Today I got to pitch a couple of comics projects live on the phone. This is a departure from my standard operating procedure, which is to convince unsuspecting editors to permit me to send them pitches electronically.
My preference for digital transmission springs from my tendency when talking to people I'm not 100% comfortable with to either a) get nervous and shut the hell up, or b) get nervous and start talking really, really fast and really, really quietly simultaneously. Or to put it another way: I don't mumble as much in type.
I've been working on fixing my ineptitude when it comes to one-on-one conversation for... wow, must be more than a decade now. The idea of being on a convention panel no longer fills me with terror, and I absolutely love doing comic readings. And I don't completely freak out when I learn my managers have arranged for me to talk to a producer or editor or whatever. I'm just not very good at it yet.
In spite of that, I did what I had to do this evening. Awkwardly, but I got the point across and the people I was talking to seemed to think we were on the same wavelength (so much so that they'd recently picked up a couple projects a little too close to the ones I was pitching for them to go to the next level with mine) (which is a shame, because I spent a fair amount of time the last few days getting fully-fleshed out proposals for the two of them nailed down, but such is life.) I got the impression that the conversation would continue, but I've gotten that impression before. Hollywood, man. You just never know.
***
Speaking of Hollywood, apparently Han Solo's going to be in the movie based on a comic I have a co-writing credit on. I choose to believe this is entirely down to my being mind-bogglingly awesome.
A
Showing posts with label Workblog. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Workblog. Show all posts
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Friday, March 5, 2010
New Pills
Half busy, half miserable. Started a post based on a series of tweets that got...out of hand, but haven't finished it yet and as it stands it's really whiny, even by my standards, so I might not bother finishing.
If you're interested, my twitter feed is here --that's actually where I've been doing the bulk of my online writing lately. 140 character bursts are substantially easier to handle than complete sentences, at least when you're in the mood I've been in.
However! That mood seems like it might be changing, because, you guessed it! I'm on some new pills. Actually, I'm back on some old pills which were really good for a year and then gave me insomnia for a couple months, after which I stopped taking them and became less alert and, I strongly suspect, less pleasant to be around. I've only been taking the new/old meds for a couple of days, but I can already feel myself evening out a bit emotionally.
Which is good, because like I said above, I've got a fair amount on my plate right now. In addition to the various pitches I've got floating around a number of editorial offices, things seem to be picking up on the screenwriting front, too. A producer with fairly extensive credits is working with me and Scott O. Brown to develop a screenplay based around a comic we wrote eons ago that never got published. Actually, it's based on a concept SOB pitched solo that I was brought in to help co-write in a form quite a bit different than what he'd originally intended. Naturally, Mr. Bigtime Producer's take on the property is pretty much the one SOB'd originally wanted for it anyway, so now he gets to write the story he wanted to do in the first place, but he's got the dubious joy of having a co-writer he didn't have when he originally proposed the story. I'm actually kind of surprised he's still talking to me, now that I stop to think about it...
Last time I checked, I was quite proud of the comic version we wrote of the piece in question, and hope that we'll someday be able to get it out. SOB and I retain the rights to the underlying but non-existent comic property, which is potentially problematic, but realistically, we weren't exactly rocketing towards a finished comic as it was, and, well, if you want a career as a screenwriter (I'll take one as any kind of writer, even copy), when someone as big as Mr. Bigtime Producer's willing to develop a screenplay with you, you've kind of got to take the shot. Even if taking the shot is likely going to be hours and hours and hours of your time for no money upfront--a scenario I've been getting used to over the last ten years in general and the last year and a half especially.
In addition to that, the managers are working on notes for what I'm promised will be The Final Revision of the spec I've been working on for the year and a half this weekend, so that should hopefully see my part of that process come to a close soon, at least till someone wants to pay for rewrites. Well, not "wants to pay for rewrites" so much as "will pay for rewrites regardless of whether they want to or not." And I've also been given a deadline for a revision of the spec pilot I wrote a couple years back that everyone loved until they decided it needed to be changed significantly. And after that, I've got deadlines for the Christmas thing outline, the supernatural thing proposal, the other supernatural thing proposal (which I'm probably going to pull because "Hollywoodizing" it enough to make it sellable would turn it into something I don't really want to write.)
