Plain and simple. He says I suffer and growl too much over my writing so I'm to spend a week being happy and carefree. I don't know what those words mean...so instead I think I'll post more of "The Lyons' Den" just to see how it's coming across.
Still in chapter one, here, as Daniel makes his way to destiny.
We finally hit this flat stretch of land and traffic got light and speed got slowed down once we were off the 17, with the road doing slow curves and straightaways and next to no cars coming in either direction as the snow kept snowing. Then we passed over a hilltop and into a woody valley, and there was sweet, charming, delightfully nestled Bradleyville...and lemme tell you, we got there hours after they rolled up the sidewalks. Seriously, this is the kind of place the chamber of commerce calls quaint while kids that live there refer to it as “the hell I wanna get the hell away from.” And while it looked like a picture postcard place in the winter white stuff, for some reason all I could think of that town in “It’s A Wonderful Life” -- all dark, snow-drifty and smothering in its Saccharine sweetness. I actually started looking around for a guy in a wheelchair named Potter...the guy being of that name, not the chair.
Somehow Dan-O...naw, better call him Daniel, from now on, and you’ll understand why as we go along...anyway, Daniel found the late-night diner he’d been referred to just off the main drag and walked in to enjoy the blast of warm air and think seriously about a slice of pie and some hot tea or coffee as he waited for the caretaker to come over for him, but before he could even get his gloves off this screech of a voice hollered, “You the fool friend of Mr. Bentley’s, come up here?”
He jumped around to see this five-foot tall gnome dressed in a massive green parka, thick gloves and a muffler atop two of the spindliest legs ever shoved into black ski-pants that ever was, that then vanished into a pair of the biggest snow boots ever seen (perportional...un, proportiony...uh, generally speaking). Seriously, it looked like an olive about to go into a martini, because all you could see of the person inside were two beady eyes that were easily a hundred years old.
My guy nodded and asked, “Are you Mr. Serff?”
“Do I look like Mr. Serff?” the voice snapped. Well, yes, in that get-up, but...”He’s in Boston. I’m the Missus.”
“Uh, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Daniel Bettancourt.”
I couldn’t resist adding, “Lord and master of the great and glorious Ace Shostakovich!” To which Daniel rolled his eyes, not in the snotty way Tad does but like he just plain can’t believe I said that.
The old bat glared at him, obviously noticing the rolling of said eyes and thinking he meant her. “And who else might ya be?” she snapped. “Up here, this time of year at this time of night? Summer place in the dead of winter? All the best skiin’s to the North. C’mon, let’s get this done with.” And she headed out the door, muttering, “Little fool.”
Daniel blinked and followed her. “So...I take it Tad got hold of you and explained -- ?”
“Tad?” she snapped. “That what he goes by, now? I knew him when he was just ‘Master’ Theodore James Bentley, the third, an’ made me use every fool bit of that fool name.” Wow...looked like he’d always been a dick. “An’ yes, he did call. Right ‘round an hour ago. Asked...no, ‘told’ me to get the place ready for ya. Got pretty high-handed with it, too, like I’s his employee. Like I can’t remember when his poppa was treatin’ me all right and proper. Like I’m a fool. I’d of told him where he could go, but ya were already comin’ an’ t’ain’t my way to let people die from exposure. Not ‘round my parcel of the woods, anyhow. T’ain’t polite.”
And I swear, she really DID say “t’ain’t” -- twice!
We headed straight back out to the snow and she eyed Daniel’s rental and snorted. “Best park that here. Won’t make it where we’re goin’.”
“It’s got four-wheel -- ,” Daniel said.
“I got mine. Toss your things in the back.” Then she climbed into this four-by-four with a snowplow as its front bumper, and the damn thing would’ve looked perfect as the car-crusher at a monster truck rally. Seriously, it even had fold-out steps going up to the sideboards of it so she could reach the cab.
“Will the car be okay here?” Daniel asked, eyeing the truck with what did NOT amount to certainty.
““Prob’ly,” said the old bat as she settled in behind the wheel. “No charge at a meter over the weekend. Now let’s get goin’!” Daniel got his satchel, laptop and a bag of groceries he’d bought at a deli by the car rental office and climbed aboard. And away we went, spitting snow the whole way down the drag. And I have to say, if I’d thought my guy was getting into something bad before, I was damn sure of it, now.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Monday, November 29, 2010
50,190
Very much to my surprise...but not to my characters'. What put it over the top was making the explanation of what's going on and the epilogue make sense...which probably means I over-explained everything. But since this IS officially a first draft, I can do that.
What's interesting is how doing this book has sharpened my awareness of what the scripts were about. I think I was being coy in them and, should anything happen with this, I can now make them ten times better. Makes me look at my other works in a different way, too. Who knows what the characters will bring to stories like "Darian's Point" and "Mine to Kill" and "Dair's Window"?
In fact...I can already see how I can make the relationship between Thomas and Marion work better, simply by being able to show it and delve into it, especially during their courtship and marriage and such. I refer to it in the script but now I'm thinking it's a much better idea to do it as a book.
As for publishing...I can do that myself online with Amazon...and even Barnes & Noble, I think. I'll dig into that after the first of the year.
So...Daniel's happy with me, as are Van and Ace. And Brendan's sitting on the sidelines wondering how long I want to break for before we get back to POS. I'm not doing anything else until I have a first draft of his story done, period. I don't need to worry about perfection in it, not just yet; I need to get the plot down and figure out what information I need from that.
Now excuse me while I go find some way of unfrying my brain.
What's interesting is how doing this book has sharpened my awareness of what the scripts were about. I think I was being coy in them and, should anything happen with this, I can now make them ten times better. Makes me look at my other works in a different way, too. Who knows what the characters will bring to stories like "Darian's Point" and "Mine to Kill" and "Dair's Window"?
In fact...I can already see how I can make the relationship between Thomas and Marion work better, simply by being able to show it and delve into it, especially during their courtship and marriage and such. I refer to it in the script but now I'm thinking it's a much better idea to do it as a book.
As for publishing...I can do that myself online with Amazon...and even Barnes & Noble, I think. I'll dig into that after the first of the year.
So...Daniel's happy with me, as are Van and Ace. And Brendan's sitting on the sidelines wondering how long I want to break for before we get back to POS. I'm not doing anything else until I have a first draft of his story done, period. I don't need to worry about perfection in it, not just yet; I need to get the plot down and figure out what information I need from that.
Now excuse me while I go find some way of unfrying my brain.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
I'm Santa's Doppelganger
If you go by the photos accompanying an interview I gave in NYC last weekend. Want to get an idea of just how crazy I am? Check it out.
http://www.diningwithstrangers.com/?page_id=920
LD is just over 46000 words. I'm still pushing but I'm being led places I never thought we'd go to and while these journeys are deepening the book and characters, they're also taking time. Two days left to hit 50K. Sigh. And yet...I honestly would not have it any other way...because I think I'm in love with both Daniel and Van.
Told you I'm crazy.
http://www.diningwithstrangers.com/?page_id=920
LD is just over 46000 words. I'm still pushing but I'm being led places I never thought we'd go to and while these journeys are deepening the book and characters, they're also taking time. Two days left to hit 50K. Sigh. And yet...I honestly would not have it any other way...because I think I'm in love with both Daniel and Van.
Told you I'm crazy.
Saturday, November 27, 2010
ZIP-idey-doo-dah
We are not in the mood to contemplate our navels, we offer in explanation (via the Royal "we") because intense-ness begets brain-dead-ness, and Ace has begun to sound like Elliot Ness so enough of this mess. So we present, instead, a gentle reworking of what has already been presented...the first (now 6) pages of "The Lyons' Den"...aimed at better preparing one and all for the chaos of the rest of the friggin' story.
So without further ado, we hereby present...
Daniel Bettancourt, who's now spending a third of the story in his briefs instead of just a bath towel and shirt; he felt doing so much of the action that close to naked was too distracting and embarrassing and unimaginative (for the book; it'll be fine in the play or movie versions since that's what sell the seats), so we compromised.
And with him is Ace...who is also Tad...which will be explained and set-up and all that in these first few pages. And I hope it all makes sense in the end. but I quite honestly do not know. I only know that as of now I'm thinking the book will top out at 45-46,000 words, a bit short of the NaNoWriMo goal. We shall see.
And these two are all that matter, right now.
Meaning it is time for the meat of this masterpiece to be met --
THE LYONS' DEN
To keep it simple, Daniel’s life began to unravel when he made that bet. Granted, he popped up with the wager out of desperation while trying to talk Tad -- excuse me, Theodore J. Bentley, the Third (one must have one’s moniker correct, you know) -- into giving their relationship a second chance. Of course, his timing was off, as usual. Tad’s focus was on how messed up his current project for a series was (thanks to an overpriced twenty-one-year-old-Cheeto-eater said to be the hottest screenwriter in Hollywood since Orson Welles) and he had to meet with the “yay or nay” guy at HBO on Monday, so he wasn’t listening to a single solitary thing that was being said until Daniel snapped, “Okay, fine, fine, fine, Tad, I’ll get them into shape in time for the damned meeting; now can you just -- ?”
“Are you outta your fuckin’ mind, Danny?” Tad shot back. “You don’t get it -- ALL the scripts are crap, all fuckin’ eight of them, including the Bible.” (“The Bible” not being that book of Christian conflict but one that outlined the direction the characters and story would take; helps to know the lingo of the natives, in this case.) “Besides, you write books, not screenplays.”
“A story’s a story.”
“Oh, please! A script isn’t a story; it’s a framework.”
“Which is probably why they aren’t working, not if you’ve got that kind of attitude about it.”
“It’s the attitude of the business, Danny. And I gotta work in it if I want to produce enough to pay my rent and car.”
“Well, it’s stupid. They’re solid characters, Tad; they’ll work things out, if you let them.”
“Shit, you got any idea how crazy that makes you sound? ‘My characters’ll work everything out.’ Jesus.”
“You know what I mean -- .”
“Do I? Does anybody? Really?”
Daniel got really quiet and calm and said, “You’ve seen it work.”
“I’ve seen you pull shit that would’ve put you in a padded room, fifty years ago.”
“I have six books to back it up.”
Tad sighed and nodded. “Okay, whatever, but they haven’t done crap for me. Besides, all we’re talking about is a movie adaptation; you still got those six books out there, all nice and neat and selling while I got my ass on the line, putting money into it I don’t have and -- and hiring that twerp -- .”
“Tad, listen to me -- I could fix it for you. I could fix ‘em all.”
“Jesus Christ, Danny, the meeting’s Monday. At noon. You can’t do this in a weekend; that’s not enough time.”
Daniel glared at Tad, irritated he was shrugging off such a fantastic offer. “What if I did do it?” he said. “Had ‘em ready in time? What if I did? Would you spend a week in -- in -- in Bermuda with me? Just a week? See if we can work things out?”
Tad just rolled his eyes in that way that always pissed Daniel off. Not because it was so condescending or dismissive, but because he looked so damned good when he did it, the little shit.
Now at this point, one might wonder why Daniel even wanted to get back together with someone as self-absorbed as Tad -- oops, Theodore J. Bentley, the Third (certain of us must use his addendum, as well; he’d snarl in disgust without the full and flowing exclamation of his name and -- and...oh, the hell with it -- let him snarl). It’d always been too much of a one-sided relationship, with Daniel bending over backwards to suit Tad’s every wish...and even those wishes Daniel stupidly THOUGHT Tad had.
Well, the reason is really simple -- the man was fuckin’ gorgeous. And knew it. Period. End of thought about the whole process. If you bring to mind the epitome of every gay man’s dream, no matter what his type -- that was Tad. Built like a Greek god, golden to the max, a face so classic in its line with eyes so blue and cool and elegant...sometimes it hurt to just look at him. To picture Tad walking along the beach in his signature red square-cut Speedo (never a thong, never a plain Speedo, and no way in hell would he be caught dead in board shorts; those were for fat Russians, Australians and boogie-boarder-boiz), well, to see him was to see a prowling panther proudly policing his lair with the casual assurance that he could handle anything -- be it male, female or Flipper. How he and Daniel ever wound up as a couple was the source of endless speculation by one and all who knew them, mainly because Daniel was SO his polar opposite.
Not ugly, no; he just had...well...nice, decent looks. Lean face. Crazy thick brown hair with eyebrows to match, hovering over dark sloe eyes. Smooth olive-toned skin (except for this sorta-kinda 5 o’clock shadow dancing about his jaw and a surprisingly sexy scar along his left cheekbone). Put it all together with his hawkish nose (obviously he took after the French-Portuguese side of the family) and the fact that he was trim (not skinny or even undeveloped; running, hiking and doing the bike trails of New Jersey back country managed to keep his lazy little self in muscled-enough shape), he was pleasantly attractive in your basic Joe Average kind of way.
