Too Many Cooks, Week 5

Hey everyone, it’s Anaïs, bringing you the week 5 wrapup, and we’re getting close to the end of this cycle. How will our stories end? You’ll have to check in and see what the original authors of each story come up with.

• Finkle, Out of Sorts I explored Finkle’s growing tensions at work as well as the antagonistic relationship with his mother, who appears to him in an especially insidious form. 
• The Last Time I Saw Richard Matt learns about the ancient uses of perfumes and meets Richard’s lady Mary as he tries to figure out what has happened to his friend. 
• The Letters of Rose Constance This week’s letter from Rose has a heartfelt plea for her beloved James to return home as soon as possible. Will he? The wrapup will tell us how it ends. 
• Night Vision Gregory and Zoie finally make it to the hospital, growing closer as Zoie tries to hang on for medical attention. Will Zoie be okay? 
• Limbs Akimbo Charlie’s story is going to take a major turn for the better. His parents set up his car so he can drive it again, with hand controls. Of course it won’t solve his issues or cure his PTSD or mend his broken heart, but it will be a start.

Too Many Cooks, Week 4

This is Maria, bringing you this week’s wrapup in which we are now closer to the end than the beginning. Of the story cycle, that is.

Finkle, Out of Sorts.  I explored our hero’s nightmare, which may or may not have included an appearance by Ursula the sea witch. And then there was a dramatic reversal in the fate of the crew of the Imperial Star Navy. Or was there? It’s in Anaïs’s hands now.

The Last Time I Saw Richard.  Anaïs got Richard talking and introduced a sinister and controlling new character. Will the narrator ever get the real story from Richard? And how will they extricate themselves from Roswell? Coyotesqrl will tell the tale.

The Letters of Rose Constance.  Coyotesqrl’s letter took a fascinating turn. He explored Rose’s tragedy of sickness and loss, and fleshed out the character of Mrs. Dandry, who is more powerful and pivotal than first seemed. He close with a happy, warm memory. What will summer bring? Will James ever return? Only Oledoc knows.

Night Vision. Oledoc continued the story I started with a hilarious phone call, some Boy Scout antics and a comfortably silent ride to the hospital. He also treated us to several sweet moments between the young Zoie and Gregory. I can’t wait to see where Paulos takes the narrative next.

Limbs Akimbo. Paulos painted a scene that was simultaneously beautiful and haunting, in which Charlie, helpless and detached, observes himself as if watching a play. Will he ever be able to release his pain and guilt? Can he shake off his impotence and reclaim some power, ease the brutal images in his mind and start down the road to forgiving himself? I’m not quite sure yet, but I’ll have it sorted out by Friday.

Week 5 promises to be fascinating, gut-wrenching, paranoid, delirious, hopeful and sweet. You won’t want to miss it.

Too Many Cooks, Week 3

• Finkle, Out of Sorts.  Last week I had to get someone out of an apartment.  This week I get someone inside one.  I briefly introduced a new character to provide a counterpoint to Alan’s depression.  I look forward to seeing where Maria takes this next week.
• The Last Time I Saw Richard.  Maria develops the relationship between Richard and our narrator and sets the scene for what will no doubt prove to be an interesting conversation.  Is it just me or does anyone else think “just because you’re paranoid it doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you?”  We shall see what Anaïs thinks.
• The Letters of Rose Constance.  Anaïs - er - Snarkface continues this story of loss as we learn a little of Rose’s husband and of her sad past.  The tone fits well with what I had in mind when I began this story.  I wonder how it will end.
• Night Vision.  Coyotesqrl brings us a lovely interplay between Gregory and Zoie, and ends with an “ooof” and an “ouch”!  The story will continue next week in Oledoc’s more than capable hands.
• Limbs Akimbo.  Another great chapter: mother and son, flashbacks, tears.  How I’m expected to keep following up from Oldedoc is beyond me!  I shall do my best.

Tune in next week for more depresssion and mind-wandering, paranoia and friendship, sorrow and loss, broken bones and running, tears and blood.

Too Many Cooks, Week 2

In keeping with our rotating writers theme, this wrapup was written by Jay, who is currently following me. Poor guy has to try to make sense of the insane scribblings I leave behind on each story!