And when I'm not working on that stuff I've usually been painting. I really need to get some more hardboard to paint on. The 2x2 foot or less scale I've been forced to work in recently is really dragging me down. 3x4 feet's the minimum dimensions for a real painting. And someday I will get back to the art college scope of 6x10 feet...someday...
So that's why there hasn't been much blog activity from me lately. If the way this little note unspooled is any sign of what's to come, that might change in the near future. But I wouldn't count on it.
What's new with you?
A
If you're interested, my twitter feed is here --that's actually where I've been doing the bulk of my online writing lately. 140 character bursts are substantially easier to handle than complete sentences, at least when you're in the mood I've been in.
However! That mood seems like it might be changing, because, you guessed it! I'm on some new pills. Actually, I'm back on some old pills which were really good for a year and then gave me insomnia for a couple months, after which I stopped taking them and became less alert and, I strongly suspect, less pleasant to be around. I've only been taking the new/old meds for a couple of days, but I can already feel myself evening out a bit emotionally.
Which is good, because like I said above, I've got a fair amount on my plate right now. In addition to the various pitches I've got floating around a number of editorial offices, things seem to be picking up on the screenwriting front, too. A producer with fairly extensive credits is working with me and Scott O. Brown to develop a screenplay based around a comic we wrote eons ago that never got published. Actually, it's based on a concept SOB pitched solo that I was brought in to help co-write in a form quite a bit different than what he'd originally intended. Naturally, Mr. Bigtime Producer's take on the property is pretty much the one SOB'd originally wanted for it anyway, so now he gets to write the story he wanted to do in the first place, but he's got the dubious joy of having a co-writer he didn't have when he originally proposed the story. I'm actually kind of surprised he's still talking to me, now that I stop to think about it...
Last time I checked, I was quite proud of the comic version we wrote of the piece in question, and hope that we'll someday be able to get it out. SOB and I retain the rights to the underlying but non-existent comic property, which is potentially problematic, but realistically, we weren't exactly rocketing towards a finished comic as it was, and, well, if you want a career as a screenwriter (I'll take one as any kind of writer, even copy), when someone as big as Mr. Bigtime Producer's willing to develop a screenplay with you, you've kind of got to take the shot. Even if taking the shot is likely going to be hours and hours and hours of your time for no money upfront--a scenario I've been getting used to over the last ten years in general and the last year and a half especially.
In addition to that, the managers are working on notes for what I'm promised will be The Final Revision of the spec I've been working on for the year and a half this weekend, so that should hopefully see my part of that process come to a close soon, at least till someone wants to pay for rewrites. Well, not "wants to pay for rewrites" so much as "will pay for rewrites regardless of whether they want to or not." And I've also been given a deadline for a revision of the spec pilot I wrote a couple years back that everyone loved until they decided it needed to be changed significantly. And after that, I've got deadlines for the Christmas thing outline, the supernatural thing proposal, the other supernatural thing proposal (which I'm probably going to pull because "Hollywoodizing" it enough to make it sellable would turn it into something I don't really want to write.)
And when I'm not working on that stuff I've usually been painting. I really need to get some more hardboard to paint on. The 2x2 foot or less scale I've been forced to work in recently is really dragging me down. 3x4 feet's the minimum dimensions for a real painting. And someday I will get back to the art college scope of 6x10 feet...someday...
So that's why there hasn't been much blog activity from me lately. If the way this little note unspooled is any sign of what's to come, that might change in the near future. But I wouldn't count on it.
What's new with you?
A
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Hello-oh-oh-ohhh...
Still not really in a mood to blog, really, but I'm starting to feel guilty about not writing much of anything for the last couple months (not strictly true--there were a few pitches, a film treatment, and a metric ton of e-mail, but that stuff doesn't really count). And I don't know how to transfer images from the camera to the computer (I don't much like two of the three paintings I've done since the last time I posted images anyway), so you get this update-y thing instead.
My mood continues to be in the toilet. Actually, that's not true. In its more ambitious moments, my mood aspires to rise to the level of being in the toilet. Why the malaise? Let's see. There's...
