and learns that he has achieved a dream when he originally feels like he's been kicked to the curb.

It's obvious where the jokes come from, but where the heart of the story comes from is a much different place.

In my research, I read both the horror stories and the life affirming stories of adult performers. There was an article how one female performer was asked to visit a fan of hers who was, at that time, in the hospital.

She paid him a visit, gave him an autograph I believe, and was very friendly to this guy who enjoyed her work.

There's an actress who does adult films, yet has a Bachelor's Degree in microbiology, of all things.

It was amazing - it was stunning to me, to be perfectly honest.

Another concept that inspired the ending of my script came from real life as well - a young man once dreamed of becoming a doctor. He watched medical professionals on television, he was interested in the profession, yet he became an actor.

Only later in his life did he become a doctor: Dr. Leonard "Bones" McCoy.

Yes, Deforest Kelly was that little boy who dreamed of becoming a doctor, and in some surprising twist of fate, he became exactly that as that's what we all remember his as: a doctor.

And that's the question posed to my fictional writer\director: can you be happy where you are, having achieved what you have even if it isn't originally what you conceived of.

The answer was, of course, yes. My fictional character had achieved his dreams, and realized he'd have much more freedom outside of Hollywood, and the adult studio was only too glad to bring him in full time.

There were jokes I didn't get to use in "Passion of Chris," but I saved them for the sequel I never got around to writing: "The Next Temptation of Chris," which was to be about censorship run amuck, and so on.

It also had the jokes of bringing in Norah Jones and Britney Spears, questioning them constantly about their lyrics in a hearing not unlike the ones during the 50's House on Un- American Activities.

The questions were to say "Don't Know Why" was actually about impotence (read the lyrics, you'll get it) and "Baby, One More Time..." was about spousal abuse.

Too bad there was no "If You Seek Amy..." back then.

I wrote "Chris" in four days, as stated above.

I promoted it vigorously.

No one would touch it.

Hell, no one would even return my letters...at all. Not even to say "not interested."

Looking back that's possibly due to the fact the WGA and AMPTP discussions were flaky at best, but even after they were resolved the same cold reception greeted "Chris" on both coasts.

So I let "The Passion of Chris" rest.

I've made no attempts to resurrect it. I will make no further attempts.

It's a funny as hell story, but it has a very serious center to it. It is my biggest failure to date, which is sad because it had so much going for it. It also had something even bigger going against it: time.

2004 and its madness won't come back again...for which I'm deeply thankful, even if I have to scrap an entire screenplay.

And no one will ever know...

And promotions continue for "Sweet Dreams: A Sandman's Story" and "Summertime Blues."

Igor's Proof Of Resurrection

I'd like to state that, since the news broke yesterday of another Frankenstein spoof both in comics and film, I'd better do more than just state I "did it first."

So I went looking through my files, and found a scan from 2005 which was a reply to one of my original query letters during the earliest days of promoting "The Life and Times of Igor" as a full fledged screenplay.

I will also start looking around in my email account for the very same emails I used as a back and forth between one Bernadette Baker and her Baker's Mark literary agency up in Portland, Oregon as a means of saying "see, I didn't steal it."

As usual, I can't prove if they stole mine either...but at least I have a defensive means should the topic come up.

Also another agent that read a draft of "Igor" back in the 2005/2006 era was from the Stephen Pevner agency that was also located in New York. I am at a loss as to what that individual's name was at this moment.

Yes, I also blocked out my name and address for identity theft issues. Sorry, it can't be helped, besides I'm quite certain you'll understand.

(Although if an agent that I have queried recently asks for this uncensored evidence, they can have it.)



And if the photobucket link doesn't work properly, try this link.

Igor, Here We Go Again...

God this is annoying.

I promote an "Igor" movie in 2005, then I hear they're making one.

In 2007 I promote that same story as a comic, now today I learn an unpublished version that mirrors mine to some degree has made it to Hollywood.