---

And now it’s gotten interesting. The rotation has started, each author tackling the story of the person who posted before them, and trying to maintain a balance between continuing the original narrative and trying to bring something of one’s own to it. The results:

• Finkle, Out Of Sorts: I (hopefully) gave us a slightly deeper look into our Mr. Finkle’s life, and added a little conflict to the story to boot. What will happen next? Paulos will have to tell us.
• The Last Time I Saw Richard: Paulos did a great job of taking my story to the next stage, getting Richard and our nameless narrator out the door and to a very interesting place to have a drink. What happens next is up to Maria.
• The Letters of Rose Constance: Maria’s follow-up deepened story and character, taking our most open-ended story and pointing it towards all sorts of interesting possibilities. Whose soldiers have come to the door? What happened to the children? Will Rose ever play the piano again? Anaïs has an interesting road ahead.
• Night Vision: Anaïs’ nipple-hardening follow-up to Maria’s first chapter was a joy to read, and left us all wanting more. And she’s right: there is no kiss better than a kiss at 19. Coyotesqrl will have an interesting time following that kiss up next Thursday.
• Limbs Akimbo: Coyotesqrl’s character work was great here, and built admirably on what Anaïs began, ending with a lovely moment between Charlie and his mother. I’m looking forward to seeing where this sparks my imagination over the coming week.

So we made it through week 2, and now week 3 lies ahead. Where will the stories go next? Is Roswell’s just another trendy New York night spot, or does it hold a deeper secret? What—if anything—lies beyond Alan Finkle’s front door? What secrets are Charlie and Rose hiding? Where will Zoie and Gregory’s running feet take them next? The answers lie in wait … but what they are, only the authors know …

Too Many Cooks

I've got *another* group writing blog going. This one's quite different from Sketch War and I would really appreciate it if y'all came on by and gave it a look. We've got five people writing and five stories going concurrently. This past week we started, each of us posting the first chapter - between 500 and 1000 words or so - of a story. One story for each weekday. This coming week, each of us rotates and writes chapter two of a different story. After five weeks, each of us will have written a chapter to five different short stories.

I expect we'll see a mix of ugly, awkward pieces that don't stitch together well and stories that become much better than the originator could have hoped. Regardless, I think it'll be interesting to watch. Either you see a trainwreck or a good story coming together, one chapter at a time. Here's the wrap up from the past week:

Five days and five stories started. I’m pretty pleased it all worked out, especially since we had to make some last minute schedule changes. But it will really start to get interesting this week coming up when we all switch to another person’s story.

• “Finkle, Out of Sorts” came from me, and starts off the story of a Walter Mittyesque character. I particularly like the short scene I set in the restaurant. Oledoc will be following up this Monday.
• “The Last Time I Saw Richard” was Oledoc’s entry on Tuesday. Paulos will be taking on the next chapter about an old friend who has fallen victim to extreme paranoid delusions. Or are they delusions?
• “The Letters of Rose Constance” from Paulos looks to be an epistolary short story about a woman whose lover has left her. Maria will be following up this Wednesday and maybe we’ll see why he left.
• “Night Vision” came from Maria and was our most popular story start. I think she did a great job of showing us Zoie’s personality through her actions and behavior; after the first three paragraphs, I had a very clear picture of her. Anaïs has some interesting choices to make for her followup on Thursday.
• “Limbs Akimbo” was our final chapter on Friday. Anaïs’s story about a vet with a dark secret gives me a lot of exciting avenues to explore when I write chapter two for this coming Friday.

Will Maria’s fans come back to see how Anaïs follows up? Will Paulos delve into Richard’s psychosis or show us a massive conspiracy involving cologne? Will we hate or love where our writing partners take our stories? Yup. This is when it starts to get interesting.

My Malaise

I haven't been writing much lately but that's of a piece with my general mien. I've been unmotivated and unproductive since December or January and going through the motions.

I wake, exhausted and drained, and drag my ass out of bed. Despite the CPAP I still feel worn down by sleep. (Or maybe it's because I usually stay up until two or three and get up at six.) I'd traditionally go to the gym when I get up at this hour but that would put me into the office around nine, keeping me there until long past my breaking point. I rush to the office so I can leave it sooner.

What's odd is that I don't hate my job. I don't like it, not one bit, but I don't hate it. This is my second go around working for this company and it's incredibly relaxed this time with precious little stress or drama. I don't interact with other business units much, have no crappy secondary responsibilities beyond backing up the build manager, and am not even mentoring anyone right now.[1] I work, take ample mental health breaks during the day for Twitter and Tumblr, go to lunch,[2] go home. Easy peasy.

