I am DYING, folks. I have 18 days to get Attila polished and done before the contest. It's without a doubt my best and strongest contender. For some reason my samurai flick didn't have a saved version of my most recent edit, which is fucking weird. I was DAMN SURE I did it (I remember specific changes I made), but I have nothing to show for it. It may be on my old laptop, but part of me is certain this is the better choice. Attila has better characters, a weaving plot, several twists, and more skullduggery than I've ever put in any single script.
This is my flagship. But I have 18 FUCKING DAYS. This thing was rough-draft-finished four days ago. I usually take a couple months to write these. I mean, I took a lot of time to craft the plot, but this is a rush job. Thank whoever needs to be thanked that it's the holidays, or I'd never find the time.
So I'm going hard. Every spare hour. I give myself one hour alotted each day for myself. All of the rest of it is work or writing. But I'm confident. Shogun was a collective 6, and had no guidelines. It was just me having fun. This is me having fun with characters and using guidelines. I've watched what prior winners have had made, and this is at least on par. I'm kind of excited, because I'm hyperfocusing and I suddenly have a ton of edits to make. Not tough ones either. I'm not stripping or resetting this thing. Just changing things.
The alternative to this is to wait a year, and suffer another year of this going-nowhere crap. If the bus is driving by, I'm going to grab on and slip inside like the liquid metal man. Because I've been doing this obsessively for nearly three years. Saturn is returning, children, I have learned my lesson, and I won't trip at the finish line again. Not this time.
Tuesday, December 29, 2015
Thursday, December 24, 2015
How I found screenwriting.
I realize that the last post was confusing toward the end, so this is the part where I clarify. EXPOSITION TIME.
So, I went to college for eight years, and switched schools twice, as the second one I went to was going to destroy me. They compounded lies upon lies, and effectively wanted me to pay up or fuck off. So I did what I could, and ended up flunking out of a university, because I couldn't learn a language in one-hour intervals four times a week. Still confuses me how knowing French would help me better understand bone pathologies, but fuck me, right? So, I had 100,000+ tied up in student loans, nothing to show for it, and I was a thousand miles from home.
Naturally, I took up drugs. Because when you're down, may as well go out, amirite? In any case, I was a junkie for a couple years, and I really enjoyed it. I had girlfriends, I had friends, I had fun, I was invited to parties. I had a life, ostensibly! Then the people around me started having shitstorms. My brother (the good kid in the family) had issues with his dog, and it looked like he'd have to put his puppy down. A friend of mine that I had a huge crush on was looking at a similar thing for her cat. And I was still painfully single, drowning in debt, and had serious life problems. Drugs are bad, mkay?
I was hanging out in a buddy's basement one night, toking up, and he mentioned Celt, a free scriptwriting software. None of us had any interest in such things, and even he didn't know why he said it, but the words stuck with me more than any of our conversation.
I was drunk (no drugs, just booze at this point) and I was mad because my life can burn, that's okay. But not the lives of everyone else. So I went to this Episcopal church with big red doors and sat at the base of their big stone cross at 3 AM and went off. If there was anyone running this shit, they needed to account for their actions. Mind you, I was a big member of the secular student alliance, and had been an atheist for a decade. So I didn't really think anyone was listening. I just... went nuts, and tore into whoev er would be a god of this place. Non-denominational fury. God, Allah, Cthulhu, Captain Planet. If they were in charge, I hated them. It ended with me offering to make a sacrifice if these issues were fixed. Bonus points if they were fixed in the correct ways (the dog gets re-homed, and the cat thing was over quickly). I tossed out that if they could set me up with the girl, it would be a big thing.
They did, kind of. The dog thing was fixed two days later, so I buried a d10 I liked in the church garden. The cat lived and didn't need to be put down, so I buried my last septum ring. Just the one left to go, right? One night at work, I stepped out and had a smoke. Looked up at this cluster of three stars and asked whoever was listening if I should ask out the girl with the boyfriend. I was half-way done with the last word and saw a shooting star. That looks like a sign to me, but I couldn't work out if it was a yes or no. I kept talking to her in the mornings after work.