I must be the only person who can not only predict trends, but expand upon them to such a degree to make them bigger than they ever could be, and still not be allowed in.

I'd better check up on who this guy is represented by.

Yeah, I know, other people can have the same idea as you can, Starlight, trust me I've been down this road before. But it's becoming awfully suspicious as of late, I must admit.

Here's the article, in case you think I'm nuts.

--Updated--

Well now that the initial "ah hell" wave of madness has dissipated, I've decided that (as usual) Wiseguy is right. The maniacs were very good to offer support to my project last year while I kept putting up samples of the work.

Wiseguy's the one who was among the most vocal supporters for my "Igor," (as was NotAFan and Maelstrom), and to do battle with this new adaptation means standing up and being dramatically different...by keeping the story the same.

And mine has more characters.

Now I just have to find the appropriate place to put Richard, The Tango Dancing Squirrel which is, of course, one of Dr. Jekyll's other personalities. Him, and the vibrant, blond, and somewhat sexually dubious Simon which is a rip off of Simon Belmont and Van Helsing.

(Note to non gamers - Simon Belmont is the butch guy in skimpy armor last seen in the Castlevania series for the Nintendo and Super Nintendo.)

I've always talked about it, now I'll just flat out put it in:

SIMON
(overly emotional)
I'm a boy! I'm a boy, damn it!

IGOR
Simon say he boy, yet Simon soft like
girl. Pretty too. It confuse Igor.
(then)
Maybe Simon come back to Igor's
place? Rub Igor's hump?

SIMON
Humph!

Simon tosses his long, flowing hair in a very feminine style over his shoulder and storms out.

Let's see...the first third of the script is in pretty good shape, which is something I know for a fact. I will have to look at it again just to clean up any lingering doubts or rough spots, but I'm pretty certain there are few.

The other two thirds will need a little more work, and possibly a good stretching of a few pages here and there, but that won't be too much of a problem. The more Hollywood's antics keep putting Igor down, the more he resurrects himself.

I'll settle for a televised mini-series, just so long as we can still keep up with the manic energy of the story.

And if this incarnation doesn't make it...well, I guess I'll become a novelist.

Just like "Interesting Times," too much work has been put into this project to just let die.

The Life And Times Of An Ongoing Series (Or Two)

I've discussed "Sweet Dreams: A Sandman's Story" openly here, as I'm currently promoting it.

For the better part of 2008, I discussed "The Life and Times of Igor" with several Maniacs regularly as I was, in essence, keeping them up to date with my promotions of the comic book version, finding the agent in Oregon, waiting, waiting, more waiting which saw time being filled with various excerpts posted on the now mostly dead blogs at Mania, some more waiting, and then eventually the Dear Writer letter I received.

But I'm not bitter.

Well, not anymore.

Truthfully, I wasn't bitter then -- exhausted, yes, but not bitter. I'd just squeezed another sixty pages out of a story I'd been writing, rewriting, updating, changing, and polishing since 2004.

A brief, full account of this can be read at my MySpace page, you'll find the link in the "Everything One Could Ever Hope For..." section here. (Please don't laugh at the picture, I'm not too terribly fond of cameras.)

"Life and Times of Igor," amazingly, always resurrects itself somehow, and there's always some new detail I can throw into it, and I'm always amazed how I never thought of that before.

The basic idea of the original screenplay was simple: Dr. Frankenstein gets arrested for dumping toxic waste and Igor, suddenly unemployed, needs a new job. He finds odd jobs in rural Transylvania, Utah, and encounters the Wolfman, Dracula, the Mummy, the Blob, Quasimodo, Lady Esmerelda, a bunch of angry villagers, Dr. Jekyll and, of course, Mr. Hyde.

It's not as complicated as you might think. Think "Van Helsing" only funnier.

And without Van Helsing.

I feel there's still a very good chance for my hunchback story to survive, cause we'll be getting remakes of Dr. Jekyll, Frankenstein, and a few other B - Movie monster stories in the coming years.