Why do I hate it so?

Beyond doing work I don't enjoy - writing software is neither emotionally rewarding nor mentally stimulating - for a company I don't particularly like,[3] I realized a few weeks back I don't like anyone at work. I don't actively dislike anyone which is nice, but there is not one person on my team, in the rest of the department, or anywhere in the company I want to talk to or spend one minute more than necessary with. In 25 years in the work force, over 15 in software, I've never worked somewhere and not struck up at least one friendly relationship.

Most of those friendships are fleeting, blinking out of existence when the ties of a common job are severed. A few have lasted years. And of course there's TheWife, whom I met when we worked on opposite ends of the country for the same company.[4] But I don't have that now. I don't have a single connection, close or casual, at work and it's very draining.[5]

Then again, I don't really have any friends here in AZ that I see with any regularity. There are maybe a half-dozen people in the area I genuinely like and enjoy spending time with but very rarely see any of them. Which, beyond the obvious social isolation, means no tennis, no basketball, and no volleyball. So I haven't worked out regularly in months and haven't played any sports in something like three years. Do the math. It's not pretty. I'm out of shape and out of practice and haven't had the beneficial boost of exercise's neurochemical cocktail in months. And of course I've not had the bonding benefits of team play and competition in far longer.

Did I mention I don't like AZ at all?

Yeah there's that, too. We're stuck here for the foreseeable future in a house I can't find the energy or interest to maintain properly[6] in a place I just don't enjoy. For the first two years we had Suns season tickets, giving me a little local rooting interest, but the greed of R. Sarver and the incompetence of S. Kerr killed that for us.

Hell, I haven't eaten sushi in almost four years.[7]

On top of all this, I've almost given up on my dream job. I didn't realize it last fall, but my Pushing Daisies spec failing to crack even the semis of ABC-Disney[8] was like a J. Frazier left hook to the liver. Which body blow didn't put me on the canvas immediately but took the fight right out of me. I know the road is long and twisty and cratered but starting late as I am, I don't imagine having much success with the traditional route. Who wants a 41-year-old assistant getting them coffee and copying scripts? Also: with responsibilities and debts, how could this 41-year old even take a job like that if offered? No, the way in for me needs to be non-traditional and the Fellowship was one of my best hopes.

In December I stretched an old sketch out into a script for a short and submitted it to a few competitions. I continued writing reviews and sketches after that, but haven't taken any idea longer than a sketch beyond rough outline through the first half of 2009. I skipped ABC-Disney this year, rationalizing to myself that focusing on the YA novel I've been noodling these past few months instead of cranking out more specs might more effectively open a backdoor into a staff job. Eminently logical...if only I were actively working on the novel.

The ultimate sign that my malaise is worsening? I skipped Sketch War last week. Hell, if I don't manage to crank out a sketch tomorrow I'll have skipped two weeks running. A consistent, unbroken run that lasted for a year and a half, shot to hell because right now I'd rather stay up till all hours playing with my new drawing tablet than writing. And I love to write, especially the short stuff. Longer pieces can get wearing after the fourth or fifth draft, leaving just the joy of "having written," but sketches? That's like candy to me. And right now I can't find the drive and motivation to spend two short hours writing one.

I'm fucked.

Notes:

1. They could use a great deal of mentoring; I'm thankfully hip deep in a long and critical project at the moment. I imagine I'll take one or two under my wing in a month or two.
2. The hour a day I spend basking in the AZ sun - the only good thing about this godforsaken state - reading, and leisurely eating are my solace. I drag us out of the house for dinner far too often in a doomed attempt to recreate that state of bliss of a good lunch hour.
   
3. If you know me well, you'll know where I work, what they do, and some or all the reasons I don't like them. There's nothing immoral or unethical about the business or its management; I simply don't care for them.
4. She was just so funny and caustic and cute on the phone. I was a goner from go.
   
5. I'm pretty sure this is why I've backed off my personal blog in favor of Tumblr. I've never been one to belong to online communities despite having made my share of friends online through the years. But now, the only people I feel a connection with while I'm at work are the ones I know online and some of the small circle I know on Tumblr.
   
