Archive for September, 2007

I've started a new category called "Human Behavior Lessons." Follow it to discover amazing things about humans! Better understand humans and you will write better characters. Write better characters and you will write better screenplays.

I hope I haven't left you hanging too long, dear readers, but I've had to spend the last day and a half trying to repair my email system and address book due to a corrupted email synchronization, due to a computer intrusion. The repair failed so I had to restore my hard drive from a backup. Lost a day and a half of work.

Now, today's lesson: How To Prevent People From Telling You the Truth:

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"Glen Phillips is playing the NorVa," said my friend The Finn.

"That's the guy from Toad the Wet Sprocket," replied Traveling Matt.

"Duh. Let's go."

"Don't know if I can afford it."

"I'm bringing two women."

"Pick me up at seven."

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So in Part One I went to Maine, and in Part Two I went to Canada and got blown up at.

In Part Three I return to Maine and have a terrific week with Fancy Pants, FPS (Fancy Pants' Sister), and their assortment of very large dogs. I really like those girls. They're smart and goofy and kind of ruthless; they're full of odd personality combinations. They love the outdoors and have cynical senses of humor. They love their dogs.

We left Canada and headed back over the border. At the border checkpoint, I sat in the passenger seat. Both times. Both times I passed my identification over, and both times the border guard–up in a booth on the driver's side–examined it and waved us through without looking at my face. I could have handed them some other dude's ID while smoking a joint wearing a turban and they'd have given me a gift basket.

Marshmallow Fields Forever

The thing that surprised me most this trip was that in Maine they grow marshmallows on farms. They're lined up in rows, in field after field, each one the size of a cow.

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I've sent off my package. I am now an official applicant for the commissioning grant. As you can tell by the sleepless, starving, sweat-stinking guy on the right making a stupid face, it was stressful to put together. Thanks to everyone who weighed in and pointed out to me that the good fellow was genuinely offering help and I'd be stupid not to accept it. I deferred to your votes and comments; don't ever say I didn't. I let the Internet tell me how to live my life, and I'm proud of it.

There is an incredibly funny sequel to this story, however, and I'll mention it in a later post…

In the meantime, wish me luck. Those of you who believe in Science, pray heartily for glorious triumph!

I decided to apply for a $20,000 Commissioning Grant for the new screenplay I've been working on. I've been doing round-the-clock web-design work to afford food; this grant would free me up to take a break and finish writing. It could be a hell of a movie if I could concentrate on the damn thing for more than an hour a week. So I asked a Hollywood producer who's seen and liked my work to write me a recommendation letter.

Today he wrote back and said, "Please send me the letter you'd like. I'll sign it and return it to you on my letterhead."

Am I right to feel vaguely dirty about this, or should I be falling all over myself with gratitude?

I mean, the guy likes what I've done. He's trying to help. But this just feels downright fucked up.

Maybe I should stop being so creeped out by the way they do things out there and just write myself the most glowing recommendation letter in the history of the planet.

Comments?

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So where we left off in Part One, I was 1) struggling with whether to make the characters in my screenplay more sympathetic, and 2) in Maine.

After a day in lobsterland, we packed up and continued on into Nova Scotia. In case you were wondering whether they have a different set of values up in the Northeast with regard to their natural environment, the following two pictures are from a highway rest stop along the way:

Every writer needs something different to write their best. I need trees, water, and wildlife. (And the occasional shoulder rub doesn't hurt.)

This was my first view of the Nova Scotia coast:

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