Heromaker.net

No Progess, Yet I Still Have Job Satisfaction

I haven't touched the screenplay but, other writing-related news:

I spent Thursday, Friday, and Saturday covering anything and everything (that was fit to print) in the world of science fiction, fantasy, and horror as the guest editor of Blastr. But let's face it, 99% of last weekend's SFnal news was related to San Diego Comic-Con, an event I would some day like to experience ... and an event I might never want to experience. I've heard horror stories about the lines, the hours of waiting (and then not getting in!), and the masses of people. Imagine 125,000 people (fanboys, nerds, geeks, mouthbreathers, hot models, professionals, and cosplayers) crammed into a convention center, all trying to get a look at the coolest new stuff. That's Comic-Con. (This year someone actually got stabbed. "I'm not a singin' geek, I'm a stabbin' geek!") And yet, part of me thinks actually seeing the newest sizzle reels or the sneak previews or the actors/directors is irrelevant to the experience. Sure, it's fun, but I think the part of Comic-Con that I'd enjoy is being at Comic-Con. It's the geek Mecca. I should go. At least once.

The news was fast and furious: I followed Twitter feeds and hit refresh a gazillion times on the big (and not-so-big) SF news sites. The editor (Scott Edelman) and SVP (Craig Engler) fed me stories and it was a whirlwind of researching, photoshopping, and typing.

I haven't had this sort of job satisfaction in a year and a half. I've worked with Scott at three different companies over the past 12 years: Sovereign Media, Commtek, and SCI FI Channel/NBC Universal/GE. It was great having the old team back together, even if it was only for a three-day stint. Despite it being insanely busy, I had a great time. I'd almost forgotten what it felt like to hit 6PM and go, "Wow, I accomplished something cool and fun." Getting a paycheck probably has something to do with the satisfaction, too.

Because, you know as well I do: money rocks. Especially when you don't have lots of it.

So, That Happened

I deleted that other post. For a few reasons.

I want this site to be mostly about writing and writing-related projects. But I got angry. Angry at politicians. Angry at finances. Angry at crap being heaped upon crap. Angry at being worried all the time. Angry about being angry. I Hulk-raged words onto the blog and, well, that's not what this space is for. Seven posts into the new site and I wander off-topic. No, that's not what I wanted at all. While it was therapeutic at the time, it served its purpose and is now lost to the ether. That post is gone. (It helps that Congress voted in favor of extension benefits and Obama signed the bill. But that's not the point.)

Writing-related stuff: Scott Edelman and Craig Engler are out at San Diego Comic-Con this weekend. While they schmooze, meet celebrities, view premiere footage, and get nice swag, I'm holding down the fort (yesterday and today) at my old job as guest-editor for Blastr.

If Enough People Say It, It Must Be True

I'm still learning the process of criticism. When someone gives an opinion on something I've written, it's just that: opinion. I have to filter it, consider the reasoning, and ultimately choose whether to accept or discard their argument.

Kerri and Jeff both read the script a few months ago. This past weekend Mike and Stuart gave me their notes. And the verdict is ... if four people tell you the same thing (in slightly different ways) it's no longer opinion. It be fact, folks.

The script is divided into two parts. Part the First covers the misadventures in Galway. Part the Second covers my return to the States and the 15 years that follow. And it's unanimous that everything after the return from Ireland is too much "new" too late in the game. Too new a struggle, too new a romance. Mike went so far as to say that the "Brian" character was a different dude. (Valid, that point.) For the final 20 minutes of a film, it's a different ballgame. And that don't cut the mustard. That second section was where reality and fiction went fisticuffs. Reality was great to get words on the page, but reality doesn't a good narrative arc make. I really struggled writing some of the fiction. The logical part of my brain kept going, "But! But! But, that didn't happen!!" And then the creative side would say, "Your point?"

I had to constantly remind myself: I'm not writing a memoir or an autobiography. "Based on" stories are far from the truth. This one, in particular, is filtered through fiction, alternate history, a singular point of view, and 15 years of fuzzy memory. "Truth of events" isn't anywhere near this story. "Truth, in spirit," that may be another matter entirely.

So, radical cutting will happen. 111 scenes will be cut down to 91. 142 pages will be cut down to 124. Yes, I know, 124 is still a wee bit long. But this is only the first swing of an axe to the whole. There's other pruning and clipping I can do.