1) The obvious reason. I had a near-breakdown during a lunch meeting this afternoon when someone mentioned they'd spent the night at the hospital with their father, who's just suffered a stroke. The bereavement counseling is either interesting or a bunch of useless hippydippy crap depending on my outlook during a given minute.
2) The usual reasons. My winter headache's just kicking the crap out of me this week, the financial insecurity of the freelance life seems particularly insecure at the moment, blah blah blah...
3) The semi-usual reasons. With all the other stuff going on (or not, as the case may be) trying a new medication, even one for migraines (DIDN'T WORK) probably wasn't the best idea. Not getting a decent night's sleep for more than a week adds a couple degrees of suck to everything.
4) The new stuff--which isn't mine to air publicly, but which is having its impact all the same.
Stepping back from all the crap and looking at life with as objective an eye as I can manage, most of the actually important stuff is solid (with one glaring exception, but there's nothing to do about that but go on) and the slightly less important stuff is going in the right direction, albeit with its usual glacial speed.
New people are interested in the spec. People who matter in Hollywood. Which means more notes, which means more work for, based on past experience, no money. But hey, people are interested, by golly! My managers are upbeat, but then, they're always upbeat. I don't know what they're snorting, but I want some. Anyway, one more draft and I'm done with that until someone hands me a cheque. I mean it this time.
In the meantime, there's actually been some movement on the comic writing front (as opposed to the comic editing front, which was much more lucrative this last year or two). Progress is being made towards getting one of my first books back into print at a reputable publisher. I've got a few pitches in to different places, and I'm generally making a nuisance of myself to the editors who're currently willing to talk to me. Is it possible to push your luck when the only luck you're having lately is bad? I'll let you know...
Olivia Wilde is in talks to co-star in the film version of Cowboys & Aliens. When word of this filtered down through the grapevine to me a week or two ago, I said, "That's interesting." But it wasn't interesting enough for me to go find out who Olivia Wilde actually was. Now I know she's "the sexy bisexual doctor on House" (thanks Steph {and Diane}), which part of me always knew was more likely to be true than what I chose to believe for the longest possible time: that she was that she was a porn star who was finally getting her big Hollywood break. Anyway, that's that rumour confirmed, which makes me think the other casting rumour for the film I've heard that hasn't gone wide yet is at least possible. That's name even I recognized.
Not that any of this makes me any money, at least not directly. But it does open a few doors a crack wider. It also floods my inbox with google alerts to stories that have my name in them but are so distant from my reality they might as well be on another planet. At least the stories do actually involve me, however remotely, as opposed to the alerts about the Andrew Foley who owns the bookstore in Sarasota or the British politician.
(Yes, I've got a google alert for my own name. My ego is Just. That. Big.)
What else?
I'm sure there's something, but I can't think of what it is, so I guess I'll just say Richard Cohen's a moron and go watch LOST.
A
My mood continues to be in the toilet. Actually, that's not true. In its more ambitious moments, my mood aspires to rise to the level of being in the toilet. Why the malaise? Let's see. There's...
1) The obvious reason. I had a near-breakdown during a lunch meeting this afternoon when someone mentioned they'd spent the night at the hospital with their father, who's just suffered a stroke. The bereavement counseling is either interesting or a bunch of useless hippydippy crap depending on my outlook during a given minute.
2) The usual reasons. My winter headache's just kicking the crap out of me this week, the financial insecurity of the freelance life seems particularly insecure at the moment, blah blah blah...
3) The semi-usual reasons. With all the other stuff going on (or not, as the case may be) trying a new medication, even one for migraines (DIDN'T WORK) probably wasn't the best idea. Not getting a decent night's sleep for more than a week adds a couple degrees of suck to everything.
4) The new stuff--which isn't mine to air publicly, but which is having its impact all the same.
Stepping back from all the crap and looking at life with as objective an eye as I can manage, most of the actually important stuff is solid (with one glaring exception, but there's nothing to do about that but go on) and the slightly less important stuff is going in the right direction, albeit with its usual glacial speed.
New people are interested in the spec. People who matter in Hollywood. Which means more notes, which means more work for, based on past experience, no money. But hey, people are interested, by golly! My managers are upbeat, but then, they're always upbeat. I don't know what they're snorting, but I want some. Anyway, one more draft and I'm done with that until someone hands me a cheque. I mean it this time.