So why the hell a I’m-all-that guy like Tad would let a sorta-kinda guy like Daniel play high priest to his shining light for nearly two years was beyond explanation for most people. Unless it was the sex. Which more than one wagging tongue insisted must be true because they’d heard from someone whose current lover had slept with another guy who’d heard from a friend of his that Tad was a lousy lay (once you got beyond the oral worship part of his not-all-that dick) while Daniel had tricks up his sleeve that would turn the straightest guy to the pink side (and had proven it with one recently outed actor who had to un-out himself by getting married and having twins that actually looked like him, to everyone’s surprise...including his), this according to a friend who heard it from a friend who heard it from a friend.
But now they’d been broken up for nearly a year and Daniel was willing to do anything to get back together. Why anyone would want to fuck around with anyone who doesn’t want to fuck around with them unless he can really and truly fuck around with them (in every meaning of the term) is one of life’s great mysteries. But that was Daniel’s mind-set, so when Tad dropped by that night to whine about how screwed he was thanks to these adaptations and his backers were pissed off at him and he was gonna go bankrupt and on and on and on, Daniel’d jumped in feet-first, as usual, with his proposal.
Now it should be noted that it most definitely did help that the series of scripts were based on Daniel’s third and fourth books -- oh, oh, right -- by the way, Daniel is also, most definitely, a published author under the name Daniel C. Bettancourt. Yes, his real name, which he saw no reason not to own since it had been his since he was born (except for the “C”; he’d added that in since his mother hadn’t seen fit to give him a middle name). All of which made him the proud penman of six mystery novels. All of which featured me, Ace Shostakovich, private eye extraordinaire.
Meaning, yes -- I’m not real. But if you think it’s weird a fictional character is telling this story, you ain’t seen what happened, yet.
So without further ado, we hereby present...
And these two are all that matter, right now.
Meaning it is time for the meat of this masterpiece to be met --
THE LYONS' DEN
To keep it simple, Daniel’s life began to unravel when he made that bet. Granted, he popped up with the wager out of desperation while trying to talk Tad -- excuse me, Theodore J. Bentley, the Third (one must have one’s moniker correct, you know) -- into giving their relationship a second chance. Of course, his timing was off, as usual. Tad’s focus was on how messed up his current project for a series was (thanks to an overpriced twenty-one-year-old-Cheeto-eater said to be the hottest screenwriter in Hollywood since Orson Welles) and he had to meet with the “yay or nay” guy at HBO on Monday, so he wasn’t listening to a single solitary thing that was being said until Daniel snapped, “Okay, fine, fine, fine, Tad, I’ll get them into shape in time for the damned meeting; now can you just -- ?”
“Are you outta your fuckin’ mind, Danny?” Tad shot back. “You don’t get it -- ALL the scripts are crap, all fuckin’ eight of them, including the Bible.” (“The Bible” not being that book of Christian conflict but one that outlined the direction the characters and story would take; helps to know the lingo of the natives, in this case.) “Besides, you write books, not screenplays.”
“A story’s a story.”
“Oh, please! A script isn’t a story; it’s a framework.”
“Which is probably why they aren’t working, not if you’ve got that kind of attitude about it.”
“It’s the attitude of the business, Danny. And I gotta work in it if I want to produce enough to pay my rent and car.”
“Well, it’s stupid. They’re solid characters, Tad; they’ll work things out, if you let them.”
“Shit, you got any idea how crazy that makes you sound? ‘My characters’ll work everything out.’ Jesus.”
“You know what I mean -- .”
“Do I? Does anybody? Really?”
Daniel got really quiet and calm and said, “You’ve seen it work.”
“I’ve seen you pull shit that would’ve put you in a padded room, fifty years ago.”
“I have six books to back it up.”
Tad sighed and nodded. “Okay, whatever, but they haven’t done crap for me. Besides, all we’re talking about is a movie adaptation; you still got those six books out there, all nice and neat and selling while I got my ass on the line, putting money into it I don’t have and -- and hiring that twerp -- .”
“Tad, listen to me -- I could fix it for you. I could fix ‘em all.”
“Jesus Christ, Danny, the meeting’s Monday. At noon. You can’t do this in a weekend; that’s not enough time.”
Daniel glared at Tad, irritated he was shrugging off such a fantastic offer. “What if I did do it?” he said. “Had ‘em ready in time? What if I did? Would you spend a week in -- in -- in Bermuda with me? Just a week? See if we can work things out?”
Tad just rolled his eyes in that way that always pissed Daniel off. Not because it was so condescending or dismissive, but because he looked so damned good when he did it, the little shit.
Now at this point, one might wonder why Daniel even wanted to get back together with someone as self-absorbed as Tad -- oops, Theodore J. Bentley, the Third (certain of us must use his addendum, as well; he’d snarl in disgust without the full and flowing exclamation of his name and -- and...oh, the hell with it -- let him snarl). It’d always been too much of a one-sided relationship, with Daniel bending over backwards to suit Tad’s every wish...and even those wishes Daniel stupidly THOUGHT Tad had.
Well, the reason is really simple -- the man was fuckin’ gorgeous. And knew it. Period. End of thought about the whole process. If you bring to mind the epitome of every gay man’s dream, no matter what his type -- that was Tad. Built like a Greek god, golden to the max, a face so classic in its line with eyes so blue and cool and elegant...sometimes it hurt to just look at him. To picture Tad walking along the beach in his signature red square-cut Speedo (never a thong, never a plain Speedo, and no way in hell would he be caught dead in board shorts; those were for fat Russians, Australians and boogie-boarder-boiz), well, to see him was to see a prowling panther proudly policing his lair with the casual assurance that he could handle anything -- be it male, female or Flipper. How he and Daniel ever wound up as a couple was the source of endless speculation by one and all who knew them, mainly because Daniel was SO his polar opposite.
Not ugly, no; he just had...well...nice, decent looks. Lean face. Crazy thick brown hair with eyebrows to match, hovering over dark sloe eyes. Smooth olive-toned skin (except for this sorta-kinda 5 o’clock shadow dancing about his jaw and a surprisingly sexy scar along his left cheekbone). Put it all together with his hawkish nose (obviously he took after the French-Portuguese side of the family) and the fact that he was trim (not skinny or even undeveloped; running, hiking and doing the bike trails of New Jersey back country managed to keep his lazy little self in muscled-enough shape), he was pleasantly attractive in your basic Joe Average kind of way.
So why the hell a I’m-all-that guy like Tad would let a sorta-kinda guy like Daniel play high priest to his shining light for nearly two years was beyond explanation for most people. Unless it was the sex. Which more than one wagging tongue insisted must be true because they’d heard from someone whose current lover had slept with another guy who’d heard from a friend of his that Tad was a lousy lay (once you got beyond the oral worship part of his not-all-that dick) while Daniel had tricks up his sleeve that would turn the straightest guy to the pink side (and had proven it with one recently outed actor who had to un-out himself by getting married and having twins that actually looked like him, to everyone’s surprise...including his), this according to a friend who heard it from a friend who heard it from a friend.
But now they’d been broken up for nearly a year and Daniel was willing to do anything to get back together. Why anyone would want to fuck around with anyone who doesn’t want to fuck around with them unless he can really and truly fuck around with them (in every meaning of the term) is one of life’s great mysteries. But that was Daniel’s mind-set, so when Tad dropped by that night to whine about how screwed he was thanks to these adaptations and his backers were pissed off at him and he was gonna go bankrupt and on and on and on, Daniel’d jumped in feet-first, as usual, with his proposal.
Now it should be noted that it most definitely did help that the series of scripts were based on Daniel’s third and fourth books -- oh, oh, right -- by the way, Daniel is also, most definitely, a published author under the name Daniel C. Bettancourt. Yes, his real name, which he saw no reason not to own since it had been his since he was born (except for the “C”; he’d added that in since his mother hadn’t seen fit to give him a middle name). All of which made him the proud penman of six mystery novels. All of which featured me, Ace Shostakovich, private eye extraordinaire.
Meaning, yes -- I’m not real. But if you think it’s weird a fictional character is telling this story, you ain’t seen what happened, yet.
Friday, November 26, 2010
The more you learn
Up over 42,500 words and have 30 pages left of the rewrite to do, so I may fall just short. But I know spaces where I can add more in, for now, so we'll see how it goes. The story is still pretty chaotic, which is how it's supposed to be; I may ask for feedback after my next draft. Not after THIS one, for sure; I think I have some inconsistencies that need to be addressed.
Short day at work helped. Next week will be low key, I think, so I may get more writing done, then. I'll just bring my laptop and work off that.
First snowfall in buffalo, today. Light flurries that wound up leaving about half an inch on my car that then danced about as I drove home. Currently it's laying lightly on streets, yards and rooftops, and more is expected, tomorrow. I may spend another day inside just working at LD and glad I'm not traveling in it. I'll probably have to when I head for San Antonio for Christmas, so no rush.
It now appears that my younger brother and sister have all but abandoned my mother and youngest brother. I'm past the point of being angry and and just brutally disappointed in them. I've done more for my mother from 1600 miles away -- including getting her a bedpan via Amazon.com!! so she doesn't have to rush to get to the bathroom -- than either of them has done living 10 and 30 miles away, respectively. I'm not interested in dealing with them, now.
Amazing what you learn about people as you grow older.
And myself. I'm finding I can still have jokey fun in my stories. And my ability to crush on someone is undiminished. There's even an erotic actor named Conner Habib whose blog I've begun to follow because he's just as smart as he is cute. Trust me to find an intellectual porn star.
Short day at work helped. Next week will be low key, I think, so I may get more writing done, then. I'll just bring my laptop and work off that.
First snowfall in buffalo, today. Light flurries that wound up leaving about half an inch on my car that then danced about as I drove home. Currently it's laying lightly on streets, yards and rooftops, and more is expected, tomorrow. I may spend another day inside just working at LD and glad I'm not traveling in it. I'll probably have to when I head for San Antonio for Christmas, so no rush.
It now appears that my younger brother and sister have all but abandoned my mother and youngest brother. I'm past the point of being angry and and just brutally disappointed in them. I've done more for my mother from 1600 miles away -- including getting her a bedpan via Amazon.com!! so she doesn't have to rush to get to the bathroom -- than either of them has done living 10 and 30 miles away, respectively. I'm not interested in dealing with them, now.
Amazing what you learn about people as you grow older.
And myself. I'm finding I can still have jokey fun in my stories. And my ability to crush on someone is undiminished. There's even an erotic actor named Conner Habib whose blog I've begun to follow because he's just as smart as he is cute. Trust me to find an intellectual porn star.
Thursday, November 25, 2010
I like Thanksgiving...
For one reason and one reason only -- It's a day off where I don't have to deal with anyone. Last year I was living at home with my mother so had to deal with it, then, but prior to that I'd usually tell people who invited me over for dinner that I already had plans and I'd spend the day to myself.
Like today. I didn't leave my apartment. Just worked on LD and got it up to 40,500 words. And I feel productive. I even had a nice little argument between Daniel, Ace, Carmen and Dream-Tad in a shower stall. THAT was a hoot and a horror, and God only knows if anyone will be able to follow it.
BTW, I worked my crush on Zachary Quinto as the new Spock into the story, all without saying his name. Ah, the joys of being a sneak.
Of course, I don't know if anyone'll be able to follow the story at all, what with Ace being the one telling it while Daniel is thinking it and experiencing it as Carmen and Dream-Tad mess with him and he begins to wonder if Van even really, truly exists or if he's involved with True-Tad in trying to mess up the bet. Maybe this is my Dali-style of story -- all surreality mixed with reality and pseudo-reality to mess with reality.
I don't know. It's just proving to be fun. I just hope the ending I have now will be the ending I have when I'm done.
Now let's end this day on a note of beautificence.
I THINK this is China. It wasn't identified on the blog I downloaded it from. But does it look otherworldly, or what?
Like today. I didn't leave my apartment. Just worked on LD and got it up to 40,500 words. And I feel productive. I even had a nice little argument between Daniel, Ace, Carmen and Dream-Tad in a shower stall. THAT was a hoot and a horror, and God only knows if anyone will be able to follow it.
Of course, I don't know if anyone'll be able to follow the story at all, what with Ace being the one telling it while Daniel is thinking it and experiencing it as Carmen and Dream-Tad mess with him and he begins to wonder if Van even really, truly exists or if he's involved with True-Tad in trying to mess up the bet. Maybe this is my Dali-style of story -- all surreality mixed with reality and pseudo-reality to mess with reality.
I don't know. It's just proving to be fun. I just hope the ending I have now will be the ending I have when I'm done.
I THINK this is China. It wasn't identified on the blog I downloaded it from. But does it look otherworldly, or what?
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Best laid plans...
Always get trampled by my characters. I started to add my own little drama to the drama of Daniel's life, and got smacked down in a way that was not pretty. BUT...did lead to something better. And I'm now up over 36K in words.