But this is good. Kerri, Jeff, Mike, and Stuart did for me a thing which I could not do myself. They told me to get rid of the useless stuff. (Shock! Horror! What?! Nothing in here is useless! It's all beautiful, golden, poetry riding around on a rainbow-farting unicorn!) Not only does it cut the page-count down, something that desperately needed doing, but makes room for the remainder to be a tighter, more focused story.

Special thanks go out to them. I appreciate their honesty and candor. (And, especially, their gentleness when they had to tell me they hated something particular. It can't be easy doing the verbal two-step around the phrase, "Murph, this sucks.")

Thanks, guys and gal.

Sometimes a Blessing, Sometimes a Curse

Last night was one of those wonderfully horrible nights. I wanted to go to sleep. I was tired. But my subconscious must've been working overtime because it dumped a few choice phrases and scenes into my consciousness right as my head hit the pillow. Meaning: I lay in bed, grateful I've survived another day ... and BOOM. Lightning strikes.

"Ah crap," I said out loud. Not because an idea hit, but because my notebook was in the basement. I trudged downstairs, flipped on the lights, and scribbled down just enough to A) get the words out of my head and B) remember what I needed to write more today.

I took the notebook upstairs, placed it on the nightstand, and crawled back into bed. And then I spent the next hour thinking about the screenplay. I didn't want to, I tried thinking of other things that'd put me to sleep. But it didn't work for quite some time. My mind kept returning to the words, the scenes, the aspects of selling that seem daunting. The General Worry of Things Undone.

Eventually I fell asleep, but 7AM came much too soon.

Sometimes I stare at a white page for an hour. Sometimes the compulsion is so strong, it moves my body out of bed in the dead of night, down two flights of stairs in search of a pen.

If that ain't magic, I don't know what is.

Posted the Pub Coaster Gallery

To say I spent time in pubs in Galway, Ireland, during the fall/winter of 1996 is a gross understatement. It was school, friends, pub. (And, to my parents' disappointment, not always in that order.) I had my fair share of Guinness and Murphys, Baileys and Bulmers. Afterwhich, I had a few more. The pub is very different than the American bar scene. It was not unusual for a pick-up group of musicians to sit in a nearby booth and start playing. Pretty damn cool. The pub was so much more than just a Place To Drink. I wish I could go back. Not just to the country itself, but back in time. Alas, I can't. I think that's what part of this project is about. Virtual time travel through writing.

Every pub I went to, I wrote down the name of the pub on my drink coaster with my white pen. Here are just a few of the beer-stained coasters I brought back, noting which coaster came from which pub.

I particularly remember the Hudson Blue coaster with "Murphy's" scribbled on it. That was our second day (I think) in Galway and my friend, Chad, and I ditched orientation to find the red-fronted Murphy's Pub to have a pint. The memories of the other coasters aren't nearly as distinct, having been destroyed either by time or Guinness, or both.

(On a side note: I'm still trying to figure out how to use TypeLists and Photo Albums in Typepad. That bit on the left is not quite how I want it to look. But instead of sitting on an unpublished gallery, I figured I'd just post the link, live with the ugly design, and move on until I had time to make it beautiful. If anyone knows Typepad and wants to give me a 101 lesson in how to pretty up that left side ... I'm all ears.)

And Now for Something Completely different ...

Not screenplay related, but it's writing related, so I'll mention it.

Blastr (formerly SCI FI Wire, they just relaunched yesterday) posted my article: "Infographic: 120 fake sci-fi events on a real-world timeline." Chris Kalb, a former colleague (we worked on SCI FI Magazine together for eight years), did the artwork and design on it. I came up with all the dates and times. I think it looks nice, regardless of what the commenters will eventually say.

More Info Than You Can Shake a Stick At

The Hollywood Creative Directory arrived in the mail yesterday. So, now I have five to seven pounds worth of addresses, phone numbers, and names.

I still have yet to finish my query letter and my one-sheet synopsis. I also have to cut some scenes and focus the script itself a bit more. But I'm holding off on that until after my meeting with Mike and Stuart this weekend. I'm sure they have opinions on what could be changed. Hopefully they'll be gentle. I chafe easily.

Once all of that is done, then I'll rifle through the HCD and do some more online research to winnow down the list of the first few (hundred) I'm going to ship letters to.

Chopping Log(line)s is Hard Work

I've been working on the boilerplate query letter. The bulk of it is easy enough, what with the introduction, the formality, the curriculum vitae. But I'm having a hard time perfecting the logline. For those of you who don't know, the logline is a one- or two-sentence pitch. It's the "I have 15 seconds to convince you this might be worth your while."