In the meantime, there's actually been some movement on the comic writing front (as opposed to the comic editing front, which was much more lucrative this last year or two). Progress is being made towards getting one of my first books back into print at a reputable publisher. I've got a few pitches in to different places, and I'm generally making a nuisance of myself to the editors who're currently willing to talk to me. Is it possible to push your luck when the only luck you're having lately is bad? I'll let you know...
Olivia Wilde is in talks to co-star in the film version of Cowboys & Aliens. When word of this filtered down through the grapevine to me a week or two ago, I said, "That's interesting." But it wasn't interesting enough for me to go find out who Olivia Wilde actually was. Now I know she's "the sexy bisexual doctor on House" (thanks Steph {and Diane}), which part of me always knew was more likely to be true than what I chose to believe for the longest possible time: that she was that she was a porn star who was finally getting her big Hollywood break. Anyway, that's that rumour confirmed, which makes me think the other casting rumour for the film I've heard that hasn't gone wide yet is at least possible. That's name even I recognized.
Not that any of this makes me any money, at least not directly. But it does open a few doors a crack wider. It also floods my inbox with google alerts to stories that have my name in them but are so distant from my reality they might as well be on another planet. At least the stories do actually involve me, however remotely, as opposed to the alerts about the Andrew Foley who owns the bookstore in Sarasota or the British politician.
(Yes, I've got a google alert for my own name. My ego is Just. That. Big.)
What else?
I'm sure there's something, but I can't think of what it is, so I guess I'll just say Richard Cohen's a moron and go watch LOST.
A
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
What Twitter hath wrought
BEHOLD! John Keane's roughs for the first two pages of the first (and in all likelihood last) adventure of JESUS CHRIST, P.I.
A
Monday, July 6, 2009
The Future of Comics, Live and In Print
Rough day going to the doctor to see if she could do anything about the CRIPPLING FACEPAIN!(tm), which led to an unexpected realization, an unplanned confrontation, and the unhappy sensation that in an effort to make things better I've managed to make them worse. So I'm not going to talk about me and instead focus on the Future of Comics (I and III) Fiona Staples and Nick Johnson.
At long last, the first issue of Fiona's latest WildStorm miniseries, NORTH 40, written by Somebody Other Than Me (the lucky swine) is out on Wednesday. You, like all right-thinking people, should buy eighteen copies, one to read, five to lend, and thirteen to encase in liquid carbonite so future generations can see how awesome comics were back in the old days when you couldn't read an ebook while showering.
On a semi-related note, the cover to North 40 #3 may be my new favourite piece of Fiona artwork. I can't quite put my finger on why, possibly because I've repressed all memory of anything in my life that ever involved pink balloons and/or a corsage.
Meanwhile, Nick's started his new, month-long gig at the Telus World of Science Creative Kids Museum, where he'll be publicly working on transforming NO MORE PARENTS from the ramblings of a demented sufferer of CRIPPLING FACEPAIN!(tm) into a wonderfully entertaining adventure comic for children of all ages except three and a half, because 3 1/2 year olds are vile little creatures who must be systematically and mercilessly punished until they reach the age of four, at which point they transform from despicable little rotters into something that's at least tolerable. It's the circle of life.
So, if you're in Calgary, or you're really bored and have enough disposable cash to go to Calgary, and you're a child of all ages other than 3 1/2, you should go pay Nick a visit and throw grapes at him while demanding that he sing obscure Neil Diamond songs for your entertainment. He'll do it if you've got enough grapes, you know.
As it happens, I've also spent a portion of today working on a small comic strip-style advertisement with the Future of Comics (II) John Keane, and now that it's done, I estimate he'll be willing to talk to me again without wanting to kick my teeth down my throat sometime in the next four to six months. E-mail is perhaps not the best way to communicate nitpicking-level ideas, but I'm not convinced things would've gone smoother on the phone, and in any event CRIPPLING FACEPAIN!(tm) works very much against my (at the best of times dodgy) ability to present half-baked ideas as coherent statements of intent while talking in realtime.