What happened, you might ask? Well, Daniel got himself a sister...but no brothers. I tried to add them on but he refused to give me the space to do it. And Ace went along with him. So instead up popped this rift with sister, who now won't talk to him because he's gay and she's got kids, and he's in control of his mother's finances because husband #5 didn't trust her to handle them, herself. And now Daniel's meeting up with Ace is a way of saving his sanity...by appearing to be slightly insane...so no one will think he's really insane, since he isn't even though some people think he is. It makes sense in the context of the story.
I hope.
Right now I'm reworking Daniel's and Van's first meeting, where Daniel's completely nude and trying to call the cops when Van walks in and thinks the exact wrong thing. Which leads to things getting off on the wrong foot, completely.
It's funny, but I can picture the models I'm using for Daniel, Van and Tad doing and saying things as I write them. I don't know if this makes it any easier...but it is more fun.
Now back to the writing. I want 37,500 words before I finish, tonight.
What happened, you might ask? Well, Daniel got himself a sister...but no brothers. I tried to add them on but he refused to give me the space to do it. And Ace went along with him. So instead up popped this rift with sister, who now won't talk to him because he's gay and she's got kids, and he's in control of his mother's finances because husband #5 didn't trust her to handle them, herself. And now Daniel's meeting up with Ace is a way of saving his sanity...by appearing to be slightly insane...so no one will think he's really insane, since he isn't even though some people think he is. It makes sense in the context of the story.
I hope.
Right now I'm reworking Daniel's and Van's first meeting, where Daniel's completely nude and trying to call the cops when Van walks in and thinks the exact wrong thing. Which leads to things getting off on the wrong foot, completely.
It's funny, but I can picture the models I'm using for Daniel, Van and Tad doing and saying things as I write them. I don't know if this makes it any easier...but it is more fun.
Now back to the writing. I want 37,500 words before I finish, tonight.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Care Package
I'm sending mom and my youngest brother some food, since my other brother and sister think it's too much trouble to take them grocery shopping. I'll bet my box of dry goods, cookies and candy, magazine and a letter get there faster than anyone else doing their fucking duty.
I must say, I'm shifting more into disappointment, now. I took this job only because Brother and sister said they'd take care of mom so youngest brother wouldn't have to. Now I'm wondering if I'll have to either quit and go back to care for her or move her up here, with me. I'm heading down for Christmas...and I got a feeling it's not going to be a nice one.
Again, no work done on LD. Seems even if I DID have the feeling I could write it into 50,000 words this will keep me out of the running. Maybe. I'll work all day Thanksgiving and this coming weekend...so we'll see. If I get a roll going, I can easily do 4-5000 words in a day, and all I really have left is just over 15000. We'll see what happens.
I may be heading down to NYC the 9th of December and staying till the 13th. Depends on if this packing job comes through. New York in winter. This should be interesting.
So now it's time for Daniel to begin kicking me in the butt, wondering why the hell I'm letting myself get distracted by such nonsense. It's not like there's anything I can do about it...and if I don't watch out, he'll add that crap to his story and REALLY piss the rest of the family off.
Screw it, I think I will.
Which means Van will be more conflicted as the story goes along and he learns about Daniel's past...and which will definitely shift the whole dynamic. (I'm using Cary Grant's character in "Charade" as his guide, since he's a constantly shifting character.)
And that makes Ace -- AKA: Tad -- even more important. I'm having fun with him being modeled after the one guy Daniel's obsessing over...at least, he's obsessing at the beginning of the story. As the chaos (and Daniel's psychosis) grows, we'll see how this plays out.
The book is shifting a fair bit from the script and play...and may inform on them as well as them on it. So...I'm back to wondering what I'll wind up with.
What fun.
I must say, I'm shifting more into disappointment, now. I took this job only because Brother and sister said they'd take care of mom so youngest brother wouldn't have to. Now I'm wondering if I'll have to either quit and go back to care for her or move her up here, with me. I'm heading down for Christmas...and I got a feeling it's not going to be a nice one.
Again, no work done on LD. Seems even if I DID have the feeling I could write it into 50,000 words this will keep me out of the running. Maybe. I'll work all day Thanksgiving and this coming weekend...so we'll see. If I get a roll going, I can easily do 4-5000 words in a day, and all I really have left is just over 15000. We'll see what happens.
I may be heading down to NYC the 9th of December and staying till the 13th. Depends on if this packing job comes through. New York in winter. This should be interesting.
Screw it, I think I will.
The book is shifting a fair bit from the script and play...and may inform on them as well as them on it. So...I'm back to wondering what I'll wind up with.
What fun.
Monday, November 22, 2010
Family sucks
Just spent over an hour on the phone learning about how my younger brother and sister have all but abandoned our mother because each is in his and her own little snit over something. My youngest brother is taking care of her since she got out of the rehab facility, and he can't drive. Fortunately, her doctor is at a clinic that's just two blocks away so when she had an appointment today, he was able to take her there in a wheelchair, but he has to catch a bus to go get groceries because neither of our other siblings can be bothered to come help them do. I'm so fucking pissed, right now, if I talked to either one of those little shits, I'd make things even worse...because we wouldn't be talking for long -- we'd be screaming.
So...no writing done. Instead, I'm posting pictures to try and lessen my anger and try to settle down so I can get some sleep.
Here is the Delaware Water Gap. I took this en route to NYC and my pitiful little photo does NOT do it justice. Just magnificent.
When I got to New York, I was staying in a hotel by The Meadowlands...and I got SO lost trying to do the proper looping arounds to get to it, once I got off the NJ Turnpike, I wound up back on the Turnpike and couldn't get off. I had to do an illegal U-turn at a service road to get back. I finally just got off the freeway and worked my way over to the hotel via surface streets...which was a major chore.
This is a river in the Catskills. I was en route home from NYC when I saw it. Dunno what the name of the river is, but it was lovely and the water was so clear you could see the rocks on the bottom.
Driving home, I swung through Syracuse to do some research for a story. Yes, another script nudging at me to make it into a book...and this one makes sense because no one really got it as a screenplay. We'll see how it goes.
So...no writing done. Instead, I'm posting pictures to try and lessen my anger and try to settle down so I can get some sleep.
When I got to New York, I was staying in a hotel by The Meadowlands...and I got SO lost trying to do the proper looping arounds to get to it, once I got off the NJ Turnpike, I wound up back on the Turnpike and couldn't get off. I had to do an illegal U-turn at a service road to get back. I finally just got off the freeway and worked my way over to the hotel via surface streets...which was a major chore.
This is a river in the Catskills. I was en route home from NYC when I saw it. Dunno what the name of the river is, but it was lovely and the water was so clear you could see the rocks on the bottom.
Driving home, I swung through Syracuse to do some research for a story. Yes, another script nudging at me to make it into a book...and this one makes sense because no one really got it as a screenplay. We'll see how it goes.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Roundabout return
I took that different route home and am glad I did. It's a lovely drive, for the most part -- lots of twists and turns past shallow rivers of quick rapids between short mountains topped by leafless trees along a divided highway that cuts through the granite of some of those hills, revealing some elegant, jagged formations at 45 degree angles, where occasional flat streams of water whisper out from them and cascade down to the dirt -- and it gave me some ideas for Daniel's character.
Like when I got off the 87 to head for the 17 North -- it looks like you're must missing having to pay a toll...but no; it's $1.25 to get off the road. All vehicles. No exceptions. And Daniel huffed at it, so I put in how he hates to pay tolls, especially since he's driving a rented vehicle.
I also found a better explanation for Daniel to go to this cabin instead of just stay in NYC, himself; and ways to make Mrs. Serff (the caretaker's wife) into more of a character. I'm at the point in the story, right now, where another character comes in and starts messing with Daniel. And soon chaos begins.
This was a tiring weekend -- it's 400 miles each way to NYC -- but it's done. I only got a bit of writing accomplished -- more rewriting was handled, actually -- but the ideas that I've had are working neatly. And since I don't work Thanksgiving Day, I'll use that time to catch up on my word count.
Now I'm beat. Time for bed.
Like when I got off the 87 to head for the 17 North -- it looks like you're must missing having to pay a toll...but no; it's $1.25 to get off the road. All vehicles. No exceptions. And Daniel huffed at it, so I put in how he hates to pay tolls, especially since he's driving a rented vehicle.
I also found a better explanation for Daniel to go to this cabin instead of just stay in NYC, himself; and ways to make Mrs. Serff (the caretaker's wife) into more of a character. I'm at the point in the story, right now, where another character comes in and starts messing with Daniel. And soon chaos begins.
This was a tiring weekend -- it's 400 miles each way to NYC -- but it's done. I only got a bit of writing accomplished -- more rewriting was handled, actually -- but the ideas that I've had are working neatly. And since I don't work Thanksgiving Day, I'll use that time to catch up on my word count.
Now I'm beat. Time for bed.
Two beers and I'm a chatterbox
I drove down to NYC to have Dinner With A Friend (who was very cute) and discuss my writing..and I can only hope I made sense. We met at the Heartland Brewery in the Empire State Building and I did most of the talking. Seriously, I got to chattering so much, I could easily have come across as caught in dementia. More on this later. Right now, I'm on LD and more ideas have been offered for it.
I'm finally beginning to think I might make it to 50K in wordage. Daniel and Ace floated new possibilities for additions to the story, and another serendipitous moment surfaced. When I worked out the Google Map directions to my hotel in Secaucus (which turned out to be wrong once I got here and got so lost, I had to get off the freeway and use surface streets to find my way), I asked it to print out directions home. What came up was a different route, right through the area where I'd set the Lyons' Den, so I'm driving home that way, just to see what it's like. I may find out it's wrong and I need to relocate, so better to work it now than later. But what was fun is how it just popped up all on its own. So...do I thank Daniel, Ace or even Van for that one? (Names make sense in the context of the story.)
You know, a lot of the drive between Buffalo and NYC is beautiful. In Pennsylvania you pass through a huge nature preserve of some kind, with the freeway cut into shale formations that are mesmerizingly beautiful. I also saw why the Delaware Water Gap is so fantastic -- I mean it's nice going north (I drove the route when traveling back from a job in NYC, after my encounter with the Tea Party Lady in Maryland), but going south is spectacular. And New Jersey is just gorgeous. Photos of the Gap will follow.
So...my little Honda's been Manhattanized. I wonder if it's okay?
I'm finally beginning to think I might make it to 50K in wordage. Daniel and Ace floated new possibilities for additions to the story, and another serendipitous moment surfaced. When I worked out the Google Map directions to my hotel in Secaucus (which turned out to be wrong once I got here and got so lost, I had to get off the freeway and use surface streets to find my way), I asked it to print out directions home. What came up was a different route, right through the area where I'd set the Lyons' Den, so I'm driving home that way, just to see what it's like. I may find out it's wrong and I need to relocate, so better to work it now than later. But what was fun is how it just popped up all on its own. So...do I thank Daniel, Ace or even Van for that one? (Names make sense in the context of the story.)
You know, a lot of the drive between Buffalo and NYC is beautiful. In Pennsylvania you pass through a huge nature preserve of some kind, with the freeway cut into shale formations that are mesmerizingly beautiful. I also saw why the Delaware Water Gap is so fantastic -- I mean it's nice going north (I drove the route when traveling back from a job in NYC, after my encounter with the Tea Party Lady in Maryland), but going south is spectacular. And New Jersey is just gorgeous. Photos of the Gap will follow.
So...my little Honda's been Manhattanized. I wonder if it's okay?
Friday, November 19, 2010
Words, words, words
Tonight came the titles of all 6 of Daniel's mystery novels --
"The Red Knife in a Blue Jello"
"The Dr. Pepper Tryst and Tristan"
"The High-heeled Moccasins"
"The Cadillac Criminal Mind"
"The Tangerine 42D Cup Madame"
"The Dirty Baker's Dozen, Plus 2"
And an odd little bit of memory floated up for Daniel, showing how Ace appeared in his life. I may need to rework that moment, just to make it work right, but it's interesting in and of itself and takes this story out of the realm of farce and into dramatic comedy. I think. Won't know till I'm done, now.
Saturday I'm gone and won't be back till Sunday evening, if all goes well. More on that another time. It's late and I'm tired from slaving over a hot computer all day, inputting crap that would make the perkiest person plop down from tedium.
But at least I'm up to over 33000 words, total. Yeah, big yawn.
"The Red Knife in a Blue Jello"
"The Dr. Pepper Tryst and Tristan"
"The High-heeled Moccasins"
"The Cadillac Criminal Mind"
"The Tangerine 42D Cup Madame"
"The Dirty Baker's Dozen, Plus 2"
And an odd little bit of memory floated up for Daniel, showing how Ace appeared in his life. I may need to rework that moment, just to make it work right, but it's interesting in and of itself and takes this story out of the realm of farce and into dramatic comedy. I think. Won't know till I'm done, now.