6. A year and a half after having a beautiful stained concrete floor installed through most of the house and I still haven't finished the baseboards. I'm lazy. I'm not that lazy.
7. Yeah yeah. RA this and Hiro that. I tried sushi in AZ a few times and every time I got sick after. Why? Well, it could be because this is a mother-fucking land-locked state! Seriously, you don't eat raw fish that traveled six hours by truck through the desert. That's right up there with Harry Anderson's rules about eating at a place called Mom's or playing cards with a guy named Pops.
8. Should it have? I certainly thought so; still do, obviously. Judge for yourselves.

Pelham and the Silver Shirt, Part 1

No sooner did my eyes pop than Pelham glided into my bedroom with the morning coffee and tuck. “Your breakfast, sir.”

“I’ve sent your latest paramour on her way with toast and cab fare. I believe I was successful in giving the impression you would be abroad for the foreseeable future,” he icily intoned.

The mood had been decidedly chill about the abode since Monday. Pelham was a good man, but he sometimes overstepped. We’d butted heads a time or two before and I’d made the mistake of giving ground. Not this time.

I found a dashing new shirt that I was raring to wear out on the town, but he took exception, going so far as to say I’d be pressing it myself! As much as we Lauries avoid confrontation – I’ve a great uncle who emigrated to Canada in peacetime “just in case” – a line must be drawn.

I straightened up and eyed the man squarely. “I’ll be wanting the new shirt pressed for the evening, Pelham.”

Giving me a bit of fish-eye back, he said, “the silver abomination? No sir. You won’t be wanting that.”

Pelham Presents

God’s honest, I don’t know how the great unwashed do it. Getting through prep’s easy: grease a scholarship boy’s palm and you’ll need never iron a shirt or polish a shoe. If you’re like my best bud Biff who was a three-sport star, you don’t even need the scratch, but I was a “meritorious legacy” – which is a nice way of saying I wasn’t up to snuff but pops was an alum – so I ponied up.

After prep and a few years giving college a go, I realized I’d grown accustomed to having a caretaker. I tried dating, but that led to drama and severely inhibited the bachelor’s life I so love. Then it hit me. I was a young man of means. Why not?

I’ll be honest; your pal Trip broke not a few eggs in making that omelet. Over eight months, five valets – a rogue’s gallery of thieves and miscreants – came through Casa Laurie until I found Pelham. He’s the consummate gentleman’s gentleman, but not some stuffy old fart. There isn’t much call for valets in this day, so it was a miracle we found each other. I’d be lost without him.

Christmas in Maui

Julie Gray ran another short scene comp. Joshua James won with a beautiful, quiet scene that tugged hard on the heartstrings. He totally kicked my scene's ass, but I wrote it, so y'all should see it.

INT. STORE - DAY

Whirling snow, howling wind. Over the wind we hear...

SANTA (O.S.)

Clara, Clara honey? Can you hear me? I’m grounded in Maine. Freak blizzard, came out of nowhere.

(beat)

We were lucky to find a clearing. Even with Rudolf’s high beams on, I can’t see past my nose.

(beat)

I’m plenty warm, don’t you worry. Get some rest and don’t let the elves eat all my Christmas cookies! We’ll be home tomorrow.

The camera pulls back to reveal a swirling snow globe in SANTA’s hand. Chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf in red shorts and dark glasses, he pockets his iPhone and leaves the blaring air conditioner for Maui sunshine.

SANTA (CONT’D)

Leliani! You’ve been very naughty.

LEILANI skips up and pecks the old elf. Her grass skirt and floral top rustle in the ocean breeze.

LEILANI

Santa, you made it. We were wondering whether to start the luau without you. And what do you mean, I’ve been naughty?

An elbow: and his belly shakes like a bowlful of jelly.

SANTA

Don’t think I don't know what you've been up to. But I've still got something for my favorite island girl.

He reaches into his magic bag and pulls out a box wrapped in silver foil. Leilani takes and shakes it.

LEILANI

Oooh! I can’t wait to open it. But first a drink. Egg nog?

SANTA

Of course. And don’t forget to put in one of those little umbrellas!

BLACKOUT:

Older and Bolder

Janine wanted to scream. Two and a half hours she’d been sitting in the waiting room; two and a half hours she’d been twisted and restricted and constricted in her dress. She wanted to yank it off and breathe freely, but instead sat quietly, pretending to read a six-month-old Newsweek while taking shallow breaths.