Later at work, after the clients were sleeping, I went on the work computer and dicked around, like I did every night. I looked up Joss Whedon, and found his net worth. It said he was only a screenwriter. He's worth enough to buy an island and put a supervillain lair on it, BTW. But it struck me that if I wrote a script and sold it, I'd be debt-free. And his credentials were good, but some of them were kind of lame. And he still got paid a shitload. But I had no idea where to start. Step one was a mystery.
The next day I went out to the wilderness and hiked way out. I cut wood and made a fire. Cooked lunch over the fire and spoke aloud to the thing that may have shown me the star. I explained that the sign was a bit ambiguous and I needed a firm yes or no. If I found a bone, it was a no. If I found a deer, it was a yes. I had never found a deer here, but I knew they were around. I also studied paleontology, so spotting bones is a thing my brain is attuned to. I walked back to my car after a while and went out of my way any time I thought I found one, but it was always just sticks. I got a hundred feet from my car and was dead convinced that the whole thing was a coincidence. I said it out loud, and again, as I said the last word, I heard a SNAP, turned, and saw a deer standing not twenty feet from me. It knew I was there before I saw it. It had to have, as I was not quiet.
The next day, I asked her over to ask her out, and I did. She politely declined, as she had a boyfriend. I respect that (now). But at the time, I went off, like a child, and effectively burned that bridge. So now I had no one to talk to in the mornings after work. A little voice in the back of my mind asked "What about that screenwriting thing?" I google-searched "How to write a movie script" and spent the next week absorbing everything I could about it. At first the basics, then I tried my hand at writing. I wrote a godawful script I'll leave chained in the basement until I die and society forgets it ever existed in the first place. But it was proof that I could do it.
That was two and half years ago. I've been writing nearly every day since, with few exceptions. I'm on my 10th script now. The people who write the books say they typically find success around 12, but I'm prepared to go to 20, because I like my stories. I like having stories in my head that I can pull out at any point. I like having a hobby that's free that does more than destroy myself. If they buy my scripts, perfect. If not, life will go on.
The little voice that first suggested it is back, telling me that it wouldn't have said it if it didn't think I could do it. If it's a deity, then I, a once-avowed atheist, believe in it 100%. If it's madness, then let me never go sane.
So, I went to college for eight years, and switched schools twice, as the second one I went to was going to destroy me. They compounded lies upon lies, and effectively wanted me to pay up or fuck off. So I did what I could, and ended up flunking out of a university, because I couldn't learn a language in one-hour intervals four times a week. Still confuses me how knowing French would help me better understand bone pathologies, but fuck me, right? So, I had 100,000+ tied up in student loans, nothing to show for it, and I was a thousand miles from home.
Naturally, I took up drugs. Because when you're down, may as well go out, amirite? In any case, I was a junkie for a couple years, and I really enjoyed it. I had girlfriends, I had friends, I had fun, I was invited to parties. I had a life, ostensibly! Then the people around me started having shitstorms. My brother (the good kid in the family) had issues with his dog, and it looked like he'd have to put his puppy down. A friend of mine that I had a huge crush on was looking at a similar thing for her cat. And I was still painfully single, drowning in debt, and had serious life problems. Drugs are bad, mkay?
I was hanging out in a buddy's basement one night, toking up, and he mentioned Celt, a free scriptwriting software. None of us had any interest in such things, and even he didn't know why he said it, but the words stuck with me more than any of our conversation.
I was drunk (no drugs, just booze at this point) and I was mad because my life can burn, that's okay. But not the lives of everyone else. So I went to this Episcopal church with big red doors and sat at the base of their big stone cross at 3 AM and went off. If there was anyone running this shit, they needed to account for their actions. Mind you, I was a big member of the secular student alliance, and had been an atheist for a decade. So I didn't really think anyone was listening. I just... went nuts, and tore into whoev er would be a god of this place. Non-denominational fury. God, Allah, Cthulhu, Captain Planet. If they were in charge, I hated them. It ended with me offering to make a sacrifice if these issues were fixed. Bonus points if they were fixed in the correct ways (the dog gets re-homed, and the cat thing was over quickly). I tossed out that if they could set me up with the girl, it would be a big thing.
They did, kind of. The dog thing was fixed two days later, so I buried a d10 I liked in the church garden. The cat lived and didn't need to be put down, so I buried my last septum ring. Just the one left to go, right? One night at work, I stepped out and had a smoke. Looked up at this cluster of three stars and asked whoever was listening if I should ask out the girl with the boyfriend. I was half-way done with the last word and saw a shooting star. That looks like a sign to me, but I couldn't work out if it was a yes or no. I kept talking to her in the mornings after work.