Saturday I'm gone and won't be back till Sunday evening, if all goes well. More on that another time. It's late and I'm tired from slaving over a hot computer all day, inputting crap that would make the perkiest person plop down from tedium.
But at least I'm up to over 33000 words, total. Yeah, big yawn.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Ace is the base
Wasn't there a band named that in the 80's? Had a couple of hits. Foreign, right? I don't remember except I did see a video of theirs prepping the stage for a concert and then the second half being the concert (or combination of concerts) as they sang.
I'm headed to San Antonio for Christmas...on Christmas Eve. This should be fun. If the weather permits. And I can get myself manhandled by a cute screener. There's one at Buffalo's airport...maybe if I make a reservation...
Of course, it's fun to make light of the encroaching police state tactics being employed all around us -- not just in airports. Cops use tasers instead of words and wits to take people down, sometimes killing them. Torture is now an acceptable part of any police interrogation, not just those being done by the CIA and FBI and Army "Intelligence." Prosecutors use every legal method they can to keep convicts from being proven innocent, especially if they actually are. Corporations control what you read, see, think and hear and how you vote. And it's all fine with the right wing because they're WASPs and in control and such things will NEVER be used against them or theirs. Ah, life in America in the 21st Century.
I'm feeling Ace's cynicism, right now. It filters through me in ways I've yet to understand or even care about. I hope to have it all out of my system once the story is in its first real draft. I'm at page 41 of the reconstruct and am up to 31,500 words...so we'll see how it goes. But right now, all I can say is I'm enjoying the ride. Ace is such a snot, at times, and the fact that he is and is part of Daniel mitigates the main character's initial wimpiness and gives him time to begin to build into a true leading man.
I don't know if this story counts as experimental...or even if I'm reading too much into it all...but I don't care. I got hot tea and condescension on my side, so I'm feeling quite British, at the moment.
I'm headed to San Antonio for Christmas...on Christmas Eve. This should be fun. If the weather permits. And I can get myself manhandled by a cute screener. There's one at Buffalo's airport...maybe if I make a reservation...
Of course, it's fun to make light of the encroaching police state tactics being employed all around us -- not just in airports. Cops use tasers instead of words and wits to take people down, sometimes killing them. Torture is now an acceptable part of any police interrogation, not just those being done by the CIA and FBI and Army "Intelligence." Prosecutors use every legal method they can to keep convicts from being proven innocent, especially if they actually are. Corporations control what you read, see, think and hear and how you vote. And it's all fine with the right wing because they're WASPs and in control and such things will NEVER be used against them or theirs. Ah, life in America in the 21st Century.
I'm feeling Ace's cynicism, right now. It filters through me in ways I've yet to understand or even care about. I hope to have it all out of my system once the story is in its first real draft. I'm at page 41 of the reconstruct and am up to 31,500 words...so we'll see how it goes. But right now, all I can say is I'm enjoying the ride. Ace is such a snot, at times, and the fact that he is and is part of Daniel mitigates the main character's initial wimpiness and gives him time to begin to build into a true leading man.
I don't know if this story counts as experimental...or even if I'm reading too much into it all...but I don't care. I got hot tea and condescension on my side, so I'm feeling quite British, at the moment.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Writin', writin', writin'...
Gotta keep on writin',
Keep them stories writin',
Write on.............."
And as such, I don't feel like fiddling with thoughts on the blog. Instead, here's a bit more of "The Lyons' Den".
---
So I piped down and got to pondering the possibilities, peculiarities and just plain persnickitiness of the project at hand (told you I liked to alliterate). I’d decided to wear the latest in cool-detective trench coats over your basic casual travel attire and felt really cool, calm and collected -- especially since Carmen didn’t even join us on the trip. She said she’d be around if we needed her, but I kinda think she was irritated at how she’d been made over and just wanted to be the bitch someplace else, for a while. Which made me wonder if she was off sweet-talkin’ some other writer to put her in HIS book. Meaning, yes -- we characters can be very fickle, and if we feel we’re being dissed, then we’ll just go get pissed, and so some will insist on finding a new -- uh -- damn, what’s a word for writer that rhymes with insist? I’m drawin’ a blank here. “Lyricist?” Naw, too weird.
ANYway...what made the trip truly enjoyable was, it started to snow. Nothing heavy, at first, just little flurries that got flurrier and flurrier till it looked like a serious Nor’easter. I’d wondered if Dan-o was being too anal when he asked for an SUV and four-wheel drive (the weather report said cold with scattered clouds) but now I was glad. Traffic got light and speed got slowed down once we were off the 85, with the road twisting and turning and next to no cars coming in either direction, but we finally made it to Bradleyville...and lemme tell you, it was long after they rolled up the sidewalks. Seriously, this is that kind of place the chamber of commerce calls quaint while kids that live there refer to it as “the hell I wanna get the hell away from.” And in the winter snow, for some reason I was thinking of that town in “It’s A Wonderful Life” -- all dark, snow-drifty and smothering in its Saccharine sweetness. I actually started looking around for a guy in a wheelchair named Potter...him being of that name, not the chair.
Somehow Dan-o...naw, better call him Daniel, from now on, and you’ll understand why as we go along...anyway, Daniel found this late-night diner and walked in to enjoy the blast of warm air and think seriously about a slice of pie and some hot tea or coffee as he waited for the caretaker to come over for him, but before he could even get his gloves off this screech of a voice hollered, “You the fool friend of Mr. Bentley’s, come up here?”
He jumped around to see this five-foot tall gnome dressed in a massive parka, thick gloves and a muffler atop two of the spindliest legs ever shoved into ski-pants that ever was, that then vanished into a pair of the biggest snow boots ever seen (perportional...un, proportiony...uh, generally speaking). All you could see of the person inside were two beady eyes that looked like they were about a hundred years old.
My guy nodded and asked, “Are you Mr. Serff?”
“Do I look like Mr. Serff?” the voice snapped. Well, yes, in that get-up, but...“He’s in Boston. I’m the Missus.”
“Uh, it's nice to meet you. I'm Daniel Bettancourt.”
I couldn’t resist adding, “Lord and master of the great and powerful Ace Shostakovich!” To which Daniel rolled his eyes, not in the snotty way Tad does but like he just plain can’t believe I said that.
The old bat just glared at him, obviously noticing his rolling of said eyes and thinking he meant her. “And who else might ya be?” she snapped. “Up here, this time of year at this time of night? All the best skiin’s to the east. C’mon, let’s get this done with.” And she headed out the door, muttering, “Little fool.”
Daniel blinked and followed her. “So...I take it Tad got hold of you and explained -- ?”
"Tad?” she snapped. “That what he goes by, now? I knew him when he was just ‘Master’ Theodore James Bentley, the third, an’ made me use every fool bit of that fool name.” Wow...looked like he’d always been a dick. “An’ yes, he did call. Right ‘round an hour ago. Asked...no, ‘told’ me to get the place ready for ya. Got pretty high-handed with it, too, like I’s his employee. Like I can't remember when his poppa was treatin’ me all right and proper. Like I'm a fool. I'd of told him where he could go, but ya were already comin’ an’ t’ain’t my way to let people die from exposure. Not ‘round my parcel of the woods, anyhow. T’ain’t polite.” (And I swear, she really DID say “t’ain’t” -- twice!)
We headed straight back out to the snow and she eyed Daniel’s rental and snorted. “Best park that here. Won’t make it where we’re goin’.”
“It’s got four-wheel -- ,” Daniel said.
“I got mine. Toss your things in the back.” Then she climbed into this four-by-four with a snowplow as its front bumper, and the damn thing would’ve looked perfect as the car-crusher at a monster truck rally. Seriously, it even had fold-out steps going up to the sideboards of it so she could reach the cab.
“Will the car be okay here?” Daniel asked, eyeing the truck with what did NOT amount to certainty.
“Prob’ly,” said the old bat as she settled in behind the wheel. “No charge at a meter over the weekend. Now let’s get goin’!”
Daniel got his satchel, laptop and a bag of groceries he’d bought at a deli by the car rental office and climbed aboard. And away we went, spitting snow the whole way down the main street. And I gotta say, if I’d thought my guy was gettin’ into something bad before, I was damn sure of it, now.
Keep them stories writin',
Write on.............."
And as such, I don't feel like fiddling with thoughts on the blog. Instead, here's a bit more of "The Lyons' Den".
---
So I piped down and got to pondering the possibilities, peculiarities and just plain persnickitiness of the project at hand (told you I liked to alliterate). I’d decided to wear the latest in cool-detective trench coats over your basic casual travel attire and felt really cool, calm and collected -- especially since Carmen didn’t even join us on the trip. She said she’d be around if we needed her, but I kinda think she was irritated at how she’d been made over and just wanted to be the bitch someplace else, for a while. Which made me wonder if she was off sweet-talkin’ some other writer to put her in HIS book. Meaning, yes -- we characters can be very fickle, and if we feel we’re being dissed, then we’ll just go get pissed, and so some will insist on finding a new -- uh -- damn, what’s a word for writer that rhymes with insist? I’m drawin’ a blank here. “Lyricist?” Naw, too weird.
ANYway...what made the trip truly enjoyable was, it started to snow. Nothing heavy, at first, just little flurries that got flurrier and flurrier till it looked like a serious Nor’easter. I’d wondered if Dan-o was being too anal when he asked for an SUV and four-wheel drive (the weather report said cold with scattered clouds) but now I was glad. Traffic got light and speed got slowed down once we were off the 85, with the road twisting and turning and next to no cars coming in either direction, but we finally made it to Bradleyville...and lemme tell you, it was long after they rolled up the sidewalks. Seriously, this is that kind of place the chamber of commerce calls quaint while kids that live there refer to it as “the hell I wanna get the hell away from.” And in the winter snow, for some reason I was thinking of that town in “It’s A Wonderful Life” -- all dark, snow-drifty and smothering in its Saccharine sweetness. I actually started looking around for a guy in a wheelchair named Potter...him being of that name, not the chair.
Somehow Dan-o...naw, better call him Daniel, from now on, and you’ll understand why as we go along...anyway, Daniel found this late-night diner and walked in to enjoy the blast of warm air and think seriously about a slice of pie and some hot tea or coffee as he waited for the caretaker to come over for him, but before he could even get his gloves off this screech of a voice hollered, “You the fool friend of Mr. Bentley’s, come up here?”
He jumped around to see this five-foot tall gnome dressed in a massive parka, thick gloves and a muffler atop two of the spindliest legs ever shoved into ski-pants that ever was, that then vanished into a pair of the biggest snow boots ever seen (perportional...un, proportiony...uh, generally speaking). All you could see of the person inside were two beady eyes that looked like they were about a hundred years old.
My guy nodded and asked, “Are you Mr. Serff?”
“Do I look like Mr. Serff?” the voice snapped. Well, yes, in that get-up, but...“He’s in Boston. I’m the Missus.”
“Uh, it's nice to meet you. I'm Daniel Bettancourt.”
I couldn’t resist adding, “Lord and master of the great and powerful Ace Shostakovich!” To which Daniel rolled his eyes, not in the snotty way Tad does but like he just plain can’t believe I said that.
The old bat just glared at him, obviously noticing his rolling of said eyes and thinking he meant her. “And who else might ya be?” she snapped. “Up here, this time of year at this time of night? All the best skiin’s to the east. C’mon, let’s get this done with.” And she headed out the door, muttering, “Little fool.”
Daniel blinked and followed her. “So...I take it Tad got hold of you and explained -- ?”
"Tad?” she snapped. “That what he goes by, now? I knew him when he was just ‘Master’ Theodore James Bentley, the third, an’ made me use every fool bit of that fool name.” Wow...looked like he’d always been a dick. “An’ yes, he did call. Right ‘round an hour ago. Asked...no, ‘told’ me to get the place ready for ya. Got pretty high-handed with it, too, like I’s his employee. Like I can't remember when his poppa was treatin’ me all right and proper. Like I'm a fool. I'd of told him where he could go, but ya were already comin’ an’ t’ain’t my way to let people die from exposure. Not ‘round my parcel of the woods, anyhow. T’ain’t polite.” (And I swear, she really DID say “t’ain’t” -- twice!)
We headed straight back out to the snow and she eyed Daniel’s rental and snorted. “Best park that here. Won’t make it where we’re goin’.”
“It’s got four-wheel -- ,” Daniel said.
“I got mine. Toss your things in the back.” Then she climbed into this four-by-four with a snowplow as its front bumper, and the damn thing would’ve looked perfect as the car-crusher at a monster truck rally. Seriously, it even had fold-out steps going up to the sideboards of it so she could reach the cab.
“Will the car be okay here?” Daniel asked, eyeing the truck with what did NOT amount to certainty.
“Prob’ly,” said the old bat as she settled in behind the wheel. “No charge at a meter over the weekend. Now let’s get goin’!”