Janine heard the girl behind the desk stop typing – her enameled nails pausing their click-clack on the keys – and looked up. The frosted glass window slid open and the girl squeaked, “Janine Forester? The doctor will see you now.”

Steeling herself, Janine stood and strode to the open door where he stood.

It had been almost 15 years, but he looked the same. Better, really. His jawline was even more square than she remembered and his hair was a richer auburn. If she was afraid of him in high school, what was she now? He was still too perfect. He held out his hand and smiled – that smile – and Janine feigned boldness and shook it firmly.

“Hi, Eric. I don’t know if you’ll remember me. Janine?”

Body Spray for Dead Men

The girl at the register was too rapt in her phone, tapping messages to distant friends, to notice me duck out the door with my supplies. I put on my sunglasses and headed down the street.

As I walked, I took stock of the people around. Men and women striding with purpose, children sprinting, a few strollers. All shared one trait: none noticed the zombie in their midst. I was there, but not there. Across the street, I saw another dead man. We nodded in passing.

Taking the stolen body spray from the pocket where I’d stashed it, I misted heavily. I doubted the advertiser’s promises of beautiful women throwing themselves at me, but I needed to keep the flies at bay.

Summer of sophomore year I worked as a lifeguard at an all-inclusive resort in Cozumel. One of the cabana boys, Cisco I think his name was, broke our dance instructor’s heart. She was a voodoo priestess. It didn’t take long in the Yucatan summer for everyone to smell what she’d done.

Until I could get some formaldehyde, the Axe would have to do.

Previously in "I,Zombie".

A Day in the Death

That explained the burning in my throat at least. And Orangina wasn’t going to help it.

I should have been frightened. Mrs. Suarez was old, but had a steady hand. Just last week she’d put down the Ramirez girl when some Dominican voodoo priestess raised her to pick up a pack of Parliaments and a copy of Us Weekly. Maybe she felt sorry for me; maybe she remembered the time I shoveled snow off her stoop. All I know is she nodded once more at the door and gave me a chance to leave.

Back outside, I realized I had nowhere to go. Home was out of the question and Janet’s place was even worse. She’d let me crash, but I’d have to hear about how zombies were tools of the patriarchy and voodoo priestesses belonged in school, not a serpent god’s harem. Hell, she’d probably make me defrost her freezer.

Better to sleep in the park.

I needed supplies. I patted for my wallet, but it was gone like my internal organs. I shambled to the drug store and slipped in. First things first: I grabbed a pair of sunglasses.

Previously in "I, Zombie".

New(re)born

I’d never been so thirsty before. I must have stood at the fountain in Balboa Park for five minutes sucking up the cool, cool water, but it didn’t help. As soon as I’d lift my mouth from the stream the burning would overtake me again. Water wasn’t the answer.

I stumbled in the midday glare, where did I leave my sunglasses? to the bodega for an Orangina. Water might not quench this fire in my throat but something had to.

Hungry.

Maybe something to eat as well. Anything to make the burning, gnawing pain in my – throat? stomach? everywhere, I guess – end. I couldn’t tell where the thirst ended and the hunger started now.

I pushed open the door and heard the familiar clink of the bells. Mrs. Suarez was behind the counter reading her bible. Dogeared and filled with bookmarks, I wondered what passage she’d quote me today.

“Grrararrhr!!!”

She put down her bible and reached below the counter, coming up with a shotgun pointed it at my head. She nodded toward the door and calmly read the sign:

“No Zombies.”

Disney-ABC Fellowship FAIL

Well, hey. Awesome day. The saved Google search I've had running, looking for someone's mention of the Disney-ABC Writing Fellowship hit paydirt yesterday. The emails went out last week to the semi-finalists; the phone interviews were this past Friday and Monday. Insofar as I learned this last night, as the result of my saved search, you can correctly conclude I did not get an email. I did not get a phone call.

No real surprise. Why on Earth should I have *anything* to be thankful for.

I spec'd Pushing Daisies for the fellowship, figuring even if the show would be canceled this season, I could nail that spec and have my best possible chance of at least getting to the semi-finalist stage. Really wanted a sense that I'm improving year-over-year that feedback like that would clearly provide. But I didn't. And Pushing Daisies has been canceled.

So now I'm sitting on a spec - the best I was able to create - that I can't even try sending out to get representation, because the show be dead. Yay, me. Back to the drawing board.

