Opie Don’t Play That

Over the last few days I have been going over the edits for the first half (plus a few more pages) of my script. I’m just past my midpoint whammy and am closing in on my second – or double – whammy. Now, on the editing side, it simply amazes me that this software seems so accurate and reliable, yet when I am checking over the pages I’ve written they reveal a multitude of errors. I know that this was not the condition I left my project in when I wrapped up, so I can only imagine there's a glitch in the system! Or someone who has access to my laptop is cunningly playing a game with me and if I arrange all of the misspelled words it will reveal a secret message a’ la Da Vinci Code. I can only conclude that Ron Howard has access to my writing and I find that sort of prank unprofessional to say the least.

FYI:
Hey Chickpea Fan Club roll call member badges and super secret glowing decoder rings are back ordered in China. As a reminder, upon receipt of said items, do not lick them, ingest them, or carry them too close to your person. Do not throw or shake or taunt super glowing decoder rings (though that goes without saying).

Bucksflies

I happily spent the other day writing in the Starbucks. Once I had my decoy chai latte light water ½ pump chai, I prepared my writing lair. “Joe” the heavy set literaturazzi slash Bucksfly (as I like to refer to him after seeing him only once) was using the main outlet, but I found an enticing overstuffed chair in the corner with perfect access to the other outlet. (And I have to go back to Joe for a moment, as the staff referred to him as Joe because he must frequent the place and they all know him. But isn’t it an amazing coincidence that a guy named “Joe” would, in fact, frequent a coffee haus? I wonder if any Stanley Mugomud’s or Jorge Java’s drink there, too. But I digress…)

Anyhoo… so there I was…
I have my big chair and a tiny table (the size of a Necco wafer) in front of me. I’m ready to write. I plug in the cord, but just as I am about to put down the laptop I see the sticky crud all over the micro table. Simple wiping won’t clean it so I spread napkins all over to create a safe technology layer. I even ball up wads of napkins to act as feet to the laptop and keep air circulating. Ok, now I wait for the muse of scriptwriting to pull up with her half-double-decaf-halfcaf so we can roll.

Wait. I gotta set my drink down and I have learned the hard way that when liquid spills near a computer it actually multiplies in volume by 600%. It’s the well-documented Exponential Snapple Theory of 1995. Before I can write I need to find a safe haven for my beverage. That’s when I spy the small children’s table and set of three chairs nearby. My logic is that anyone would be crazy to drag a child into a Starbucks, so I snatch one of the little chairs and set it up in my inspiration space. As you might’ve guessed, within seconds a woman walks in with her three toddlers to splurge on double shot mocha espresso juice boxes at seven bucks a pop. I ignore them as they wander near the kiddie table and mutter under my breath,“Find your way back to the half-price Valentine tumblers where you belong, kids.” Aside from Joe and me, the place had been empty. As far as I’m concerned, I’m simply using a 3D child’s chair shaped coaster. Fortunately, the mom takes her kids and leaves. Probably off to a tire showroom or a utilities payment center – somewhere the kids would love to spend the rest of their day.

Back to work. Until the battle of the realtor wannabees invade the table in close proximity (they actually quiz each other on encroachment). But I dig my heels in and write. I ignore the interview between loud talking giggly gals and the “parallel to the floor guy” who splays himself out and dangles his extremities over the backs of chairs. I must applaud the Starbucks lady who breezes past me cleaning and, without missing a beat, handles the drive thru on her Janet Jackson (that’s a headset… if you’re nasty). Starbucks lady chirps loudly, "Hi and welcome to Starbucks. How may Brad and I help you today?” (Though we both know that deadbeat Brad is nowhere in sight.) (pause) “One banana mocha frappe...” (gathers trash off the nearby table) “Would you like a shot of espresso in that today?” (as she plucks napkins from the floor) (pause) “Very good.. we'll have that up for you in a moment.” (she breezes back to the front with the timing and finesse of a Mr. Bob Fosse – sans jazz hands).

But my whole point of sharing this with you is to tell you how much I enjoyed getting out and writing in my lair. (I can’t pretend that I didn’t think of screenwriter Diablo Cody of Juno fame who wrote the story in a Starbucks in Target. But she had an uphill battle there as the distracting “Customer in seasonal… who is responding?” blares over the intercom every thirty three seconds – no thank you!) I admit, I nursed my chai for three hours and no one said a word. Though, in their defense, it’s hard to remove someone who is having a bad case of caffeine shakes.

“Non…”

Ix-nay on the silent picture idea. Mel Brooks cornered the market on all that. This man, though brilliant, has also limited the playing field for monsters in tuxes, dizzy people, dripping newspapers, and great character names with umlauts. Break of a piece for the little people will ya, Mr. Brooks?

The good news is that they were able to partially reattach my gums after that little shiv incident. I’m thinking of suing the toothbrush manufacturer (as nowhere on the packaging does it warn you to avoid melting it down to accommodate an X-Acto blade).

Answers Only Beget More Questions…

I’ve come to the conclusion that I want to be wholly accurate to my time period. Therefore, I am opting to work on this project as a silent film. No high-falutin’ all-talkie like those saps at big picture companies, I’m going for authenticity.