Daniel got his satchel, laptop and a bag of groceries he’d bought at a deli by the car rental office and climbed aboard. And away we went, spitting snow the whole way down the main street. And I gotta say, if I’d thought my guy was gettin’ into something bad before, I was damn sure of it, now.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Starting to feel like it's real
"The Lyons' Den" has finally begun to take on the aura of reality, making me glad I kept going with it even as it just lay there, refusing to even so much as sigh in response to anything I was doing to it. Hmm...that sounds a bit more symbolic than I intended. But it does indicate the relationship an author has with his writing. It really is almost like sex. Or maybe some heavy-duty flirting.
Consider this scenario -- you see someone you like in a dark room, make eye contact, get closer, chat the person up and try to see if there's something more to be found there than just a moment's conversation. And sometimes it leads to more talk over drinks...or dinner...or a roll between the sheets. And then comes the time when you decide whether of not that rolling around could lead to something long-term. Problem is, nine times out of ten you find you were just momentarily infatuated and it's best to get the hell out.
Of course, I don't do that...the last part...get the hell out when it's obviously best to. I try to make it work, and try and try. And sometimes it DOES come together. And leads places that're surprising. "Darian's Point" was like that. I wrote my first (really awful) draft in college and tried to get it going but couldn't figure out the hook, so I set it aside for a decade then was talked into going back to it and wound up not only pulling together an award-winning Gothic-horror script, I also had two other parts of the story make themselves a part of my world.
Same for "Place of Safety". I first conceived of this story as a script that exploded WAY beyond the boundaries of screenwriting and became more and more demanding, to the point I fought with it and Brendan and everything about it...but never gave up on it and now I'm slowly nearing the first full draft of the story. And there are sections of it I am already damned proud of.
At the same time, I have another story that just will not come together in enough of a right way for me to make sense of it, no matter how hard I try. "Delay En Route." Parts of it are good, but I can't find the linkage to get it to work. Tho' I've lately begun to think I should set it in 1983, back when America was ascendant, again. (I hate saying that because Reagan's policies have borne such hideously bad fruit, but that is how the country felt, back then.)
I dunno...I guess we all want whatever we start doing to work out right. But then...this mental and emotional process is exactly what Daniel is going through, at the moment, and Ace's little commentary is helping keep it in perspective, beautifully. I'm up to 29,000 words and beginning to think maybe, just maybe, I will make the 50K. Wouldn't that be a shock to the system?
Consider this scenario -- you see someone you like in a dark room, make eye contact, get closer, chat the person up and try to see if there's something more to be found there than just a moment's conversation. And sometimes it leads to more talk over drinks...or dinner...or a roll between the sheets. And then comes the time when you decide whether of not that rolling around could lead to something long-term. Problem is, nine times out of ten you find you were just momentarily infatuated and it's best to get the hell out.
Of course, I don't do that...the last part...get the hell out when it's obviously best to. I try to make it work, and try and try. And sometimes it DOES come together. And leads places that're surprising. "Darian's Point" was like that. I wrote my first (really awful) draft in college and tried to get it going but couldn't figure out the hook, so I set it aside for a decade then was talked into going back to it and wound up not only pulling together an award-winning Gothic-horror script, I also had two other parts of the story make themselves a part of my world.
Same for "Place of Safety". I first conceived of this story as a script that exploded WAY beyond the boundaries of screenwriting and became more and more demanding, to the point I fought with it and Brendan and everything about it...but never gave up on it and now I'm slowly nearing the first full draft of the story. And there are sections of it I am already damned proud of.
At the same time, I have another story that just will not come together in enough of a right way for me to make sense of it, no matter how hard I try. "Delay En Route." Parts of it are good, but I can't find the linkage to get it to work. Tho' I've lately begun to think I should set it in 1983, back when America was ascendant, again. (I hate saying that because Reagan's policies have borne such hideously bad fruit, but that is how the country felt, back then.)
I dunno...I guess we all want whatever we start doing to work out right. But then...this mental and emotional process is exactly what Daniel is going through, at the moment, and Ace's little commentary is helping keep it in perspective, beautifully. I'm up to 29,000 words and beginning to think maybe, just maybe, I will make the 50K. Wouldn't that be a shock to the system?
Monday, November 15, 2010
Ace has control...
And he's just rockin' along. I've added close to 2000 words since he started telling the story, but some of it's discussed later in the script so I may be cutting once I get to those areas...but still, the story's working, finally. I even have a cute little snarky bit where Daniel refers to country music as sounding like two dogs mating and nearly getting into a fight with a drag king (female version of a queen). Trust me, it makes sense in the context of the story.
What's nice is I can now use Ace's tough-guy attitude to pump up the characters, some. Like Mrs. Serff, who sets Daniel up in the cabin. She's become even more irascible and Ace's little comments about her add to her...oh...quirkiness. I'm still not convinced I'll make it to 50K in wordage, but now I'll have a decent draft to build upon, once I'm done, no matter how long it is.
The trip to NYC was tiring but went on schedule. I just hate getting up at 6am to make an 8am flight. I usually aim for 10-11 am flights because I can handle those easily...and I sleep till I usually do. I've always been a night person -- going to bed between 1 and 2 am and getting up between 9 and 10 am is my ideal setup. Can't do that with this job...except on the weekends.
I'm starting to zone. 'Nuff said for the night.
What's nice is I can now use Ace's tough-guy attitude to pump up the characters, some. Like Mrs. Serff, who sets Daniel up in the cabin. She's become even more irascible and Ace's little comments about her add to her...oh...quirkiness. I'm still not convinced I'll make it to 50K in wordage, but now I'll have a decent draft to build upon, once I'm done, no matter how long it is.
The trip to NYC was tiring but went on schedule. I just hate getting up at 6am to make an 8am flight. I usually aim for 10-11 am flights because I can handle those easily...and I sleep till I usually do. I've always been a night person -- going to bed between 1 and 2 am and getting up between 9 and 10 am is my ideal setup. Can't do that with this job...except on the weekends.
I'm starting to zone. 'Nuff said for the night.
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Like lightning from a clear sky...
I found the story's voice. While doing laundry and inputting some notes on my laptop. And here's the opening 5 pages -- woo-hoo.
THE LYONS' DEN
To put it simply, Daniel’s life began to unravel when he made that bet. Granted, he popped up with the wager out of desperation while trying to talk Tad -- excuse me, Theodore J. Bentley, the Third (one must have one’s moniker correct, you know) -- into giving their relationship a second chance. Of course, his timing was off, as usual. Tad’s focus was on how messed up his current project for a series was (thanks to an overpriced twenty-one-year-old-Cheeto-eater said to be the hottest screenwriter in Hollywood since Orson Welles) and he had to meet with the “yea or nay” guy at HBO on Monday, so he wasn’t listening to a single solitary thing that was being said until Daniel snapped, “Okay, fine, fine, fine, Tad, I’ll get them into shape in time for the damned meeting; now can you just -- ?”
“Are you outta your fuckin’ mind, Danny?” Tad shot back. “You don’t get it -- ALL the scripts are crap, all fuckin’ eight of them, including the Bible.” (“The Bible” not being that book of Christian conflict but one that outlined the direction the characters and story would take; helps to know the lingo of the natives, in this case.) “Besides, you write books, not screenplays.”
“A story’s a story.”
“Oh, please! A script isn’t a story; it’s a framework.”
“Which is probably why they aren’t working, not if you’ve got that kind of attitude about it.”
“It’s the attitude of the business, Danny. And I gotta work in it if I want to produce enough to pay my rent and car.”
“Well, it’s stupid. They’re my characters. They’ll work things out, if you let them.”
“What is it with you and this crap about your stories? All we’re talking about is a movie adaptation; you still got the books out there, selling. It’s my ass on the line, putting money into it I don’t have and -- and hiring that twerp -- .”
“I could fix it for you, Tad. I could fix ‘em all.”
“Danny, the meeting’s Monday. At noon. Period. You can’t do this in a weekend; that’s not enough time.”
Daniel’d flat out glared at Tad, irritated he was shrugging off such a fantastic offer. “What if I did do it?” he said. “Had ‘em ready in time? What if I did? Will you spend a week in -- in -- in Bermuda with me? Just a week? See if we can work things out?”
Tad just rolled his eyes in that way that always pissed Daniel off. Not because it was so condescending or dismissive, but because he looked so damned good when he did it, the little shit.
Now at this point, one might wonder why Daniel even wanted to get back together with someone as self-absorbed as Tad -- oops, Theodore J. Bentley, the Third (we must use his addendum; he’d snarl in disgust without the full and flowing exclamation of his name and -- and...oh, the hell with it -- let him snarl). It’d always been too much of a one-sided relationship, with Daniel bending over backwards to suit Tad’s every wish...and even those wishes Daniel stupidly THOUGHT Tad had.
Well, the reason is really simple -- the man was fuckin’ gorgeous. And knew it. Period. End of thought about the whole process. If you bring to mind the epitome of every gay man’s dream, no matter what his type -- that was Tad. Built like a Greek god, golden to the max, a face so classic in its line with eyes so blue and cool and elegant...sometimes it hurt to just look at him. To picture Tad walking along the beach in his signature red square-cut Speedo (never a thong, never a plain Speedo, and no way in hell would he be caught dead in board shorts; those were for fat Russians, Australians and boogie-boarder-boiz), well, to see him was to see a prowling panther proudly policing his lair with the casual assurance that he could handle anything -- be it male, female or Flipper. How he and Daniel ever wound up as a couple was the source of endless speculation by one and all who knew them, mainly because Daniel was SO his polar opposite.
Not ugly, no; he just had...well...nice, decent looks. Lean face. Crazy thick brown hair with eyebrows to match, hovering over dark sloe eyes. Smooth olive-toned skin (except for this sorta-kinda 5 o’clock shadow dancing about his jaw and a surprisingly attractive scar along his left cheekbone). Put it all together with his hawkish, almost too large nose (obviously he took after the French-Portuguese side of the family) and the fact that he was trim (not skinny or even undeveloped; running, hiking and doing the bike trails of Pennsylvania back country managed to keep his lazy little self in neatly-muscled shape), he was pleasantly attractive in your basic Joe Average kind of way.
So why the hell a I’m-all-that guy like Tad would let a not-so-much guy like Daniel play high priest to his shining light for nearly two years was beyond explanation for most people. Unless it was the sex. Which more than one wagging tongue insisted must be true because they’d heard from someone whose currently lover had slept with another guy who’d heard from a friend of his that Tad was a lousy lay (once you got beyond the oral worship part of his dick) while Daniel had tricks up his sleeve that would turn the straightest guy to the pink side (and had proven it with one recently outted actor who had to un-out himself by getting married and having twins that actually looked like him, to everyone’s surprise) according to a friend who heard it from a friend who heard it from a friend.
But now they’d been broken up for three months and Daniel was willing to do anything to get back together, so when Tad dropped by that night to whine about how screwed he was thanks to these adaptations and his backers were pissed off at him and on and on and on, Daniel’d jumped in feet-first, as usual, with his proposal.
Now it should be noted that it did definitely help that the series of scripts were based on two of Daniel’s books -- oh, oh, right -- by the way, Daniel is most definitely a published author, under the name -- Daniel C. Bettancourt. Proud penman of six mystery novels. All featuring me, Ace Shostakovich, private eye extraordinaire.
Meaning, yes -- I’m not real. But if you think it’s weird a fictional character is telling this story, you ain’t seen what happened, yet.
THE LYONS' DEN
To put it simply, Daniel’s life began to unravel when he made that bet. Granted, he popped up with the wager out of desperation while trying to talk Tad -- excuse me, Theodore J. Bentley, the Third (one must have one’s moniker correct, you know) -- into giving their relationship a second chance. Of course, his timing was off, as usual. Tad’s focus was on how messed up his current project for a series was (thanks to an overpriced twenty-one-year-old-Cheeto-eater said to be the hottest screenwriter in Hollywood since Orson Welles) and he had to meet with the “yea or nay” guy at HBO on Monday, so he wasn’t listening to a single solitary thing that was being said until Daniel snapped, “Okay, fine, fine, fine, Tad, I’ll get them into shape in time for the damned meeting; now can you just -- ?”
“Are you outta your fuckin’ mind, Danny?” Tad shot back. “You don’t get it -- ALL the scripts are crap, all fuckin’ eight of them, including the Bible.” (“The Bible” not being that book of Christian conflict but one that outlined the direction the characters and story would take; helps to know the lingo of the natives, in this case.) “Besides, you write books, not screenplays.”
“A story’s a story.”
“Oh, please! A script isn’t a story; it’s a framework.”
“Which is probably why they aren’t working, not if you’ve got that kind of attitude about it.”
“It’s the attitude of the business, Danny. And I gotta work in it if I want to produce enough to pay my rent and car.”
“Well, it’s stupid. They’re my characters. They’ll work things out, if you let them.”
“What is it with you and this crap about your stories? All we’re talking about is a movie adaptation; you still got the books out there, selling. It’s my ass on the line, putting money into it I don’t have and -- and hiring that twerp -- .”