So, yeah. NORTH 4o #1 (and WEDNESDAY COMICS #1, which I'm also looking forward to) on Wednesday. Nick and NO MORE PARENTS at the Telus Science Centre all month. Good stuff being created by good people, reported by a good-for-nothing.
***
ALSO GOOD:
TALES DESIGNED TO THRIZZLE Volume One, by Michael Kupperman. For someone who's been really quite miserable for the last couple weeks, I've been laughing out loud an awful lot every time I take a minute or two to read a page or two of TDTT.
A
At long last, the first issue of Fiona's latest WildStorm miniseries, NORTH 40, written by Somebody Other Than Me (the lucky swine) is out on Wednesday. You, like all right-thinking people, should buy eighteen copies, one to read, five to lend, and thirteen to encase in liquid carbonite so future generations can see how awesome comics were back in the old days when you couldn't read an ebook while showering.
On a semi-related note, the cover to North 40 #3 may be my new favourite piece of Fiona artwork. I can't quite put my finger on why, possibly because I've repressed all memory of anything in my life that ever involved pink balloons and/or a corsage.
Meanwhile, Nick's started his new, month-long gig at the Telus World of Science Creative Kids Museum, where he'll be publicly working on transforming NO MORE PARENTS from the ramblings of a demented sufferer of CRIPPLING FACEPAIN!(tm) into a wonderfully entertaining adventure comic for children of all ages except three and a half, because 3 1/2 year olds are vile little creatures who must be systematically and mercilessly punished until they reach the age of four, at which point they transform from despicable little rotters into something that's at least tolerable. It's the circle of life.
So, if you're in Calgary, or you're really bored and have enough disposable cash to go to Calgary, and you're a child of all ages other than 3 1/2, you should go pay Nick a visit and throw grapes at him while demanding that he sing obscure Neil Diamond songs for your entertainment. He'll do it if you've got enough grapes, you know.
As it happens, I've also spent a portion of today working on a small comic strip-style advertisement with the Future of Comics (II) John Keane, and now that it's done, I estimate he'll be willing to talk to me again without wanting to kick my teeth down my throat sometime in the next four to six months. E-mail is perhaps not the best way to communicate nitpicking-level ideas, but I'm not convinced things would've gone smoother on the phone, and in any event CRIPPLING FACEPAIN!(tm) works very much against my (at the best of times dodgy) ability to present half-baked ideas as coherent statements of intent while talking in realtime.
So, yeah. NORTH 4o #1 (and WEDNESDAY COMICS #1, which I'm also looking forward to) on Wednesday. Nick and NO MORE PARENTS at the Telus Science Centre all month. Good stuff being created by good people, reported by a good-for-nothing.
***
ALSO GOOD:
TALES DESIGNED TO THRIZZLE Volume One, by Michael Kupperman. For someone who's been really quite miserable for the last couple weeks, I've been laughing out loud an awful lot every time I take a minute or two to read a page or two of TDTT.
A
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
The agony and the...well, slightly less agony.
While various people have different opinions as to what's caused my current bout of CRIPPLING FACEPAIN!, the end result is that I've spent much of the last seventy-two hours feeling like someone sanded my teeth down to exposed nerve endings and then stuffed a dead raccoon into my nasal cavity.
While there's really never a good time to feel like your life would be immeasurably improved if you used a sharpened spoon to dig out the contents of your skull (at least not that I've found, and I've got some experience in this area), feeling that way when you've got an artist waiting for the fun and wacky and generally awesome script you promised him by today is particularly problematic.
I don't know who said no writer likes writing, but every writer likes having written. I mean, I know Neil Gaiman said it and it was in an interview with him that I read it, but I believe he was quoting someone else. Either way, that's a fairly accurate assessment of my view of the whole "sitting down and transforming an abstract idea into a concrete story" thing. It's not hard work--I'd rather be writing than housepainting, though that's not saying much, as I'd rather floss my teeth with a buzzsaw than paint houses for a living--but it's not as easy as lying in bed doing nothing. Frequently it's not even as satisfying as lying in bed doing nothing.