I still have the original 120 page screenplay, plus the sixty pages of new material for what would've been the comic book. I'm still kicking around the idea of a mini-series for this, as the material I wrote last year serves as an accidental prequel, detailing Igor's lack of interest in baseball, Victor Frankenstein's lack of interest in the Bearded Lady at the circus where he performs, and so on.

There's also references to a Temple of Scienceology and crazed cult members that Igor brain washes (using a mop and Brain-O) in the bowels of said temple.

Victor runs away from the circus to join Evil Medical School, Igor quits his brain washing gig, and they both encounter each other late one night at some weigh station of life and two destinies converge forever.

That's my Igor story.

Another increasingly growing story I've worked on has the overreaching title of "Interesting Times," and it finally grew to have six episodes, all running at two and a half hours or more.

I should probably detail the birth of "Interesting Times" now in print, as I'm afraid I'll forget it.

Fall 2000

I'd officially become interested in ghosts those autumn months. I'd picked up a book, "The Complete Idiot's Guide To Ghosts And Hauntings," and read through it feverishly. I'd also, interestingly enough, encountered in my French classes a young lady who actively described herself as "Wiccan," along with an interesting person who was actually a victim of poltergeist activity.

"How convenient," I thought. I soon realized there was a term for this: synchronicity. It was as if the forces of the universe itself said Now's Our Chance. Light The Passion And Hold On Tight.

In the fall of 2000, I wrote something like fifteen pages, but had to put it on hold.

Spring 2001

Spring break rolled around, and with a week of nothing to do, I sat down and wrote eighty pages worth of material in five days. I then show it to a person who is still my most trusted literary critic.

She read it, and uttered that famous last word: "sequel."

I railed against her, said she was crazy, and that there was no way in hell I could write a sequel. Doing the first one had driven me crazy as it was.

Up until that time, I basically worked on what was then known as "Once Upon A Midnight Dreary..." for a few months, off and on, while not really taking it too seriously. I'd started promoting what would eventually become "Summertime Blues," and found myself constantly reading any book that seemed legitimate dealing with the supernatural. I read Sylvia Browne, I devoured John Edward, I took comfort in James van Praagh's experiences.

I read countless other books on hauntings, haunted locations, and mysticism.

But I still had no plans for a sequel.

Spring 2002

By this time I knew a lot more about the paranormal world, and realized "Ghostbusters" had gotten it all wrong. I wanted to now make a movie that was, arguably, more realistic than the "ghost in the bedroom" movies Hollywood had been making for countless years.

I'd even found a hook for a sequel, so I started writing what was then called "Shake And Shiver," a sort of homage to Scooby Doo and that phrase which comes from the opening theme song.

I wrote that fairly quickly, and found myself rewriting "Once Upon A Midnight Dreary..." as I was going along.

Then a third one popped up, straight out of nowhere. It was, as originally conceived, to complete the sequence of events which was then thought of as a trilogy. That final episode was to be called "Stranger Things."

From June to December was spent on rewriting those three scripts, plus "Lord of the Rings: Fellowship of the Ring" debuted and I was passionately in love with it. It didn't truly influence the material I was working on, but it did truly inspire me creatively.

I kept working, feverishly.

I kept reading, constantly.

Those mysterious forces behind me kept pushing me forward, and I started having the craziest dreams I'd ever had in my lifetime. Mysterious things started happening in my waking life, such as encountering the spirit world in the form of long dead felines I'd once loved.

And I pressed on, like a madman destined to discover new lands he didn't know he was looking for.

2003

Sometime in this year, a fourth movie appeared in my head straight out of the blue. It was to push "Stranger Things" back to number four while this new one was to be called "Amazing Things," and referenced a line from scripture that Jesus speaks. It also dealt with Atlantis.

So now here I was working on a whole new script that came out of nowhere, and suddenly I was working now on four episodes.

I spent that year working on what was then called "Once Upon A Midnight Dreary, "Shake And Shiver," and "Stranger Things" all at once while embracing this new third episode.

