View from my Hammock

Two days ago I knew I had a last of season opportunity for a swing in my hammock, courtesy of this glorious maple tree above my head and a sister hickory holding up my feet. I took the better part of an hour to snap shots while the light was good. The characters in my novel celebrate the life of the natural world. I felt it would be disingenuous for me to do less.

Philosophy aside, the benefits were clear. The fresh air filled me with so much energy I was able to easily tackle a tricky part of my Green Tara rewrite. I cut three scenes, reordered the ten scenes before and after the cut scenes, and revised one significantly to fit the new content. Yes, I still have to string them all together and revise for flow, but the outlining work is done. I have a plan.

Today the temperature dropped 20 degrees and most of these leaves are on the ground. And I have a solid plan to take me through Act I.

Writing Sound

My screenwriting students are bringing examples of cinematic storytelling to class and on Wednesday Chris brought in JURASSIC PARK so we could focus on the sound of T-rex in his first film appearance. It was so interesting to hear about how the sound designer mixed together the sounds of lions, tigers, alligators and elephants to create the wholy original, never-before-heard T-rex voice.

David Koepp, the screenwriter who adapted Crichton's original story, didn't describe the T-rex's sound in any detail. But what he did do was to build suspense by introducing the sound first as a vibration and then as footsteps. From Koepp's 1992 screenplay, posted on dailyscript.com:

IN THE FRONT CAR

TIM-'Can you feel that?'

Tim leans over to the front passenger seat and looks at the two plastic cups of water that sit in the recessed holes on the dashboard. As he watches, the water in the glasses vibrates, making concentric circles - -

--then it stops --

--and then it vibrates again. Rhythmically.

Like from footsteps.

BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.

It was three more pages of suspense in the rainy night inside the tyrannosaurus paddock. A rope without goat, goat leg flung on the windshield, louder vibrations, twitching electric wires, an adult dashing from car to cinderblock outhouse, seeing the T-Rex, moving flashlight beam that really gets him going, until finally the beast opens its mouth wide and--
ROARS.

Wow!

Color Intoxication

In my last couple of posts I made excuses for why I've posted so infrequently in the last month. Yes, I did have a big writing deadline, and after that I was busy evaluating mid-term assignments. Yes, I really did injure my collarbone, or rather all the muscles around it and up into my neck. But the real reason I can't concentrate in my den staring at a computer screen is a miraculos process called photosynthesis.

It's affected me with a serious case of "color intoxication" and I can't resist filling my eyes with the brilliance that mother nature's been storing up all spring and summer. I'm looking out my back door for as long as the leaves hang high on the trees.

Not Writing Excuse

I fell off my bike two weeks ago and strained the soft tissue around my left collar bone. It hurts. I'm not writing much. But I'm so antsy to get back to my Y.A. novel Green Tara.

Yesterday's Tricksters

Hijacked!

“Party Girls” is my first stage play, and it’s a real departure for me—a teen comedy/horror short. It was recently produced at the Bloomington Playwrights Project. and it got lots of laughs and a good review. So, why do I feel like the story was hijacked?

Here’s what happened: The director and actors ignored all my stage directions (and some of the dialog) and made the whole tone much cruder than I imagined. When the girls, zombies who talk (I’ve taken liberties with the genre), come out of their initial death trance they’re gagging. In the production when they gagged, they spit out disgusting cottage cheese with food coloring. It certainly looked like vomit, so they nailed the special effects. At the end, when the girl stabs the boy, it was done in full view and viciously and with a very realistic version of his disemboweled gut (more disgusting food). That’s the moment in the script where I’d indicated that they fall out of view and she stabs him accidentally. She says, “Oops.” I disliked the SHAUN OF THE DEAD tone. I’m pretty sure that, as produced, any of the subtle jokes were lost in the gore.

I really don’t like the current crop of zombie films or horror in general, and think that our culture has grown too fond of violence as entertainment. You and I are both wondering how I ended up contributing to the coarsening of our culture. At first I resented the fact that the others had hijacked my story and made it into this crude and violent piece. Then I had to accept the fact that I was the one who wrote “Hillary stabs Calvin” and no matter how accidental the actors might play the stabbing in the future, I’ve added one more to the body count.

SO, I’ve given considerable thought to what my character is really after. It’s NOT about revenge or the desire to eat human flesh. That’s just not interesting to me. I think I have a solution. However, the audience laughed at the crude version. So was my younger director more tuned into the audience and serving them? I don’t know if they’ll laugh or yawn when I rebuild the story with my retro sensibility.

Break Time

Two weeks ago I turned in a 143 page manuscript. The following weekend I watched my short play in a "world-premier" four-night run, making changes after every performance.

Last weekend I celebrated with a grand party our city puts on every year: The Lotus Festival -- world class music from all over the world, brought to our backyard. And I still need more playtime.

Back when I've refueled.