There's dark, and then there's DARK

I had an interesting conversation last week that sort of got me thinking about some potential story elements.  The next morning I went for a 7 mile run and saw a vulture sitting on a rickety old barn early on.  It all sort of swirled together and I got back with pretty complete story outline.  I'm not quite sure about writing it yet so I thought I'd write out a scene and see how it went.

EXCERPT

Elise looked out of the window and watched the tree line at the edge of the field.  The air was still and nothing moved in the moon light.  But something had disturbed her.  She listened intently and heard nothing except her own breathing.

She crept into the hallway, unsure of herself.  There must have been something.  She checked her daughter’s room.  Empty.  As it always was.  She took a moment for the inevitable sorrow to seep away before shutting the door.

The old farmhouse creaked as she made her way to the stairs.  It had a life of its own, like an old sailing ship adrift and long forgotten.  Moonlight sifted in through cracked and broken windows.  A draught caught at the hem of her nightgown, tickling her as it fled up the stairs and out of the hole in the roof.

Dread wrestled with anticipation when she reached the top of the stairs.  Whatever it was, it was down there.  She peered into the gloom 13 steps below her, phlegm catching in her throat and adding a rhythmic rasping to the night.

She pulled her hand from the wall and stepped forward.  The darkness of her shadow clung to the peeling wallpaper, the shadow taking a moment to peel from the yellowed print to catch up with her.

Elise floated gracefully down the stairwell, her feet unmoving and her hand hovering inches above the railing.  Behind her, the paper peeled away revealing charred plaster – cracked and broken.  At the bottom she settled onto the hardwood floor and turned toward the kitchen.

The cold floor on her feet woke her.  Elise lay on her back in bed, the covers kicked off, every light blazing, drenched in sweat and staring into the face of darkness.  She couldn’t move.  She couldn’t close her eyes.  She couldn’t turn away from the cloud that hung over her.

It was a swirling mass, oppressive with a weight that threatened to crush her.  She struggled for breath, against the force that held her still, against the terror that consumed her.  It was an evil thing – no, it was evil.  It reeked of stale death.

Down it came, settling on her.  It enveloped her, oozing between her toes, over her skin.  She screamed again and when it was done, when she fought to draw a breath, her aching lungs drew it inside of her.  Her body jerked and she arched her back, impossibly, for what might have passed as an eternity.  Then she collapsed.

It was late when the sun finally woke her, afternoon at least, and she was groggy.  The lights were on and Elise began to shake as memory overcame sleep and dark bile rose in her throat.

"A couple of us sneaked a look at his personnel file the day he arrived. It's his IQ."

I'm taking tomorrow off from work to go camping with my boys.  No girls.  In fact, the name of the expedition is "The No Girls Allowed Campout" just so that there's no confusion.  Apparently the ladies of my house are planning a "No Boys Allowed Shopping Spree" with the caveat that the "no boys" part doesn't apply to the boy's credit cards.

Writing project update:  The reorganization of feature #1 is on schedule.  Feature #2 is aging like claret (and probably will until I can figure out how to get the budget lower).  Feature #3 is stalled out but that's okay.  Short #1(really a promo video) is complete and available to watch on Facebook - you don't have to login.  Finally, short #2 is in outlining/synopsis/1st draft mode.  That's quite a mode.  I have the concept and logline but the rest of my process is still sort of out there.

So Jon, thanks for the updates and everything, but this is Thursday.  Where's the TV report?

This was not a good week for TV from my perspective.  I left several episodes unfinished.  I don't know

Francis Aaron a.k.a. '85' in 1992's Alien 3

 if it was the after effects of the perigee moon, just being tired from the kettlebells, or that I've picked up Nevil Shute's A Town Like Alice.  What an amazing story teller.

We started a “Glades” and stopped it 10 minutes in.  Picked it back up a couple of nights later and finished the episode but, meh.  We got about 8 minutes into “Terra Nova” and gave up.  Just wasn't cutting it, seemed like everyone was being really, really dumb.  I mean 85 dumb.  Watched “Arrested Development” and my wife fell asleep - it's only 20 minutes long.  Tried another episode a few nights later and, well, either it's not staying fresh or it was just not a good week.  We even watched a “Flashpoint” to break things up.  It was the worst episode we've seen.  There have been a couple of good ones, most are okay.  This one I kept saying, "What?"  Except for the part where I said, "Dude, you're BACK is on fire, why don't you roll around on that instead of your stomach?"  It was one of those weeks where Plants vs. Zombies is more interesting than anything else on the screen.

This week, “Must See TV” is “Must See something else on TV”.

"There's more to life than a little money, you know. Don'tcha know that? And here ya are, and it's a beautiful day. Well. I just don't understand it."

First - thank you all very much.  It's only been a month but I've had over a thousand hits on the blog.  I really appreciate the encouragement and comments, both public and private.  If you have a particular topic or film you'd like me to tackle, or a prompt for an Original Ficiton Friday, please send me an email.