Later at work, after the clients were sleeping, I went on the work computer and dicked around, like I did every night. I looked up Joss Whedon, and found his net worth. It said he was only a screenwriter. He's worth enough to buy an island and put a supervillain lair on it, BTW. But it struck me that if I wrote a script and sold it, I'd be debt-free. And his credentials were good, but some of them were kind of lame. And he still got paid a shitload. But I had no idea where to start. Step one was a mystery.
The next day I went out to the wilderness and hiked way out. I cut wood and made a fire. Cooked lunch over the fire and spoke aloud to the thing that may have shown me the star. I explained that the sign was a bit ambiguous and I needed a firm yes or no. If I found a bone, it was a no. If I found a deer, it was a yes. I had never found a deer here, but I knew they were around. I also studied paleontology, so spotting bones is a thing my brain is attuned to. I walked back to my car after a while and went out of my way any time I thought I found one, but it was always just sticks. I got a hundred feet from my car and was dead convinced that the whole thing was a coincidence. I said it out loud, and again, as I said the last word, I heard a SNAP, turned, and saw a deer standing not twenty feet from me. It knew I was there before I saw it. It had to have, as I was not quiet.
The next day, I asked her over to ask her out, and I did. She politely declined, as she had a boyfriend. I respect that (now). But at the time, I went off, like a child, and effectively burned that bridge. So now I had no one to talk to in the mornings after work. A little voice in the back of my mind asked "What about that screenwriting thing?" I google-searched "How to write a movie script" and spent the next week absorbing everything I could about it. At first the basics, then I tried my hand at writing. I wrote a godawful script I'll leave chained in the basement until I die and society forgets it ever existed in the first place. But it was proof that I could do it.
That was two and half years ago. I've been writing nearly every day since, with few exceptions. I'm on my 10th script now. The people who write the books say they typically find success around 12, but I'm prepared to go to 20, because I like my stories. I like having stories in my head that I can pull out at any point. I like having a hobby that's free that does more than destroy myself. If they buy my scripts, perfect. If not, life will go on.
The little voice that first suggested it is back, telling me that it wouldn't have said it if it didn't think I could do it. If it's a deity, then I, a once-avowed atheist, believe in it 100%. If it's madness, then let me never go sane.
Close of a bad year.
I'm thankful for very little this year. The only truly good thing that happened, at least as far as I can see now (because who knows, things may change down the road) has been that I kept writing. I got fired, moved back with the folks, had my best scripts torn to shreds, was single the whole year, got a job I dislike with a horrible woman who can only be described as villain-fodder, and and had my car, computer, and two xboxen crap out on me. Hell, my online dating profile is even disappointing. So, see ya later, 2015. You were a thing.
This year looks better though. I found my consistent writing weakness and I'm hitting these next two with renewed vigor, specifically aiming to patch up my weak spots, like Smaug slipping armor over his missing scale. Meaning that, once these are done, people should be able to see these and think "This guy is a motherfucking dragon. Let's give him a mound of gold to sleep in!" But in all honesty, dragons are cliche, and 2016 feels good. At least the whiffs I get on the wind are promising.
I'm working on a pair of promising scripts that more-or-less fall in with what the readers told me they wanted. I have new people I can hang out with, and am considering moving to a nearby city. I have a new fighting helmet that should be coming any day now. And it looks like I'll be done with this script's rough draft tonight yet. There's booze in the garage and I just made a new Skyrim character based on my cat.
Strangely, I have this little reassuring voice too, telling me "It's all going to work, just keep going. Keep going until it's done. Trust me, this thing'll happen. I wouldn't lie to you." So either my subconscious has a budding alter-ego that's super positive, it's the thing (I'm hesitant to say deity, because I have no idea what it is.) that told me to do this initially, or I'm programmed to self-motivate. Who fucking knows.
This year looks better though. I found my consistent writing weakness and I'm hitting these next two with renewed vigor, specifically aiming to patch up my weak spots, like Smaug slipping armor over his missing scale. Meaning that, once these are done, people should be able to see these and think "This guy is a motherfucking dragon. Let's give him a mound of gold to sleep in!" But in all honesty, dragons are cliche, and 2016 feels good. At least the whiffs I get on the wind are promising.