Making a semi-autobiographical love story compelling in two sentences—at least compelling enough to get an agent or producer to request a complete copy of the script—ain't easy. Good love stories are made up of moments, none of which are huge but, when combined, can be quite powerful. My story has neither explosions nor guns nor ass-kicking scenes. It's fun and emotional, but more indie than Michael Bay.

Distilling it all into a logline, finding the essence of the journey, the country, the girl(s), the humor, the friends, the adventure (such as it were) ... it's something with which I'm struggling. I wish there were a bottle labeled "Extract of Galway '96," which I could pour onto the page. But that's wishful stuff right there. 

Why is this so important? I'll tell you why.

Literary publishing goes like this: You write a story, you send your story to one agent (if it's a book) or one publisher (if it's a short story). You wait for a response. When rejection (inevitably) comes, you sent the story back out into the world. To a single address. Rise. Repeat. Simultaneous submissions are considered bad form. Do so and you'll be told to sit in the corner. No cookies for you.

Selling a screenplay goes something like this (or so I'm told): Write your script. Send out a query letter to every possible agent or producer you can get an address for, asking if they want to see a completed script (based solely on the very brief description in your logline and/or full-page synopsis—which they may or may not bother reading). If you haven't sent out 100, you're not trying hard enough. A 5% return, either asking to see the script or flatly saying, "No thank you.", is a good number. Five out of 100. To say the logline is important is an understatement. There's nothing worse than writing 120 pages, only be be undermined by two sentences which Just Weren't Good Enough.

So I'm looking at my logline. The one I have now goes something like this:

"Galway '96 is the story of a greek-writer who travels to Galway, and falls in love with an unavailable fellow student. It's a travel story; a love letter to Ireland. It's a story about growing up and how life doesn't always go according to plan—and how that's not always a bad thing."

Yeah, I know. Not terribly inspired, is it? I mean, "unavailable fellow student?" Sounds like it could be a gay roommate who's merely nipped out to the store for a loaf of bread. I wrote those words and I'm fairly appalled by their awfulness. But, it's clay to work with. Or to delete. It's something more than white space; something (much) less than poetry.

In the back of my mind I'm worried that, if I can't distill it down to two sentences, perhaps the story itself needs more focus. Or, perhaps, it's wasn't a story worth telling.

Perhaps.

But I won't know until I do the work and perfect the words. If I don't believe it's a story worth telling, how the hell am I going to convince an agent or producer that it's worth making, let alone watching?

And that's the thing: I do believe it's good. I do believe it was worth telling, that it's worth making, that it's worth watching. But like anything young, it requires a little care and encouragement.

HCD Is En Route

I needed contacts. Reliable, up-to-date contacts. The professionals recommended The Hollywood Creative Directory. The 69th edition just came out in May, so ... cha-ching to my Running Costs typelist. I want the book to be in-hand so when I finish the query letters I can ship them out immediately to agents and producers.

A New Frontier, A Return to the Old Country

Back in January I had an idea for a screenplay. (Doesn't everyone?) It would be a fictionalized account of the time I spent a semester abroad in Ireland, in the fall of 1996. I had only a vague idea on how to write a screenplay but a very clear idea on what it'd look like. I've seen lots of movies and I knew how to pace out stories, so with a "what-the-hell?" attitude, I jumped in. I could see the whole film so clearly in my mind. It was time to get started.

I knew there was software out there to make the formatting job easier. Some kinds cost money, some where free. I chose a free one called Celtx. Day 1, Scene 1, I turn on iTunes' random shuffle so I could listen to music while I wrote and The Pogues' "Fairytale of New York" comes on. Now, I'm not a believer in signs and portents but ... Galway, Celtx, Pogues, "and the boys of the NYPD choir were singing Galway Bay..." -- someone, somewhere wanted this written.

On Feb. 24 I started sketching out scenes. Five weeks later, on April 1, I'd finished the first draft. By the third week in April I'd finished a second draft. My wife and a friend both read it, in April and May, and returned notes and comments, and I tweaked it more. Two more friends are reading it now; more tweaking will ensue by the end of July.

This blog will (mostly) be about the agony and elation of finishing and selling the script that is tentatively called Galway '96.

Over on the right side I have a typelist labeled "Running Cost." That's going to be an estimate of how much, roughly, I've spent in pursuit of this sale. It'll include shipping costs, dinners, CDs, drinks, paper, ink, and anything else that falls under "misc." I'm lumping it all together, but I'm not counting hours spent, of course.