“I could fix it for you, Tad. I could fix ‘em all.”
“Danny, the meeting’s Monday. At noon. Period. You can’t do this in a weekend; that’s not enough time.”
Daniel’d flat out glared at Tad, irritated he was shrugging off such a fantastic offer. “What if I did do it?” he said. “Had ‘em ready in time? What if I did? Will you spend a week in -- in -- in Bermuda with me? Just a week? See if we can work things out?”
Tad just rolled his eyes in that way that always pissed Daniel off. Not because it was so condescending or dismissive, but because he looked so damned good when he did it, the little shit.
Now at this point, one might wonder why Daniel even wanted to get back together with someone as self-absorbed as Tad -- oops, Theodore J. Bentley, the Third (we must use his addendum; he’d snarl in disgust without the full and flowing exclamation of his name and -- and...oh, the hell with it -- let him snarl). It’d always been too much of a one-sided relationship, with Daniel bending over backwards to suit Tad’s every wish...and even those wishes Daniel stupidly THOUGHT Tad had.
Well, the reason is really simple -- the man was fuckin’ gorgeous. And knew it. Period. End of thought about the whole process. If you bring to mind the epitome of every gay man’s dream, no matter what his type -- that was Tad. Built like a Greek god, golden to the max, a face so classic in its line with eyes so blue and cool and elegant...sometimes it hurt to just look at him. To picture Tad walking along the beach in his signature red square-cut Speedo (never a thong, never a plain Speedo, and no way in hell would he be caught dead in board shorts; those were for fat Russians, Australians and boogie-boarder-boiz), well, to see him was to see a prowling panther proudly policing his lair with the casual assurance that he could handle anything -- be it male, female or Flipper. How he and Daniel ever wound up as a couple was the source of endless speculation by one and all who knew them, mainly because Daniel was SO his polar opposite.
Not ugly, no; he just had...well...nice, decent looks. Lean face. Crazy thick brown hair with eyebrows to match, hovering over dark sloe eyes. Smooth olive-toned skin (except for this sorta-kinda 5 o’clock shadow dancing about his jaw and a surprisingly attractive scar along his left cheekbone). Put it all together with his hawkish, almost too large nose (obviously he took after the French-Portuguese side of the family) and the fact that he was trim (not skinny or even undeveloped; running, hiking and doing the bike trails of Pennsylvania back country managed to keep his lazy little self in neatly-muscled shape), he was pleasantly attractive in your basic Joe Average kind of way.
So why the hell a I’m-all-that guy like Tad would let a not-so-much guy like Daniel play high priest to his shining light for nearly two years was beyond explanation for most people. Unless it was the sex. Which more than one wagging tongue insisted must be true because they’d heard from someone whose currently lover had slept with another guy who’d heard from a friend of his that Tad was a lousy lay (once you got beyond the oral worship part of his dick) while Daniel had tricks up his sleeve that would turn the straightest guy to the pink side (and had proven it with one recently outted actor who had to un-out himself by getting married and having twins that actually looked like him, to everyone’s surprise) according to a friend who heard it from a friend who heard it from a friend.
But now they’d been broken up for three months and Daniel was willing to do anything to get back together, so when Tad dropped by that night to whine about how screwed he was thanks to these adaptations and his backers were pissed off at him and on and on and on, Daniel’d jumped in feet-first, as usual, with his proposal.
Now it should be noted that it did definitely help that the series of scripts were based on two of Daniel’s books -- oh, oh, right -- by the way, Daniel is most definitely a published author, under the name -- Daniel C. Bettancourt. Proud penman of six mystery novels. All featuring me, Ace Shostakovich, private eye extraordinaire.
Meaning, yes -- I’m not real. But if you think it’s weird a fictional character is telling this story, you ain’t seen what happened, yet.
26,052 words...
And the first draft is done. And while it has farcical elements in it, this story is not a farce. It's got too much going on that's too dark for it to be. Nor is it black comedy. It's just the lightest piece of fiction I've written since "David Martin"...and that was more of a fable that had some serious undertones to it.
There are bits I can add to this piece that will increase the word count, but I honestly cannot see this one making the 50K needed for NaNoWriMo. I don't think I'd want it to, not if it hurt the story in any way. And I'm not gonna cheat and just write crap to get to that number. If I wanted to do that, I'd just plug the story in twice and have 52K. Not gonna happen, not unless it works...and the truth is, I'm not sure I'm vested enough in the story to let it take over for the length of time it would take to complete it.
Besides, I'm still in a weird place, emotionally, and forcing the issue right now would be counter-productive if I want to keep it light and easy. Well...light and easy for me and my ways. I'm feeling somewhat alienated and unsure. And the fact is, there's a lot more going on than just that diseased election and the final revelation that Obama was never the man he presented himself to be. I mean, I didn't expect much from him -- shit, I can read the context of a sentence and his speeches leading up to his election were obviously ploys to convince people he would do what he said without providing the real sense he'd do it. He was even verbally against gays getting married before he was elected, so why would anyone think he'd be on our side in everything else? As he's shown, very clearly, he is not. That he didn't live up to my diminished expectations is only evidence of how duplicitous he was, and has proven himself to be.
So...shove that crap aside, accept the reality of the world and try to figure out what the hell is going on in my life that's got me so messed up. right now. I used to take nice long walks for this kind of contemplation, but I haven't in some time. I think I'll start, tomorrow.
BTW, I took a break between sections of LD to finally watch the new "Star Trek" -- and I have to admit, I enjoyed it. Chris Pine is cute...but Zachary Quinto is who makes my heart stop. He was elegant as Spock.
There are bits I can add to this piece that will increase the word count, but I honestly cannot see this one making the 50K needed for NaNoWriMo. I don't think I'd want it to, not if it hurt the story in any way. And I'm not gonna cheat and just write crap to get to that number. If I wanted to do that, I'd just plug the story in twice and have 52K. Not gonna happen, not unless it works...and the truth is, I'm not sure I'm vested enough in the story to let it take over for the length of time it would take to complete it.
Besides, I'm still in a weird place, emotionally, and forcing the issue right now would be counter-productive if I want to keep it light and easy. Well...light and easy for me and my ways. I'm feeling somewhat alienated and unsure. And the fact is, there's a lot more going on than just that diseased election and the final revelation that Obama was never the man he presented himself to be. I mean, I didn't expect much from him -- shit, I can read the context of a sentence and his speeches leading up to his election were obviously ploys to convince people he would do what he said without providing the real sense he'd do it. He was even verbally against gays getting married before he was elected, so why would anyone think he'd be on our side in everything else? As he's shown, very clearly, he is not. That he didn't live up to my diminished expectations is only evidence of how duplicitous he was, and has proven himself to be.
So...shove that crap aside, accept the reality of the world and try to figure out what the hell is going on in my life that's got me so messed up. right now. I used to take nice long walks for this kind of contemplation, but I haven't in some time. I think I'll start, tomorrow.
BTW, I took a break between sections of LD to finally watch the new "Star Trek" -- and I have to admit, I enjoyed it. Chris Pine is cute...but Zachary Quinto is who makes my heart stop. He was elegant as Spock.
Friday, November 12, 2010
Ennui washes through and..and...
Aw, who cares? I'm posting the travelogue pictures I made for my mother instead of writing anything because I had too much else to do and worked late and I'm heading for NYC on Monday for another day trip and so...
Thursday, November 11, 2010
At 20K
And petering out. "Lyons' Den" is too lean and clean a story for me to add anything much to it without it seeming tacked on and lumpy, let alone double it in size. I should have draft one done this weekend and can decide then. Thing is, there's nothing about it, right now, that I'm pleased with.
I've been so off focus, this week. Have to force myself to write, and when I do I barely pay attention. I know it's partly because of the catastrophic election and Obama's wimpy response to it. I've got friends thinking of moving to Canada because just about everyone I know can see the next two years in the US are going to be hell. Problem is, Canada don't want us. Can't say as I blame them; we're a screwed up lot, Americans.
On top of this, Brendan is making himself known, again. "The Banks of Claudy" keeps bouncing around in my head. It's the tune Brendan sings as he's off to warn his brother, Eamonn, of the danger he's walking into...not realizing he's walking into danger, himself. During the walk, he dreams of a girl named Joanna walking with him, in solidarity, even though he's Catholic and she's Protestant and this is Northern Ireland just before the troubles exploded.
I'm finally seeing this sabbatical, of sorts, from "Place of Safety" as something good. Giving me a bit of time and shift in focus to gain a better perspective on the story. I've already decided one bit in the second chapter happens too early and needs to occur after Brendan and his friends have been over to the Protestant side of the River Foyle and had their fun. And I need to take more time during a series of chapters about Brendan being arrested; I'm pushing through it too quickly.
Jesus Christ, I want to move to Ireland and work on this and some other stories in my head that're set there. Why'd I take so damned long in my life to find out what I really wanted to do?
I've been so off focus, this week. Have to force myself to write, and when I do I barely pay attention. I know it's partly because of the catastrophic election and Obama's wimpy response to it. I've got friends thinking of moving to Canada because just about everyone I know can see the next two years in the US are going to be hell. Problem is, Canada don't want us. Can't say as I blame them; we're a screwed up lot, Americans.
On top of this, Brendan is making himself known, again. "The Banks of Claudy" keeps bouncing around in my head. It's the tune Brendan sings as he's off to warn his brother, Eamonn, of the danger he's walking into...not realizing he's walking into danger, himself. During the walk, he dreams of a girl named Joanna walking with him, in solidarity, even though he's Catholic and she's Protestant and this is Northern Ireland just before the troubles exploded.
I'm finally seeing this sabbatical, of sorts, from "Place of Safety" as something good. Giving me a bit of time and shift in focus to gain a better perspective on the story. I've already decided one bit in the second chapter happens too early and needs to occur after Brendan and his friends have been over to the Protestant side of the River Foyle and had their fun. And I need to take more time during a series of chapters about Brendan being arrested; I'm pushing through it too quickly.
Jesus Christ, I want to move to Ireland and work on this and some other stories in my head that're set there. Why'd I take so damned long in my life to find out what I really wanted to do?
Beat to hell
Long day in NYC. LONGER trip home since Jet Blue didn't even take off till 2 hours after we were supposed to have. I got some more done on LD while waiting, and it's going to end up under 25000 words. But I'm too pooped to care. And I get to do it all again on Monday. Happy, happy, joy, joy.
Oh well...it's a job. Isn't it?
I'm ending this on a nice note. This is Anthony Perkins in the mid-to-late 50's with what I THINK is his Siamese cat. I'd like a Siamese cat, once I'm better settled. There's something about them that seems more intelligent and aware than other cats, and I like that.
Oh well...it's a job. Isn't it?
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Attack of the lazies
Didn't write word one on LD, tonight. Just didn't feel up to it. I'm in NYC, tomorrow, but if all goes according to plan, I'll have plenty of time at JFK to work on it, since I'll have my laptop with me and maybe half a day's work to take care of. I'm still trying to figure out how to make this a full novel instead of a long novella. I could throw in an off-beat sex scene, some moments between Daniel and his mother and sister, more about his relationship with Tad. But only if they don't interfere with the story's progress and pacing.
Or I COULD just drop it as unrealistic and get back to POS. There's no law making me do this...just laziness and fear of the responsibility Brendan's story entails...and this Quixotic quest to see if I can write comedy.
It's funny, but the thing I truly identify with in Kurosawa's "Stray Dog" is how responsible Toshiro Mifune's character feels when the gun that was stolen from him is used in ever more violent crimes. Everyone around him says it's not his fault...but he knows better. And he obsesses with getting the gun back, to the point of near madness. I've watched the movie three times, and each time it digs deeper into my soul.
I feel that way about my stories and characters. And when I let them down, I pull on a beaut of a guilt complex. I feel it, right now, as regards Brendan...but at the same time, Daniel is demanding his bit of attention...and I can't ignore him. And the fact that I finished BC3 finished my obligation to Bobby, so that eliminated one wall between me and POS.
And yes, I'm crazy. No question. What sane person talks like this? Maybe I'm feeling it a bit more acutely since I'm writing a story about a man whose characters are trying to take over his life. He even figures he's gone beyond the point of a padded room and needs something more like an exorcist. And I'm tapping into that.
God, I hope people get at least a couple of laughs out of this story, once it's done.
Or I COULD just drop it as unrealistic and get back to POS. There's no law making me do this...just laziness and fear of the responsibility Brendan's story entails...and this Quixotic quest to see if I can write comedy.
It's funny, but the thing I truly identify with in Kurosawa's "Stray Dog" is how responsible Toshiro Mifune's character feels when the gun that was stolen from him is used in ever more violent crimes. Everyone around him says it's not his fault...but he knows better. And he obsesses with getting the gun back, to the point of near madness. I've watched the movie three times, and each time it digs deeper into my soul.