I'm working on a pair of promising scripts that more-or-less fall in with what the readers told me they wanted. I have new people I can hang out with, and am considering moving to a nearby city. I have a new fighting helmet that should be coming any day now. And it looks like I'll be done with this script's rough draft tonight yet. There's booze in the garage and I just made a new Skyrim character based on my cat.
Strangely, I have this little reassuring voice too, telling me "It's all going to work, just keep going. Keep going until it's done. Trust me, this thing'll happen. I wouldn't lie to you." So either my subconscious has a budding alter-ego that's super positive, it's the thing (I'm hesitant to say deity, because I have no idea what it is.) that told me to do this initially, or I'm programmed to self-motivate. Who fucking knows.
Thursday, December 17, 2015
Long-Ass Update
Okay, some things that I'll try to keep brief.
I did the Blacklist with my other scripts, but ultimately what I found out is that my pacing and action are on-point, but I need to tone down the set pieces, as everyone says they'd be absurdly expensive. Also, they say my characters are flimsy. That can be fixed, and I'm in the process of making the characters for my next two babies beautiful. That aside though, I got a 7 and 5 on Shogun and a 6 and 4 on Anabasis. (Though I think the 4 is undeserved, as he said it was comparable to Troy and 300, which each grossed half a billion dollars.)
The whole thing was a bit of a dick-kick, and I got a bit mopey for a week. Then I remembered that I came as far as I did in only two years, and I NEED actor-bait to get these bitches sold. So my goal for the next year is to master characters. So far, I think my current projects are better. Voice seems to come naturally for them, and they're a bit more...idiosyncratic. Certainly more memorable.
I'm also experimenting with rough-draft pacing. At one point I'd do one scene a day, which was insanely slow. Then I did two a day, and it worked, but was still slow. Now I write the whole thing out on Office, print it, and convert a page a day, so at 20 pages, I'm done with the rough draft in just under three weeks.
Also, the reason I was gone for so long was because my prior laptop gave up the ghost and my fans stopped working. It'd get overheated and straight die. So I got a new one and I'm loving it. It's an Envy. The only thing I dislike is the lack of disk drive and Microsoft Office. That's like selling a car with all the bells and whistles, but no stereo or wheels. Greedy fucks.
Also, I did the online dating thing and I have a date tomorrow with a lovely lady that I hung out with last week. Part of my is all "NO, you don't want to settle down," and another part of me is all "It's dinner, not a wedding ring." So, who fucking knows.
Well, that wasn't long at all. Hardly a disappointing thing though.
I did the Blacklist with my other scripts, but ultimately what I found out is that my pacing and action are on-point, but I need to tone down the set pieces, as everyone says they'd be absurdly expensive. Also, they say my characters are flimsy. That can be fixed, and I'm in the process of making the characters for my next two babies beautiful. That aside though, I got a 7 and 5 on Shogun and a 6 and 4 on Anabasis. (Though I think the 4 is undeserved, as he said it was comparable to Troy and 300, which each grossed half a billion dollars.)
The whole thing was a bit of a dick-kick, and I got a bit mopey for a week. Then I remembered that I came as far as I did in only two years, and I NEED actor-bait to get these bitches sold. So my goal for the next year is to master characters. So far, I think my current projects are better. Voice seems to come naturally for them, and they're a bit more...idiosyncratic. Certainly more memorable.
I'm also experimenting with rough-draft pacing. At one point I'd do one scene a day, which was insanely slow. Then I did two a day, and it worked, but was still slow. Now I write the whole thing out on Office, print it, and convert a page a day, so at 20 pages, I'm done with the rough draft in just under three weeks.
Also, the reason I was gone for so long was because my prior laptop gave up the ghost and my fans stopped working. It'd get overheated and straight die. So I got a new one and I'm loving it. It's an Envy. The only thing I dislike is the lack of disk drive and Microsoft Office. That's like selling a car with all the bells and whistles, but no stereo or wheels. Greedy fucks.
Also, I did the online dating thing and I have a date tomorrow with a lovely lady that I hung out with last week. Part of my is all "NO, you don't want to settle down," and another part of me is all "It's dinner, not a wedding ring." So, who fucking knows.
Well, that wasn't long at all. Hardly a disappointing thing though.
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