I also suffered burnout badly sometime around summer.

But I kept reading.

The rest of the year was devoted to more reading, more writing, more rewriting.

2004

By this time, I believe I'd officially changed the title of "Shake And Shiver" to "Almost Unreal." The name for "Stranger Things" had officially been dropped, and it was temporarily left nameless.

Sometime in this era, I'd also come up with yet another installment, one set in Louisiana that explored Voodoo. I flirted with this idea, then dumped it, but not totally as I would find out later in life.

So the rundown went like this, 1 - "Once Upon A Midnight Dreary," 2 - "Almost Unreal," 3 - "Amazing Things, 4 - fka "Stranger Things," and what would eventually become Part 5 was dreamed up as well, which put the plot details of "Stranger Things" back another episode and the newly vacant four would become a story about voodoo.

September came, and a friend then told me she'd read a little book she'd think I'd like, and it was called "The DaVinci Code."

I was instantly upset, because the game had been radically changed for me. It also inspired a whole new level of historical relevancy to everything I'd been writing about earlier, so delved into whole new territories of study and it lead me to one conclusion:

I needed to do, basically, a page one rewrite of a lot of the stuff that had come before. My parents also just happened to buy me a new computer in that upcoming December, so I had to transfer all my files to the new system, and a new word processor.

All the work I had done, I now felt, was average. It was okay, but it needed a hell of a lot of work to be really, really good to stand up against the now complete trilogy of "Lord of the Rings" and the works of Dan Brown.
So, I went back to the original sources of material I'd had, and flipped what was once called "Once Upon A Midnight Dreary" on its side, taking it from a different angle, and rechristened it "The Fountain of Light.

Then I started having those strange, mysterious dreams again, along with yet another newfound passion and inspiration. "Fountain" took the original story, kept it basically the same, and made it much more profound and, subsequently, changed the entire overreaching basis of the series.

2005

About one month, and 150 pages later, I and my friend who read the very first draft nearly four years earlier were stunned at what had happened. I then set about revising the other scripts.

I started watching entire new documentaries, reading whole new books on history, and Sylvia Browne herself seemed to illuminate all these things I'd conveniently ignored the first go around.

In between these incidents, I took to revising "Summertime Blues" into a more contemporary form, as I'd been working on it for a good five years at that time. And "The Life and Times of Igor" was officially becoming a major player in my life, so all of "Interesting Times" took a sudden backseat.

2006

I kept working on all the above listed projects in some form or another, tweaking here, adding there, revising this, polishing that.

Then, in February, the forgotten idea of doing a voodoo story in Louisiana came back up. It was to become Part Four, and dealt with the devil himself. That spring "What The Devil Made Me Do" became the first script to go through a first draft stage that was so very close to the finished project that I, amazingly enough, felt could've improve on it at all.

Four years later, very little has changed in Episode Four.

When I finished one of the drafts of "Devil Made Me Do" back in '06, I had to deal with "Igor" and "Summertime Blues" some more, and also kept up my research for "Interesting Times."

Now, from here on, the details get sketchy as it's all blended together too seamlessly.

Sometime, now knowing a great deal more about the paranormal, I'd realized the Part 5 script I wanted to write was going to be too big, and the decision was made to cut it into two parts, which effectively left me at a six part series.

A lot of rewriting, reading, revising, and so on has been the norm since that has happened.

And, as of now, I still have no official script for what will become the sixth and final installment of "Interesting Times." I'm polishing up about 30% of Part 1, the same goes for Part 2, and in either 2006 or 2007 I started a Page One rewrite for "Amazing Things."

I wrote sixty new pages...and somehow lost it.

Burnout hit me hard. Very hard. I couldn't make myself write it.

Part 4 is still in 95% excellent condition, and will not change so drastically.

Parts 5 and 6, though, are up in the air, but more so for Part 6 as the script for Part 5 does exist, it's just going to be retitled.

