Heard from the agent, but I can’t do a proper entry just yet, because there’s some follow-up correspondence passing back and forth between us still. Certainly, it’s an extremely positive development, particularly from a relationship building standpoint, the sort I’m dead lucky to have forged.
Here’s a small excerpt from their last note:
“Obviously, I’d love for you to continue to work with me on finding a great project to get out there.”
More to come…
On Wednesday afternoon, I handed off thirty pages of the collaborative screenplay project to my writing partner; now they will run with the story for awhile. Very curious to see how they receive my interpretation of the pre-writing discussions and bull sessions, and even more curious to see where they take the story next. Batting ideas around for a project in a safe cocoon is one thing, once the idea starts taking shape and intention crosses over into reality, there’s some disconnects and–very hopefully, or it’s going to be a craptastic story–surprises.
Oliver Stone once said it didn’t matter what was on the page once the cameras started rolling. He put it a bit more crudely, actually. But in a way, his maxim rings true for a manuscript. Writers can plan and outline all they want, but at least some of the pre-production flies out the window once the cylinders start firing. The preparations are not for naught.
Plans can pay off big during gut checks, the days when one takes a real hard look at a project and asks, “Is what on this page what is playing in my head? Can a reasonable person glean what I intended for them to see based only upon what I have written?”
And proving that theorem takes another set of eyeballs and some understanding–maybe only primitive, maybe at the highest of levels–of what one was trying to do in the first place.
School starts again soon, so the next few weeks my blocks of free time will vacillate between sparse and non existent; it’s the ebb and flows of a season driven workload. Still managing to sneak in some writing here and there, but I really need to do much more about making time for it because I’m getting into the usual trouble: creating drama and drinking too much. Sometimes both at the same time.
Caught up with good friends this past Friday, one who I lost touch with during the separation and divorce. He and his fiancee bought a fantastic home in a kitch town near the water. What really impressed me about the purchase is that it presents like the working home, not a starter place, even though this is their first house together and they are fairly young. Always nice when a couple gets their digs so right on round one. They really did their homework and stood their ground on what they wanted, accepting nothing less.
But back to needless drama and booze. After much gin and vodka, out of nowhere I said something like: “Dude, if you hurt her, I better not find out, because I will disappear you.”
The Bud: “You have my permission. I’ll deserve it.”
Sam: “You just earned the next round.”
Later, as the sidewalks turned some odd angles, the air went cold, and the hands of fall tugged at my bare arms, in a moment of clarity surrounded by the blur of the evening, I remembered what it felt like to put it all on the line for a girl who would do the same for me.
And it was a pretty memory, just to know that it ever happened.
Two words describe Austin: Awe.Some. I could not have had a better time in the Lone Star State. For the last month, I’ve felt the call of adventure, more so than usual, and I feel the tug of something–and who knows what force precisely, it defies description–guiding me to Texas. There’s a lot to like about about this state of proud independents.
For starters, Texans are polite, in ways my North East tainted mind can barely comprehend. I was in a crowded bar on a Saturday night, and despite the hordes of people grooving to a slamming band, I made it to the bathroom without getting in a near fist fight. In fact, my shoulders never even brushed against another patron. I didn’t have to glare at someone to get them to step aside or say excuse me–they left a generous path all the way around the bar and right to the bathroom! Of their own volition! What?
Second, the people are accessible. Texans gave me the feeling that I could talk to whoever, provided I remembered my Midwest manners. One could lob a mere hello and net a full conversation back in return. Whoa. I didn’t have to pump people for information or fish around for some hidden connection, or be overtly charming. I just was myself.
Third, the women are gorgeous. Nothing more need be said on that subject.
And the last thing I liked about Austin Texas was its duality; it’s really two cities. By day, 401k mangers, politicians and lawyers rule the concrete and glass. By night and weekends another type of person roams the darkness and neon.
It’s 9:30 PM Saturday, August 4th. Our tagline: Keep Austin Weird. Sixth Street is closed to motorists. Bands are pumping out rock from the rooftops. Every sort of character walks the streets freely. The air smells of money and possibility. This is Austin, Texas:
When you mess up, a judge assigns community service. He had to figure out if 30,000 dollars could buy enough paint to coat the apartment building across the street.
Enjoying a Newcastle on draft, at the movies.
Thirty minutes before, he was a man on fire. Literally.
Ask them about what one can put in their hookahs.
OK,maybe not.
For dinner, we had seafood poured right onto a wax paper coated table, with a view.
Never seen such a blue sky.
One hepcat.
He was a bit pissed about the bartender at Coyote Ugly charging him $5.50 for a beer. Don’t tell him I paid $3.
Austin is growing.
After a few too many.
Almost got ink done.
They had the right idea.
