Master Buddhapuss,

Will the Anna Nicole insanity ever end? I’m sick of it all. She’s dead and the news about her just won’t go away.

Spiro in Spokane

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Dear Skippy From Some Obscure Place,

I too am sick of your idiocy, but you do not see me turning away. My destiny, my destiny, I must embrace–whatever the cost may be.

For years I have concealed an explosive secret, deceiving even Sam, the bearer of sushi pizza and pats. But I must no longer hide the truth.

You see, Skippy, I am Anna Nicole Smith’s daddy. Tis true, her mother and I were quite fond of each other. You are not surprised. The elder Ms. Hogan always had a taste for the finer things in life, and I am tres fine. Once you go black cat, you never go back.

A more discrete Zen Master might not own his progeny, even in death, but despite all Anna’s whooping and whoring, she had a crafty flair for drawing the eye. I’d say she got that from me. Attracting attention that is.

Anyway Skippy, if you don’t mind, I want to celebrate the life and times of my poor lost angel. So be quiet, pass the remote, and enjoy another episode of VH1 Who’s Behind Anna Nicole Smith, and What Are They Doing?

Respectfully Submitted,

Master Buddhapuss

Question for the resident Zen Master? Email buddhapuss[AT]samhilliard.com

Here’s some pics from my weekend excursion to Canada. Much thanks to my very gracious hosts in Peterborough. Hope to see you soon in New Jersey. Unfortunately my batteries expired en route and I was having so much fun, by the time I remembered to snap pics, only thirty minutes and a foggy day remained for documenting. A good argument for checking equipment before packing next time.

One of these might be Writer Guy.

The Toronto - Tortuga conspiracy. Turtles lurked about the walls and paths.

A fierce wind guided us across this suspension bridge.

Time flies in the Great White North.

Imagine their view…

Reached Toronto without a hitch and met one of my gracious hosts at Pearson International. Not only did they open their home to me, they provided lightning fast shuttle service. Great, great people. As this is my first trip to Ontario, I’m drinking in sights and stories as deeply as I can. A more complete synopsis will follow early next week.

Before departure, fired off two more queries for The Last Track. As for the screen writing contest, the halfway mark beckons.

The screenplay effort continues, as I cross the 40 page mark. Since 50 is halfway, I’m happy with the progress, and also having a lot of fun with the story. This week is vacation, so I have a lot more time than usual for writing, which I have seldom found a bad thing.
The professional proofreader working the line edits for The Last Track is ahead of schedule–another plus. Querying for the manuscript continues, but nothing new to report there.
And soon I’ll be in Peterborough, Ontario chillaxing.
That’s three aces in my book.

One of the greatest things about screenplays for me is the premium placed on forward motion; it’s the one form which allows a writer to start and finish a scene without making apologies. In fact, a rapid assault is the whole point. Make something happen and fast. There’s another coup, though.

Screenplays are compact.

End to end, a properly formatted screenplay lands south of 120 pages. 100 pages is very common, a length of 105 pages is my projection for the contest. And given that much of the content is white space, slug lines, and character names, there’s not a tremendous amount of words to manage and edit at all. Which makes spotting and addressing issues easier. And there’s little bothering with my old nemesis, description.

See, coherent scene set ups in a novel are a good idea, and a matter of course. Truly effective ones are hard to write, and I admire authors who pull in the audience with well phrased imagery that evokes sentiment and interest.

But an expertly styled scene dripping with adjectives and similes in a screenplay? Waste of time. EXT. HERO’S FRONT LAWN DAY. The action happens outside, during the day, on the hero’s yard. Boom. Done. Me, I’m drinking a beer while a director paints in the blanks.

Yeah, so far I’m having a blast. Tally in this effort to date: four writing sessions, twenty-seven pages. Three more weeks at this clip leaves two weeks for revisions. Or so.

And oh yes, this bike will be mine. Sooner or later.

First need to work out her sleeping quarters with the landlord. I mean, who would make a 865cc Triumph Bonneville Black languish in the elements? That’s just straight up hating.

A few people who read this site are fans of Joe Hill, and someone forwarded this recent shot from Publisher’s Marketplace, so I may as well pass it along without sending unsolicited emails. Cause that would be spam. And that’s evil.

I’d say the resemblance is striking.

Original caption:

Like Father, Like…
Joe Hill, aka Stephen King jr., stopped by the Book Passage in Corte Madera, Calif., to sign copies of his new book, Heart-Shaped Box.