In the spring of 2007, after witnessing a wonderful documentary about vampires, I'd came up with "Unbitten," and tried to give to a friend to write. She wouldn't make the time, so I started writing it.

It was good, but it got harder and harder to write as it progressed. I finished it, and thanked God that it was over. I never touched it again, though I do like it and feel it's not yet finished.

It doesn't need a page one rewrite, but it's not finished either, and I'll worry about that later.

Late summer came about, and then I came up with the idea of "Sweet Dreams - A Sandman's Story." In about two months I'd started from scratch and came up with something truly magical that got me away from everything else I'd worked on for nearly a decade. It came in at 139 pages, and has stayed that way ever since.

That was 2007, and when 2008 rolled around I said to my friend "I've got to finish the series this year. I've just got to, or all the work will be a waste or I'll go out of my head."

I'd set out a schedule to work on it.

I flat out completely failed to do it, and somehow working on "Life and Times of Igor" again.

2009 And Beyond...

There's lots of work yet to be done. I often look at the stack of manuscripts and research materials and get cold feet, yet I'm continuing my research which, fortunately, I scaled back because it was getting too top heavy.

I still swear I'll finish the six part series.

After all, I made a promise to a few individuals it would get done and they like to remind me every so often that I'm not working on it. They didn't push me when I had serious burnout again when the latest version of Igor was returned last October or so, and I thank them for that.

The work will continue, and I will complete it.
But I've learned I can't be rushed, can't be pushed, and it has to all come naturally or else it'll all fall apart.

But I thank the sources of inspiration that leaked the secrets of the series to me over the course of four years because, if I honestly knew back then it'd evolve to such a level of complexity, I would've flat out refused to do it.

As a side note, this may be the final blog entry I make for awhile, at least. There's promotions to write up, mail off, and other things that need to be attended to.

The most recent revisions to "Summertime Blues" are very nearly complete, and then there's what to do with "Life and Times of Igor" as well, but some other things need my attention as well.

So, until next time...happy reading.

Starlight's Plan To Conquer The World...Part II

Part I in my plans of my cinematic vision of world domination detailed how, if I had an agent representing me, I would go about promoting "Sweet Dreams - A Sandman's Story" to a bunch of less than jubilant studio execs and other reptilian suits.

I should add to those previous statements, an unorthodox world premiere in a large, outdoor setting to form, basically, a drive in theater much like the ones we used to see in the 50's.

I admit I don't know how feasible that is, but hell Pixar took to NASCAR (of all the godforsaken places) to debut "Cars." I'm not stating I'd have the power of Pixar and Disney behind me, but I am stating it'd be appropriate and unique to do something quite different.

Also, I'd combine efforts with Cool Bobby B (from the 50's on 5) and we'd compile an album of the best doo wop from the 50's and use it as a sort of secondary release to the official soundtrack.

Now that those plans have been laid out, maybe I should mention what brought me to the here and now - ten years ago I realized I wanted to make it to Hollywood. I was, then, twenty-one.

I'd always been writing or rewriting something, be it for my own personal kicks or for some kind of project (both in high school or college), and I looked upon some of my favorite movies of the day, such as "The Mask," "Who Framed Roger Rabbit," and "Back To The Future," as having the best possible means of getting my often manic vision across.

My philosophy has always been, for better or for worse, that "I can't tell you what it is, I'll just have to show you."

In other words, I could go into a bland description of golf courses exploding, snakes squirming their way into Victoria's Secret, and dirty old men bragging about their favorite conquests in the nursing home.

It sounds fun, but it lacks the actual punch - the sand traps being shot up into the sky, lingerie clad females running out through the mall, and the adventures of Barry and Gary while they tried to make time with the one woman who gave them a sponge bath every day.

So it had to be shown.

At this time, I was also a huge fan of "The Drew Carey Show," which was probably the last great sitcom, as I haven't tuned in one since ABC ran Drew's poor show into the ground. "Friends" went away, and I was glad. Drew's show went away, and I never even noticed, I'm sorry to say.