All of which is a long way to say I don't usually get a lot of joy out of writing. I can't recall a single instance when writing has actually improved my mood. That may be because I can't recall a single instance of anything that happened more than fifteen minutes ago, but I tend to believe it's largely because I don't write much when I'm not in a good mood to begin with. If I'm not happy I'll write what I've absolutely got to because someone's waiting for or expecting it, and if I'm feeling particularly sorry for myself, I might dash off a whiny Facebook update or blog post (even though doing so inevitably makes me feel worse about myself for venting in public when I've got what is, by any reasonable standard, a pretty good life.) And that's about it.
But even in my state of extreme discomfort and/or prescription medication-induced zombification, finally hammering the script for NO MORE PARENTS #1 into shape on Monday and Tuesday was a less arduous task than I'd expected. Maybe I'm still basking in the warm glow of finishing something on the promised deadline that I didn't think I'd be able to when that deadline loomed, but there's something about this project...I'm having trouble putting my finger on what it is, but I think it may be that I actually connect with and like the characters introduced in the first issue in a way that I often don't at this stage in the writing process. I feel like I've leapfrogged over the "getting to know you" stage of scripting and settled into a comfort zone where I just let the kids (and robots) tell me what they want to do, rather than me telling the characters what they're going to do and then adjusting them as characters so what they do makes sense inside the context of the story. (Note to those who may be interested: If you're working on a WFH project, life's a lot easier if you approach things the latter way, if only because there's someone higher than you on the totem pole who has the power to make you and the characters do what they tell you and understanding and accepting that will save you and your editor a lot of headaches.)
Mind you, letting the gang do what they want required me to seriously revise the action I'd originally laid out for the second half of the issue; I had to reconsider and rewrite the basic shots from the ground up perilously close to the appointed deadline. And while Nick seemed happy with the first batch of script pages I sent him, I think he'd be a bit more comfortable if the characters didn't like talking quite so much.
But setting all that aside for the moment, I'm left in the bizarre circumstance where writing something was about as enjoyable as it possibly could be, even though it was written while I was absolutely, positively, "on the edge of doing something selfish, stupid, and irrevocable" miserable.
Which I think is pretty cool. Hopefully the good feelings I have for the script will show on the finished pages. Even if they don't...well, I like it. And feeling the way I do at the moment, liking anything at all, much less something I'm personally responsible for, is a blessing.
A
While there's really never a good time to feel like your life would be immeasurably improved if you used a sharpened spoon to dig out the contents of your skull (at least not that I've found, and I've got some experience in this area), feeling that way when you've got an artist waiting for the fun and wacky and generally awesome script you promised him by today is particularly problematic.
I don't know who said no writer likes writing, but every writer likes having written. I mean, I know Neil Gaiman said it and it was in an interview with him that I read it, but I believe he was quoting someone else. Either way, that's a fairly accurate assessment of my view of the whole "sitting down and transforming an abstract idea into a concrete story" thing. It's not hard work--I'd rather be writing than housepainting, though that's not saying much, as I'd rather floss my teeth with a buzzsaw than paint houses for a living--but it's not as easy as lying in bed doing nothing. Frequently it's not even as satisfying as lying in bed doing nothing.
All of which is a long way to say I don't usually get a lot of joy out of writing. I can't recall a single instance when writing has actually improved my mood. That may be because I can't recall a single instance of anything that happened more than fifteen minutes ago, but I tend to believe it's largely because I don't write much when I'm not in a good mood to begin with. If I'm not happy I'll write what I've absolutely got to because someone's waiting for or expecting it, and if I'm feeling particularly sorry for myself, I might dash off a whiny Facebook update or blog post (even though doing so inevitably makes me feel worse about myself for venting in public when I've got what is, by any reasonable standard, a pretty good life.) And that's about it.
But even in my state of extreme discomfort and/or prescription medication-induced zombification, finally hammering the script for NO MORE PARENTS #1 into shape on Monday and Tuesday was a less arduous task than I'd expected. Maybe I'm still basking in the warm glow of finishing something on the promised deadline that I didn't think I'd be able to when that deadline loomed, but there's something about this project...I'm having trouble putting my finger on what it is, but I think it may be that I actually connect with and like the characters introduced in the first issue in a way that I often don't at this stage in the writing process. I feel like I've leapfrogged over the "getting to know you" stage of scripting and settled into a comfort zone where I just let the kids (and robots) tell me what they want to do, rather than me telling the characters what they're going to do and then adjusting them as characters so what they do makes sense inside the context of the story. (Note to those who may be interested: If you're working on a WFH project, life's a lot easier if you approach things the latter way, if only because there's someone higher than you on the totem pole who has the power to make you and the characters do what they tell you and understanding and accepting that will save you and your editor a lot of headaches.)