Anyway, if you're curious how hard I suck, here it is.
There's Flash below, FeedReader
PUSHING DAISIES: "Pushing Daffodils"

Get your own at Scribd or explore others: Humor spec script televisi

I think I used to work for one of these women...

Apropos of next to nothing, Julie Gray ran another short scene competition. My entry didn't make the finals, but I've got it, so I should post it. Enjoy, don't, I don't care.

INT. RESTAURANT - DAY

ELLEN and JULIA sit opposite each other. They are both some indeterminate age between 28 and 60 and cut from the same very expensive, finely woven cloth.

ELLEN

Daphne still going on about the election?

JULIA

Incessantly. You’d think they’d made her Queen of L.A.

(conspiratorial)

I didn’t vote for her.

ELLEN

Me neither. What does she know about teaching, anyway?

JULIA

Is that what school boards do?

DAPHNE strides in. She’s similar to the others in the way a Faberge egg is like a child’s first Easter Egg. In a smart little bag she carries her CHIHUAHUA. Kiss-hellos.

DAPHNE

I’m so glad I caught you two. I need your help with something.

JULIA

What’s that, darling?

DAPHNE

The annual winter carnival is the day after Thanksgiving. Can I count on your help?

ELLEN

I don’t know. Alan usually takes me to Aspen that weekend.

JULIA

And I’ve got my Pilates class.

DAPHNE

Alan said yes, and Evan’s doing a free mat class. Even little Frances Farmer here is coming.

ELLEN

(feigning enthusiasm)

This is why we voted for you!

BLACKOUT:

FSW: New Pants

Michael selected this week's theme: back to school. I thought about using a scene from my spec sequel to the Rodney Dangerfield classic, but it's just too good to waste on the likes of y'all. Instead I give you...

NEW PANTS
(TOM, early 40s with a comb-over and MEMBERS ONLY JACKET, and his son BRANDON, 11 and old enough to be embarrassed by his father, eat cereal at a kitchen table.)

BRANDON
But mom promised she'd take me to the mall this weekend!

TOM
I know sport, but your Aunt Tina hasn't had her baby yet. Mom can't just up and leave her right now, you know that.

BRANDON
I know. But school starts Tuesday and I don't got new clothes.

TOM
(Gently chiding) Don't have.

BRANDON
Sorry. I don't have new clothes. It's just it's a new school and--

TOM
--and you don't want to start it off on the wrong foot. I know. I remember what it's like. I was a kid once too, you know. Tell you what, how about the old man takes you clothes shopping instead?

BRANDON
You?

TOM
Yes me! Your mom's not the only fashion plate around this house, you know. Back in my single days I used to be a pretty snappy dresser. How else do you think I landed a babe like your mom?

BRANDON
I thought she felt bad her boyfriend ran you over?

TOM
Haha! Chuck didn't run me over, he just dinged my Corolla up pretty good. Your mom was so sweet, making sure he finally paid me for the repairs. But by then it was too late. She was a victim of the Tom-bomb. (BEAT) So how about it sport? You and me, trolling the mall for chicks and clothes?

BRANDON
Eww...

(Lights down and back up. Tom sits at the table, now piled with folded clothes. Brandon enters.)

BRANDON
What's all this?

TOM
I figured it's your last chance to sleep late before the school year starts and you're busy all the time, so I didn't wake you. But I was so excited, I went out and did all your clothes' shopping for you!

BRANDON
You...what? But how did you--

TOM
--I had a little trouble finding you pants.

(Brandon picks up a rugby shirt with bold stripes. He picks up six just like it as his father talks.)

TOM
Can you believe that mall your mom likes doesn't have a Sears?

(Brandon's eyes widen in terror.)

TOM
Had to run over to the Shelbyville Town Centre, but they must have been out.

BRANDON
Out?

TOM
Yeah, that's what we get for shopping so late, I guess. But don't worry, I stopped by your gramma's house and found my old stash.

(You thought Brandon's eyes were wide in terror before? They're Tex Avery-like now! Lights down again and back up. Brandon wears one of the rugby shirts and a pair of tan Toughskins.)

TOM
You look sharp, Brand!

BRANDON
My knees! I can't bend my knees!

TOM
Keep trying, you'll break 'em in eventually!

BLACKOUT

FSW: Highway Robbery

Not my best work. I'm going to leave it at that. I think it's a cute-ish setup, and I don't mind the payoff, but it's clunky and clumsy and the dialog sucks. Sorry. Blame David for picking this week's theme of payroll. Michael's up for next week's theme. My fingers are crossed that it doesn't hurt quite like this one!
 