I'd even taken to writing my own scripts for "The Drew Carey Show," and even writing to Scott Adams about what the procedure is to become a television writer, as he was currently working on the "Dilbert" television show. Adams, who admitted he couldn't accept unsolicited ideas and such, gave me a brief behind the scenes look at the writing process for his show back in those days.

I, hopefully, still have that email. I state "hopefully" as that computer crashed some six years ago, and its sitting in the floor of my bedroom closet waiting to be turned on yet again to see if any remnants still exist within its hard drive.

I never tried writing to Drew Carey after Adams gave me his advice, but I still kept working on those scripts, knowing full well they'd never see the light of day, but I needed the practice.

As I'm in Arkansas, I've had to gather sources from all around me and do the best I can. I'd purchased possibly up to fifteen or twenty different volumes on screenwriting alone, not to mention the others that dealt with filmmaking itself.

I taught myself the craft. I had to, because no one here knew what it entailed.

That was 1999 through the Summer of 2000.

At the end of my Summer semesters, I accepted a project which would see me become an active writer, director, and co-editor of a collegiate promotional film. I recruited, directed, and chose what locations I could to help bring this to life, and presented a rough copy to a panel of suits from all over the campus.

They loved it.

I was then given license to make a second for the upcoming semester, and onward we went.

Now this is a long way from Universal Studios, I admit, but it does show you can take a self taught nobody, put him in a unique position, and prove to himself and others that, yes, I am capable of doing these things.

Then comes the notions of actually going Hollywood, via the New York Film Academy. Apparently, the NYFA offers "crash courses" in filmmaking which lasts anywhere from four to twelve weeks.

The first chance I get, I'm taking a six week stint out to California, which is most agreeable to me as Florida has hurricanes, and if it came to running from them, I'd likely get trampled.

I'm also reviewing J. Michael Straczynski's book "The Complete Book of Screenwriting." Mostly it's the parts on getting and keeping an agent I'm concerned with. That, and the warning signs.

I haven't (yet) been taken for a ride over my nine years of actual writing and promoting, and I've also been read several times. Some wanted to read earlier drafts of "Summertime Blues," several wanted to read "The Life and Times of Igor" (but didn't know what to make of it), and so on.

After a good strong nine years, I think I've realized I can effectively ditch the various Writer's Digest publications that list fewer and fewer screenplay agents. I won't say I wasted a crazy amount of money on these yearly publications because they have proven helpful, I'm just saying it's more economical to get the WGA list of agencies off their website and phone them up for their contacts.

Also, a note on query letters for all those who mass produce envelopes: what the hell happened? I've always had two formats of envelopes available to me, and one would always fit easily inside the other alongside the query letter.

Now I've found that the "standard" 4 1/8" x 9 1/2" is the largest one available at all major retailers, and the puny 3 5/8" x 6 1/2" are the only two options available to me, which leaves me in a quandary - do I use two 4 x 9" envelopes, and just fold one over to fit inside the other, or do I use the 3 x 6" which would require the agent to fold my original letter over to fit in the returned envelope?

Either way, I feel, it's a disaster. Either I submit a letter with an unprofessional appearance, or send a neat and tidy package that requires the agent to be unprofessional.

It's been like this for a year now. No matter where I go, be it Wal-Mart, Office Depot, Walgreens, Target, or any other specialty place you can mention, all I find are the exact same sizes.

And if that's not enough, I find myself waiting for the newest price hike in stamps. Ten years ago I could get a Pepsi from a vending machine for just fifty cents, and in a few years (or less) it'll cost that just to mail one damned letter.

But that's life.

I've survived years of agents, price hikes, loss of properly sized envelopes, and so far haven't fallen for the "okeydoke."

I'm doing pretty well, I must say.

And, though I most likely will not rule the world, I will, at the very least, make it to Hollywood and have the career I've been working so very hard at obtaining for a good decade now.

It's only a matter of time, just like everything else in life.

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.

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.

"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.