I feel that way about my stories and characters. And when I let them down, I pull on a beaut of a guilt complex. I feel it, right now, as regards Brendan...but at the same time, Daniel is demanding his bit of attention...and I can't ignore him. And the fact that I finished BC3 finished my obligation to Bobby, so that eliminated one wall between me and POS.
And yes, I'm crazy. No question. What sane person talks like this? Maybe I'm feeling it a bit more acutely since I'm writing a story about a man whose characters are trying to take over his life. He even figures he's gone beyond the point of a padded room and needs something more like an exorcist. And I'm tapping into that.
God, I hope people get at least a couple of laughs out of this story, once it's done.
Monday, November 8, 2010
Not gonna make it.
Not on the first draft. I'm at 16,500 words on LD and 2/3 of the way through the story...if not 3/4.This is unusual for me, needing to add to my work in order to make the minimum needed for a book; I'm usually way into epic novel land. That's why "Bobby Carapisi" wound up being 3 volumes; it took that many to get the story told, in completeness. Same for "Place of Safety"; it will easily make 200K in wordage.
Part of this might be my reluctance to delve into Daniel too deeply. Him and his issues with Tad and his past. And it might just be the structure of the story, where everything takes place in the space of two hours. I mean, you can play with that, sure, and I may yet...still I think this format doesn't lend itself to much introspection; it's too delicate a balance that's needed to keep everything moving properly.
I guess we'll see. You never know how a story will turn out, not really, not until it's done. And I have more to add to it from my earlier drafts. I do like how Van and Daniel are connecting, and I've change my style a bit to keep it closer to Daniel's perspective, even while maintaining third person omniscience. I may go a bit farther with that. It's all an exercise to see how well it comes off when I write comedy...well, farce.
Me writing comedy -- hell...that is a farce.
Part of this might be my reluctance to delve into Daniel too deeply. Him and his issues with Tad and his past. And it might just be the structure of the story, where everything takes place in the space of two hours. I mean, you can play with that, sure, and I may yet...still I think this format doesn't lend itself to much introspection; it's too delicate a balance that's needed to keep everything moving properly.
I guess we'll see. You never know how a story will turn out, not really, not until it's done. And I have more to add to it from my earlier drafts. I do like how Van and Daniel are connecting, and I've change my style a bit to keep it closer to Daniel's perspective, even while maintaining third person omniscience. I may go a bit farther with that. It's all an exercise to see how well it comes off when I write comedy...well, farce.
Me writing comedy -- hell...that is a farce.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
14,000
And I'm more than halfway through the story. Hm...maybe this won't be a novel, after all. If so, it's gonna be my shortest one. I mean, my novella is the shortest work I've had published -- what was that? 20,000 words? I'll have to look it up, sometime.
However...I haven't really dug into the characters, yet. This draft is proving to be more of a long-form outline, and I've been able to go back to an early draft where I chopped stuff out that was fun and add it to Mrs. Serff's character -- she's the old-lady caretaker who's cantankerous and, all of a sudden, a secret smoker -- and the scene in the shower with Daniel, Ace, Carmen and Tad...and it makes sense once read in context. Trust me.
I still need to begin building in a stronger differentiation between that characters in their manners of speech...except three of them are in Daniel's mind so I can play easy with them...except one of them isn't really in his mind because he's also real, just different in tone and syntax until the end, when he becomes nothing but real.
Man, if I can keep all of this straight, I'll be doing damn good.
Time for something easy and soothing to the brain. I found these on a site called http://cuteboyswithcats.tumblr.com/
Tho' be warned -- a lot of Tumbler is NSFW sites. Still...who couldn't feel better after seeing something like this? Doesn't it just make you wanna go "Awwwww."
However...I haven't really dug into the characters, yet. This draft is proving to be more of a long-form outline, and I've been able to go back to an early draft where I chopped stuff out that was fun and add it to Mrs. Serff's character -- she's the old-lady caretaker who's cantankerous and, all of a sudden, a secret smoker -- and the scene in the shower with Daniel, Ace, Carmen and Tad...and it makes sense once read in context. Trust me.
I still need to begin building in a stronger differentiation between that characters in their manners of speech...except three of them are in Daniel's mind so I can play easy with them...except one of them isn't really in his mind because he's also real, just different in tone and syntax until the end, when he becomes nothing but real.
Man, if I can keep all of this straight, I'll be doing damn good.
Tho' be warned -- a lot of Tumbler is NSFW sites. Still...who couldn't feel better after seeing something like this? Doesn't it just make you wanna go "Awwwww."
Saturday, November 6, 2010
Hitting 50K will take some work
I'm writing along in "The Lyons' Den" and things are moving forward if not as perfectly as I'd like...when I realize I'm just under 10,000 words and about 30% through the story. Meaning it'll probably top off at between 35,000 and 40,000 words. That's short for a novel. Still, I suppose it's better to have a starting point of something that needs adding to than being taken from, because I've found I cannot cut my work, at all. I can rearrange it. Hone it to as fine a point as I want...but I've had little success in cutting things down. Leastwise, what I'd call success.
I went to a meeting of other writers here in Buffalo who are participating in NaNoWriMo -- I was 1 of 2 men in the midst of a dozen women...and I don't think the other guy was there as a writer -- and this one woman repeated something she'd heard from another writer. Once he was done with his story, he'd look at it and ask himself what he could cut to make it more streamlined without losing the thread of the story. It sort of ties into the adage that you should "Kill your children when you write." And I don't agree with it. At all.
I know that's heresy as regards writing these days. You need to hone your work to the bone so no one gets bored with it, I guess. But that attitude falls under the same heading as "Write what you know." All of which is bullshit. If people only wrote what they knew, we'd have no science fiction stories along the lines of "20,000 Leagues Under the Sea" or "The War of the Worlds", because neither Jules Verne nor H. G. Wells had ever even begun to live the stories they wrote...let alone J. K. Rowling and the "Harry Potter" series. "Write what you know" works if you're doing a mystery set in the world of District Attorneys and the criminal courts, because it helps to know the jargon and attitudes of those people. But reality is, you can learn that.
If I only write what I know, I'd have one book in me. Period. I write what I want to know. I write what my characters want me to tell. That's the only reason I have enough courage to dig into "Place of Safety" -- because it's a world I know nothing about. And don't think I'm kidding myself about how much courage I'm exhibiting on that story, seeing as how it scares me shitless and I fight doing it every step of the way.
BUT...in this case I AM writing something I know about -- the psychosis of being a writer and how sometimes his characters try to take over his life. And what's the outcome, so far? It's boring. But I'm still doing it and hoping for the best when it comes to length.
That's me, Mr. Pollyanna.
I went to a meeting of other writers here in Buffalo who are participating in NaNoWriMo -- I was 1 of 2 men in the midst of a dozen women...and I don't think the other guy was there as a writer -- and this one woman repeated something she'd heard from another writer. Once he was done with his story, he'd look at it and ask himself what he could cut to make it more streamlined without losing the thread of the story. It sort of ties into the adage that you should "Kill your children when you write." And I don't agree with it. At all.
I know that's heresy as regards writing these days. You need to hone your work to the bone so no one gets bored with it, I guess. But that attitude falls under the same heading as "Write what you know." All of which is bullshit. If people only wrote what they knew, we'd have no science fiction stories along the lines of "20,000 Leagues Under the Sea" or "The War of the Worlds", because neither Jules Verne nor H. G. Wells had ever even begun to live the stories they wrote...let alone J. K. Rowling and the "Harry Potter" series. "Write what you know" works if you're doing a mystery set in the world of District Attorneys and the criminal courts, because it helps to know the jargon and attitudes of those people. But reality is, you can learn that.
If I only write what I know, I'd have one book in me. Period. I write what I want to know. I write what my characters want me to tell. That's the only reason I have enough courage to dig into "Place of Safety" -- because it's a world I know nothing about. And don't think I'm kidding myself about how much courage I'm exhibiting on that story, seeing as how it scares me shitless and I fight doing it every step of the way.
BUT...in this case I AM writing something I know about -- the psychosis of being a writer and how sometimes his characters try to take over his life. And what's the outcome, so far? It's boring. But I'm still doing it and hoping for the best when it comes to length.
That's me, Mr. Pollyanna.
Verrrrrrrrrry interrrrrrrrresting
Daniel DOES like Trent Reznor's Nine Inch Nails. And Ministry. All that Industrial Rock milieu. It fits his bleak side, the well into which he dips his pen for Ace's cynicism. That little "Ride 'Em Cowboy" moment was a joke...that may play into the reason he and Tad broke up. I've got a scene half written in my head about a party with a drag queen doing Faith Hill singing a duet with a drag king doing Tim McGraw, and Daniel's comment is brutal.
Hmm...maybe this is my nervous breakdown story. There always was a dark steak to Daniel that winds up being confronted by Van's sunshine and light even as chaos screams around him. I wonder if that causes an imbalance to the story. It's not light enough to be farce...and yet..."Arsenic and Old Lace" is about a couple of sweet little old lady serial killers played for slapstick comedy. And Daniel's ragged edges now call for something more than mere humor and a slow-growing psychosis. Especially if I decide to play it like it's all happening in his head.
Thing is, that's beginning to sound like black comedy...and that's not one of my favorite genres. I wasn't too thrilled with "Prizzi's Honor" or "Heathers". BUT...I did like "Sunset Boulevard" and "A Clockwork Orange"...and I think the last two worked for me because of the outlandish reality of the characters, while in the first two the characters were simply real and doing things that caused serious damage. Maybe black humor needs that extra step of separation between life and surreality for it to work for me. Meaning take things a step farther...like the twittery old killer queens in "Arsenic..."
So...Daniel...what's your take on this?
Hmm...maybe this is my nervous breakdown story. There always was a dark steak to Daniel that winds up being confronted by Van's sunshine and light even as chaos screams around him. I wonder if that causes an imbalance to the story. It's not light enough to be farce...and yet..."Arsenic and Old Lace" is about a couple of sweet little old lady serial killers played for slapstick comedy. And Daniel's ragged edges now call for something more than mere humor and a slow-growing psychosis. Especially if I decide to play it like it's all happening in his head.
Thing is, that's beginning to sound like black comedy...and that's not one of my favorite genres. I wasn't too thrilled with "Prizzi's Honor" or "Heathers". BUT...I did like "Sunset Boulevard" and "A Clockwork Orange"...and I think the last two worked for me because of the outlandish reality of the characters, while in the first two the characters were simply real and doing things that caused serious damage. Maybe black humor needs that extra step of separation between life and surreality for it to work for me. Meaning take things a step farther...like the twittery old killer queens in "Arsenic..."
So...Daniel...what's your take on this?
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Going from a whisper to a softness
The voice for "Lyons' Den" is beginning to make itself known...a slightly irreverent omniscience commenting upon aspect of Daniel's life as the story is told. It's almost first person in tone and chattiness, but I remembered the narrator opening "The Apartment", by Billy Wilder, setting up Jack Lemon's life in a quick easy shorthand, and the voice happily took on that persona.
I'd started partway into the story just to try and get things going...but this evening I went to the start and began laying out the first paragraphs...and soon I had a couple pages set up that will easily expand into 10 or so. I may make them a prologue.
As for music, Daniel's into retro 80's and 90's melodies...not all, though Billy Idol's "Dancin' With Myself" was his anthem for a while and I think he'd like to hear it sung by Melissa Etheridge. I still don't quite have that, yet. For a loudmouth wanting me to tell this story now now now, Daniel's being awfully reticent, all of a sudden.
Work's been busy so I get home beat and it takes me a while to get shifted into writing mode...so this is late and I'm out of words.
Hmm...I wonder what Argentine rock music sounds like?
I'd started partway into the story just to try and get things going...but this evening I went to the start and began laying out the first paragraphs...and soon I had a couple pages set up that will easily expand into 10 or so. I may make them a prologue.
As for music, Daniel's into retro 80's and 90's melodies...not all, though Billy Idol's "Dancin' With Myself" was his anthem for a while and I think he'd like to hear it sung by Melissa Etheridge. I still don't quite have that, yet. For a loudmouth wanting me to tell this story now now now, Daniel's being awfully reticent, all of a sudden.
Work's been busy so I get home beat and it takes me a while to get shifted into writing mode...so this is late and I'm out of words.
Hmm...I wonder what Argentine rock music sounds like?
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Not funny, yet
So far the story is just following a typical path, a day in the life of a crazed writer...well, a couple hours. Nothing great or fantastic or even chuckle-worthy. Daniel's being too simple and straight-forward and Ace just Ace. The old lady caretaker is just cantankerous, not humorous, yet. I'm just sort of coasting through the story in a genial fashion.