With my writing, I have found that my attention to word usage has cost me a great deal of time. Whenever I think of a word or phrase or invention I want to use, I spend an inordinate amount of time looking up its origins to ensure that it is appropriate both in meaning and in time frame. I’ve been researching one red cent, kit bag, the water cooler, hosiery, Milk of Magnesia, hang gliding (it’s been around longer than one might think), Coney Island, the toaster, marathon dancing, Calvin Coolidge, flash photography, telephones, handsets, and paper cups (to name a few).

During my research I found that in “1919 AT&T conducted more than 4,000 measurements of people's heads to gauge the best dimensions of standard headsets so that callers' lips would be near the microphone when holding handsets up to their ears.” Who knew? And what did the people being measured for this crazy apparatus think about it at the time? Did their grandchildren later brag that, “If it wasn’t for my grandpa’s big melon of a head you wouldn’t be able to use that phone right now.” See? Answers only begat more questions…

Also, word to the wise. Once you dedicate a toothbrush to be used as a shiv DO NOT attempt to brush your teeth with it.

Lake. Big Lake. (Deep Heavy Exasperating Sigh…)

I just learned that writer | director | guru John Hughes has passed away. His work has had such an unbelievable influence on my life. His brilliant turn of phrase and ability to speak for my generation continues to inspire my own writing. I have constantly remarked (especially in the last few years) that we are in desperate need of more John Hughes films. They were fun, unexpected, entertaining, engaging, and layered with well-crafted characters. I think that nearly every phrase from his numerous brat pack films is not only burned into my head, but is peppered in my speech at least once a day. Of course, tomorrow I’ll be sporting my Jake Ryan t-shirt.

Married? Married.
Let's plooow.
You own a church?
He's a yappie.
Off like a dirty shirt.
Blane? His name is Blane? That's not a name, it's a major appliance!
Helen! We have an owl out here in the hall.
Jake. Jaaaaaaake!
What about prom, Blane? WHAT ABOUT PROM?
Things... life... whatnot.
You're just wishful makeupping.
How 'bout a greasy pork chop in served in a dirty ashtray?
That's hot. White hot.

And no, John… those aren’t pillows.

Barrel of Kittens

Let me begin today’s blog by stating: “I’m happier with my direction.” At first it fought me, but with my extensive background in bare-knuckled fisticuffs, I was easily declared the winner. (And I carry a shiv fashioned from a toothbrush just in case my direction gets out of line again.)

I’ve eased into my selected time period of 1920. Roaring, Golden, or Jazzy, this era gives us a little breathing room from the war with only slight ripples on the water foreshadowing the Depression. Even more important in this era is the use of barrels. Barrels of alcohol being hacked, barrels of merchandise in front of shops, going over Niagara Falls in a barrel, and later, people wearing barrels when the economy takes a downturn (the cartoony kind with long suspenders). To build a more enchanting story I intend to have people drive in barrel cars, dine in fine barrel restaurants, perform in all-barrel bands, and host “dress as your favorite barrel” parties. What a panic!

I could wax poetic all day about the virtues of a well-crafted barrel but it doesn’t hide the fact that starting my second round of my first act has made me a bit squirrely. (If you’ve been ardently reading my blogs – and no doubt you have, as I’ve seen your name appear on the Hey Chickpea Fan Club roll call – you’re well aware that I have started everything over from the beginning.) Giving myself the luxury of rewriting everything seemed great at first, but now it's this horrible luring menace that second guesses everything I’m doing. Hmmm. Don’t like that? Well, you could make the character 60 years older, that’ll be another perspective. Ohhhh, 1920 time frame isn’t working yet? Give the Dark Ages a go! I’m forcing myself to continue to forge ahead, so I can have something to which I can react. And, if it still isn’t working, we lose the humans and make it an all kitten production. Either that or I’m reaching for the shiv…

BTW: Hey Chickpea Fan Club roll call member badges and super secret glowing decoder rings will be mailed out the first week of September. Watch your mailboxes!

Treatment Forensics

During my treatment forensics, I actually made use of a book and full card set for writers that, up until now, I have only kept in my office to impress people and appear as a know-it-all.

My tarot-like advice from beyond empowered me with this wisdom:

“Flip It Over: Take something you’ve written, or have been trying to write, and play with its opposite.”
So I switched my main characters around. So far so good.

“Take A Walk: As you walk you can think about a current project…”
I walked then ran a little so the ideas would come faster. I had my iPod on so my scenes were set to music. (I think a well-planned theme song is critical at early writing stages. May I suggest Survivor’s Eye of the Tiger or The Mahna Mahna Song by The Snowths?)

“Change Your Point of View: Anytime you feel stuck try telling the story from another point of view.”
This worked in concert with the flip it over card (which now sounds vulgar but I assure you, is quite the appropriate nomenclature).

“Build a History: You want to know not only the history and habits of your characters, but also the history of the places, ideas, and institutions about which you write.”
That was what I did in my character bios, but not deeply enough (I learned later). In an effort to get into the heads of my characters I have donned a wig and may only be referred to as Harvill. Talk to the walking stick.