(Payroll department. TIM, 30s and beige as the cubes and carpet of his department, sits at his desk. MARY, late 20s but holding tight to her early 20s, stands at his side.)
TITLE: WELLS FARGO SOUTHWEST REGIONAL DATA CENTER, PAYROLL DEPARTMENT, PAYDAY, 11:59AM.

MARY
I don’t understand why we don’t just send out an email.

TIM
Corporate needs hard copies of everyone’s AR-13s, in triplicate.

MARY
Tree killers.

TIM
That’s just the way things are done. If we don’t get those in, no one’s getting paid next month.

MARY
I know, I know. I’ll take care of it. I just don’t know why it’s got to be this way.

TIM
Personally, I like doing things the old way. I like knowing I’ve got a file cabinet filled with all the documents I need to get us through any audit. What do you have with an email?

(Gunfire announces the arrival of THREE COWPOKES, dusty, mustachioed, and 120 years too late. Ringleader DALE steps front and center and shoots his two six-shooters.)

DALE
Yeehah! Alright you lily-livered hangdogs. Hand over the loot.

MARY
Sir, you can’t fire guns in--

(Dale shoots Mary. Dead.)

DALE
Yeehah!

TIM
(sighing)
Great. Do you know how long it takes to train a good payroll clerk? What do you want.

DALE
We’re aimin’ to take your payroll off your hands, pardner.

TIM
Take our...you want to steal our payroll?

DALE
You betcha!
(to henchmen)
He ain’t the sharpest fella, is he?

TIM
You do realize that most of our employees just have direct deposit, right?

DALE
What in tarnation is that?

TIM
Pay is deposited directly into their bank accounts. No paychecks, no cash. All they get is a stub.

DALE
Goldang it all! The world’s just changin’ too fast for this ol’ outlaw.

TIM
I know how you feel.

DALE
I s’pose they get medical, too.

TIM
And dental.

(Dale raises his eyebrow suggestively. Lights come down and back up. Tim sits alone at his desk. Dale comes up in the same dusty cowboy gear. He shoots into the air.)

TITLE: WELLS FARGO SOUTHWEST REGIONAL DATA CENTER, PAYROLL DEPARTMENT, ONE WEEK LATER

DALE
Yeehah! Here are them AR-13s, boss!

BLACKOUT

Short scene competition

I've got a short scene in competition at The Rouge Wave. It's not a huge deal, but being massively competitive of course I want to win. Take a look at the three finalists and vote for your favorite.

2009 Disney-ABC application almost out...

I've locked down my Pushing Daisies spec, finished up my Disney-ABC application materials, and will be putting it in the mail tomorrow. I'd like to give shout outs to Beckylooo, Emily, Isabel, Kari, Liz, Michael, Rob, and TheWife for all their feedback at various stages in the process. Your input (especially the beatdown *someone* gave a draft I thought was *good*) helped make this as good as it is.

I'm pretty damn happy with it, and it wouldn't be near as good if it weren't for all y'all.

I've included a scene I'm quite fond of below. And yes, I know. My action lines are still too long. I'm working on it. My next spec will be a marvel in adjective- and adverb-free writing, I swear.

Oh, and Scribd can suck my cock. I looked, but I see no copyright options other than Creative Commons. In general, I support CC licensing. Not for this, thanks. Of course, it's already been registered with the WGA-W, so it doesn't really matter, but that still pisses me off. They need to allow for licensing other than CC.

There's a PDF plugin below, FeedReader.

Pushing Daisies scene - Upload a Document to Scribd

Read this document on Scribd: Pushing Daisies scene

My Interview with Alex Epstein

Woohoo! Posted my interview with Alex Epstein up at Pop Critics. It's a pretty interesting look inside the show and some of the writing process. Please check it out if you get a chance.

PC: Did you put the team together back in Canada and fly it out as a group - I know Denis McGrath joined at the same time as you - or did you fill it out with local South African writers? How big was the writing team and what was its breakdown of Canadian to SA writers?

AE: The writing staff was Denis McGrath, Sean Carley and I. We had independently “auditioned” for Bob and Diane, our exec for CHUM, and given our “take” on the show. I met Sean on the plane; I met Denis the next day.