Didn't help that today was a black day for America. The GOP won the House and now they're fighting in the courts to take over the Senate because they can't lose gracefully in any way, form or fashion, oh no. Hell, Carl Paladino even waved a baseball bat and gave one of the most threatening concession speeches I've ever heard, like "Do what I say, anyway, or I'll beat your brains in." Talk about a thug...but that's the GOP for the last 15 years -- pure thugs. And now we're going to go through 2 more years of hell at their hands. It's so depressing, I couldn't even read about it.
I didn't vote, I know, but the fact is, I'd have made no difference in the outcome. Obama got the Congress he wanted. Maybe it wasn't a conscious choice but he did everything he could to make sure this happened. It's like he's a stealth Repugnican out to destroy the Democratic Party just as much as the Tea Party scum have the GOP; they're pointed towards a cliff and, like lemmings, they're all running for it and dragging the rest of us with them. Now comes gridlock in Washington...and shut downs of the government...and capitulation by the Democowards.
Damn, I have to get away from this trend of thought. No wonder I can't write comedy...I'm too much of a depressive.
Okay, Daniel, you gotta help me, here. What kind of music do you like? Let's find something interesting for you to go for...like "Nine Inch Nails" or funky industrial techno from Germany or something. What's the word?
Son-of-a-bitch, don't you DARE tell me it's "Ride 'Em Cowboy." I HATE that song.
Didn't help that today was a black day for America. The GOP won the House and now they're fighting in the courts to take over the Senate because they can't lose gracefully in any way, form or fashion, oh no. Hell, Carl Paladino even waved a baseball bat and gave one of the most threatening concession speeches I've ever heard, like "Do what I say, anyway, or I'll beat your brains in." Talk about a thug...but that's the GOP for the last 15 years -- pure thugs. And now we're going to go through 2 more years of hell at their hands. It's so depressing, I couldn't even read about it.
I didn't vote, I know, but the fact is, I'd have made no difference in the outcome. Obama got the Congress he wanted. Maybe it wasn't a conscious choice but he did everything he could to make sure this happened. It's like he's a stealth Repugnican out to destroy the Democratic Party just as much as the Tea Party scum have the GOP; they're pointed towards a cliff and, like lemmings, they're all running for it and dragging the rest of us with them. Now comes gridlock in Washington...and shut downs of the government...and capitulation by the Democowards.
Damn, I have to get away from this trend of thought. No wonder I can't write comedy...I'm too much of a depressive.
Okay, Daniel, you gotta help me, here. What kind of music do you like? Let's find something interesting for you to go for...like "Nine Inch Nails" or funky industrial techno from Germany or something. What's the word?
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Now I've done it
I just hit upon the question of the ages -- does comedy work in novel format if the story's being told in first person? Or does that dissipate the humor too much? Especially if the person telling the story is being chatty and a bit reticent? I honestly don't know. What I've written so far with LD is humorous in a flip sort of way, but is it funny? Is it really working as farce?
You see, I haven't read many funny novels. "Catch-22" I think counts as one, and it's told in third person -- but it's really more of an absurdist story. The "Flashman" series are funny, in parts. Again, third person...no, wait...were those first person? I need to double check that. Mark Twain could be as funny as hell (his essay on "The Awful German Language" makes you roar with laughter) but "Huckleberry Finn" was more serious than humorous...and is told in first person by Huck. I like the "Mark Julian" series which has moments of humor, but it's the characters I get off on and that doesn't really count, does it? To make things worse, I just could not get into "A Confederacy of Dunces."
To me, most of the comedies I know about are films or plays. "Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown." "La Cage Aux Folles" (the French version, thank you). "His Girl Friday." "The Court Jester." "Young Frankenstein."
Dammit, I seem determined to sail myself right into uncharted waters no matter what I'm writing. Maybe I should just lay out the story and see what happens when I do the rewrite. What matters is I get it down, right?
So could be my characters need to be CHARACTERS. I dunno. Just a contemplation to consider contemplating as I consider the complications of contemplating my characters.
Hmph, for some reason I'm thinking of George Hamilton in "Zorro, the Gay Blade" as he says, "All I know is the soldiers are quite happy shooting the people who say the people are not happy."
You see, I haven't read many funny novels. "Catch-22" I think counts as one, and it's told in third person -- but it's really more of an absurdist story. The "Flashman" series are funny, in parts. Again, third person...no, wait...were those first person? I need to double check that. Mark Twain could be as funny as hell (his essay on "The Awful German Language" makes you roar with laughter) but "Huckleberry Finn" was more serious than humorous...and is told in first person by Huck. I like the "Mark Julian" series which has moments of humor, but it's the characters I get off on and that doesn't really count, does it? To make things worse, I just could not get into "A Confederacy of Dunces."
To me, most of the comedies I know about are films or plays. "Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown." "La Cage Aux Folles" (the French version, thank you). "His Girl Friday." "The Court Jester." "Young Frankenstein."
Dammit, I seem determined to sail myself right into uncharted waters no matter what I'm writing. Maybe I should just lay out the story and see what happens when I do the rewrite. What matters is I get it down, right?
So could be my characters need to be CHARACTERS. I dunno. Just a contemplation to consider contemplating as I consider the complications of contemplating my characters.
Hmph, for some reason I'm thinking of George Hamilton in "Zorro, the Gay Blade" as he says, "All I know is the soldiers are quite happy shooting the people who say the people are not happy."
Monday, November 1, 2010
Back from OZ
AKA: Toronto and so tired, it took me a couple hours to work myself up to do anything on LD for NaNoWriMo. Not just from working, mind you, but also the long drive up and back in one day and the traffic that's good enough to go up against LA's and this oddly defensive attitude I kept running into, up there. I...no, I am not getting back into whine mode. It's a lovely city and still has a vibrant economy and that is that.
Now then...Daniel's expanding upon his notion that he wants to get back into a relationship with Tad and is explaining why. I've only got 450 words but there's a lot packed into them. It's not going to be easy telling this story in first person since parts of it happen when Daniel's not around, but it seems to be coming out. Hopefully tomorrow will be better and I'll get a lot more done.
I cleaned a lot of crap off my desktop computer and did a lot of backup storage, yesterday.
Tomorrow is election day...and I'm not voting. I'm sick of supporting people who then turn around and spit on me (figuratively, not literally)...and THEN have the bold-faced nerve to tell me I have no choice but to vote for them because the other guys are worse. That's the language of an abuser and I can't sanction that. I only voted for Obama in 2008 to keep McCain out of office; I knew back then he was nothing but a policy wonk. I didn't expect him to actually turn out worse than I thought he would -- with his two-faced double-dealing on DADT and DOMA and the Health Care Reform bill and his pathetic stimulus and Guantanamo and refusal to stop torture and the spying done by Homeland Security on and on. People swear he's done a lot...and compared to Bush, he's certainly better (shit, who wouldn't be?) but the second coming of Roosevelt he is not. Right now this country needs a visionary, not someone lost behind the gaze of his rose-colored glasses. So if the GOP wins big, tomorrow, as they're expected to do, it'll be his fault. And in response, he'll become even more abusive to the things we liberals care about. But at least he'll then turn into a one-term president and we can put someone in who actually WILL do the bidding of the people who elected him.
Soapbox gone. Let's leave on a nice note -- Daniel smiling.
Now then...Daniel's expanding upon his notion that he wants to get back into a relationship with Tad and is explaining why. I've only got 450 words but there's a lot packed into them. It's not going to be easy telling this story in first person since parts of it happen when Daniel's not around, but it seems to be coming out. Hopefully tomorrow will be better and I'll get a lot more done.
I cleaned a lot of crap off my desktop computer and did a lot of backup storage, yesterday.
Tomorrow is election day...and I'm not voting. I'm sick of supporting people who then turn around and spit on me (figuratively, not literally)...and THEN have the bold-faced nerve to tell me I have no choice but to vote for them because the other guys are worse. That's the language of an abuser and I can't sanction that. I only voted for Obama in 2008 to keep McCain out of office; I knew back then he was nothing but a policy wonk. I didn't expect him to actually turn out worse than I thought he would -- with his two-faced double-dealing on DADT and DOMA and the Health Care Reform bill and his pathetic stimulus and Guantanamo and refusal to stop torture and the spying done by Homeland Security on and on. People swear he's done a lot...and compared to Bush, he's certainly better (shit, who wouldn't be?) but the second coming of Roosevelt he is not. Right now this country needs a visionary, not someone lost behind the gaze of his rose-colored glasses. So if the GOP wins big, tomorrow, as they're expected to do, it'll be his fault. And in response, he'll become even more abusive to the things we liberals care about. But at least he'll then turn into a one-term president and we can put someone in who actually WILL do the bidding of the people who elected him.
Soapbox gone. Let's leave on a nice note -- Daniel smiling.
NaNoWriMo rides again
It's officially starting in 14 minutes, though I won't even begin writing till I'm back from my second trip to Toronto in a week. And even then I may not. It all depends on how long this jaunt takes and how nasty traffic is on the return. Be that as it may...I'm going to blast through this book as fast as I can. No thinking. No worrying about if it's funny enough. None of that crap. I want it done and over and space made available to return to POS...and maybe add some humor to Brendan's life.
I read "Once and Future King" back when I was in college and loved it. It's about King Arthur -- his youth (part 1 of the book was used for Disney's "The Sword in the Stone"), then becoming king and his betrayal. That book starts out young and fun and hopeful then, as Arthur grows older and wiser, becomes darker and darker. It's a brilliant work and I strongly recommend it to anyone who loves the Arthurian Legends.
Reason I mention that book? One of the reviewers for "Bobby Carapisi" reminded me of how, even in his starkest of tragedies Shakespeare put in some humor. The audience needs it for relief against the growing horror of what's happening. I didn't do that with BC 1&2,though I did try to add some to BC 3.
Of course, humor's not my strong suit, I have to admit, but then again, I wrote a pretty damned funny script about a cop's mind being switched with his less-than-beloved mother-in-law's on the eve of him making a big arrest and her about to be in an older ladies' beauty pageant...and set it in Vegas and had a super-superstitious gambler and a clumsy medium who startles herself with her powers and a philandering husband and a closeted gay cop and the triumvirate of retired lady beauty contestants from hell and a dance instructor who'll sleep with anything.
I put a LOT in there to play with, but it also would've relied a LOT on the performances rising to the occasion. Still -- what's the one consistent response I'm told I got? "It's not funny enough." I have a medium whose crystal ball is hidden away behind a panel in the wall, and when she brings it out to "see into the future" it's accompanied by a tinkly version of "I Feel Pretty" from "West Side Story." I have the cop, in his mother-in-law's body, having to deal with not only his father-in-law showing up and wanting to do more than just snuggle, but also the dance instructor getting a crush on him/her and helping in a dance competition that the cop/mother-in-law tries to ruin but winds up winning. Hell, I've got thigh-high go-go boots in it, for cryin' out loud.
BUT...film is a visual medium, right? If it ain't on the page, it ain't on the screen, right? I laugh at this. Ha ha!
And now...let's see just how far I can go with "The Lyons' Den." So here's the banner. Got no idea what it means.
Ah, what fools we mortals be.
I read "Once and Future King" back when I was in college and loved it. It's about King Arthur -- his youth (part 1 of the book was used for Disney's "The Sword in the Stone"), then becoming king and his betrayal. That book starts out young and fun and hopeful then, as Arthur grows older and wiser, becomes darker and darker. It's a brilliant work and I strongly recommend it to anyone who loves the Arthurian Legends.
Reason I mention that book? One of the reviewers for "Bobby Carapisi" reminded me of how, even in his starkest of tragedies Shakespeare put in some humor. The audience needs it for relief against the growing horror of what's happening. I didn't do that with BC 1&2,though I did try to add some to BC 3.
Of course, humor's not my strong suit, I have to admit, but then again, I wrote a pretty damned funny script about a cop's mind being switched with his less-than-beloved mother-in-law's on the eve of him making a big arrest and her about to be in an older ladies' beauty pageant...and set it in Vegas and had a super-superstitious gambler and a clumsy medium who startles herself with her powers and a philandering husband and a closeted gay cop and the triumvirate of retired lady beauty contestants from hell and a dance instructor who'll sleep with anything.
I put a LOT in there to play with, but it also would've relied a LOT on the performances rising to the occasion. Still -- what's the one consistent response I'm told I got? "It's not funny enough." I have a medium whose crystal ball is hidden away behind a panel in the wall, and when she brings it out to "see into the future" it's accompanied by a tinkly version of "I Feel Pretty" from "West Side Story." I have the cop, in his mother-in-law's body, having to deal with not only his father-in-law showing up and wanting to do more than just snuggle, but also the dance instructor getting a crush on him/her and helping in a dance competition that the cop/mother-in-law tries to ruin but winds up winning. Hell, I've got thigh-high go-go boots in it, for cryin' out loud.
BUT...film is a visual medium, right? If it ain't on the page, it ain't on the screen, right? I laugh at this. Ha ha!
And now...let's see just how far I can go with "The Lyons' Den." So here's the banner. Got no idea what it means.
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