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Did another kettle-bell class.  We can move today, but it was exhausting last night.  I think that an evening workout is better - you don't spend the day saying, "Oww."  Netflix is still not quite right on our queue so “The 6th Sense” hasn't shown up.  In fact, it's been an extra-long time between shipping

and delivery of anything.  Never fear, however, I have been reading scripts and spending lots of time trying to decide which one I want to talk about today.

I've settled on “Fargo”.  I will admit that when I saw it, I thoroughly enjoyed it.  William H. Macy was very funny though I usually find him annoying (“Jurassic Park 3” anyone?) but it was violent and geared toward a grown up audience on pretty much every level so after the initial viewing I never

revisited it.  It's been at least a decade but I can still hear the accents in the dialogue and remember a few key scenes.  Others I had forgotten until I read the script.

About that script - I can see why the Cohen brothers get their movies made.  The story is very easy to follow but jumps out at you from the page with honest dialogue, uniquely voiced characters, and the cold of North Dakota’s winter.

There were a few sections I skimmed - I was surprised at how much profanity there was but, fortunately, it was mostly confined to two characters so the ejection factor was somewhat mitigated and it was easy enough to get back to the narrative.  I will be pontificating on the use of profanity in scripts - as opposed to the films themselves - in the future.  I'm lining up my ducks.  It will be an opus.  My internet break-out piece that causes the sky to open and music to play followed by every agency in town saying, "If he can have such an enlightened opinion expressed so clearly, we want to sign him.  Yesterday."  [Moment of day dreaming.] Where was I?

The climax of the film was very short on the scrip though on the screen it was drawn out with great tension.  We were faced with drifting snow, a lone police woman, a bandit, and a shredder.  On the page it was described very matter-of-factly with just a little bit of humor.  There were a few other places where I noticed the same effect in the script - what was written came through clearly and carried the story, but the screen version of the scene possessed far more punch. I'm not sure if it's because I was standing on the train while reading it instead of freezing in North Dakota, or if it was just a well-made film.  I will need to keep my eyes open.  I suspect it's the latter – cinema is its own art.

I remember “Fargo” as being a somewhat complicated caper-style film with a lot going on.  In the script there was no sense of that complication.  We were introduced to the crime early and then it split into parallel lanes, both with unique and shared obstacles, eventually coming back together.  There was a hint of "film noir" in the late entry of the law enforcement hero - we had been set up to root for the bad guys but just couldn't and then it was very satisfying when the very pregnant Officer Marge Gunderson arrived and did her thing.  In essence, they applied the "delayed entry of villain" rule to the protagonist and it really worked.

I also recalled that there was a potential love problem.  The script reminded me of it and I was again impressed at how little of it was actually written.  The power of the scenes was in the acting.  It didn't need a lot of page to get the story across.  I am still over writing my scenes and this script, in particular, was a very good example for me to see how just a little goes a long way.

If you devour scripts then you've probably already read this one.  If you don't, as good as the story is, there are plenty of other scripts that aren't quite as unsettling or became ‘R’ in the filming rather than the writing, to whet your appetite with.  Of course, if you loved Fargo...

"In this room, there's pain."

My post is a little late this morning.  I was up early, but the schedule was packed.  There was birthday morning tea and coffee, horses to tend to (the cute little girl who is supposed to be watching the THREE of them this weekend was at a sleepover), a neighbor's dog to care for, a cute little girl to pick up from the aforementioned sleepover, and then the highlight of the morning -  a shared near death experience.

We even got to pay for it.

And we're going to do it again.  Madness.

Death Trap, 1982

My wife and I took a "kettlebell" class.  I suppose I should call it a session.  I would have answered any question just to make it stop.  I've done some pretty crazy workouts but the intensity here was impressive.  It was at a Brazilian jiu jitsu place.  I'm ready for the octagon now.

The funniest part of the morning was when we got home and headed from the van to the house.  Getting out of the car was okay, wobbling to the porch wasn't bad, but when we tried to climb the steps we were stopped.  The jello that had been molded into the shape of our legs just didn't want to do any more climbing. We hit the first step at the same time, looked at each other at the same time, and laughed.  I don't know, maybe you had to be there.

Are pouring everything into your writing?  When you are done, are you so drained that you can barely write a coherent grocery list and need time to recover?  I'm not necessarily saying you should write yourself ragged, but write with intensity.  Block out the world and give it everything you've got.  When you are done, you're done - step back and recharge.  You'll hit the next round stronger and more confident.  It's hard to write with intensity, hard to face a blank screen or ignore phones, tweets, email, or Words With Friends.  If it was easy, everyone would BE a writer, not just say they thought about it.

Need more motivation?  While you are writing, you don't have to do a Russian Swing.