Mind you, letting the gang do what they want required me to seriously revise the action I'd originally laid out for the second half of the issue; I had to reconsider and rewrite the basic shots from the ground up perilously close to the appointed deadline. And while Nick seemed happy with the first batch of script pages I sent him, I think he'd be a bit more comfortable if the characters didn't like talking quite so much.
But setting all that aside for the moment, I'm left in the bizarre circumstance where writing something was about as enjoyable as it possibly could be, even though it was written while I was absolutely, positively, "on the edge of doing something selfish, stupid, and irrevocable" miserable.
Which I think is pretty cool. Hopefully the good feelings I have for the script will show on the finished pages. Even if they don't...well, I like it. And feeling the way I do at the moment, liking anything at all, much less something I'm personally responsible for, is a blessing.
A
Monday, June 8, 2009
The Workblog post with the really uninspired title.
Time's just streaking by lately. Expanding my "real job" to three days a week at the Harbor has been good for the bank balance (not good enough for it to actually, uh, balance, but having x number of dollars coming in with some regularity is extremely comforting, esp. when the writing and editing work isn't coming in as fast as I'd like.) But it's killing an extra day a week of writing time, and blogging takes the hit because, with the occasional exception of my mum, nobody's bugging me for the next installment of Journey to the Centre of Andrew's Bellybutton (more's the pity.)
Up until Friday, this last month. The teen gross-out horror comedy is off to Emmy-Award Winning producer, the spec pilot's been revised per managers' instructions, and what will likely be the next spec screenplay (based on a very old story) is being broken.
Got a phone call from an independent Canadian producer a couple weeks back, asking after the rights to an old project of mine--one he was a little surprised to discover I'd actually written a spec screenplay for. He generally writes his own material, but after I'd made it clear I understood that film is a collaborative medium and I was open to input, he told me to send the spec over. So I did.
First thing the next morning, he phones me to tell me he really likes the script, but is passing, because it's a ten million dollar script as written and he didn't think he could raise more than six mil for financing (and even that would be pushing it in the current climate. Managers told me anything more than two mil's a fight in the indie world these days.) I asked him if he had any suggestions for ways I could alter the screenplay and make it a six million dollar film. He told me I shouldn't do that--the screenplay was good as written, it just isn't something he personally could get made at this time.
I took advantage of the situation to pump him for info about the industry, but at the end of the day, all he could really offer me for advice was to hang in there. In his estimation, with a solid spec and effective representation that's setting up meetings with real, honest-to-god producers who have a reasonable chance of getting something made, I'm ahead of 90-95% of the would-be screenwriting pack. He noted, accurately, that that might not feel like much of an accomplishment as I'm not making any more money off this thing that the 89% below me, but I'm on the right track.
So yay me, I guess...?
The last few days and the forthcoming few weeks are going to be all about comics. I have a phone meeting with the head of a major entertainment company's new comics initiative tomorrow morning, where I'll be presenting my "take" (that being the general direction I'd take a story based) on a property they're looking to develop.
I've offered takes before, but never over the phone. And to make matters worse, the material I received on Friday to base the take on was pretty much the document I'd generally offer as my take on a property being developed. Much more detailed than what I've usually had to work with in the past. And of course the managers were busy producing their new TV show to answer my questions in time for the answers to help shape what I had to come up with. So there's me, working without a net, creating something I've no clue is appropriate or not. Guess I'll find out tomorrow morning (or possibly tonight--apparently the managers are going to contact me prior to the meeting to prep me.)
Once that's out of the way, I plan to dig into the new project I'm doing with my HOLIDAY MEN collaborator and Future of Comics (III) Nick Johnson. I was going to sit on the details, but he dropped the following over at his Nick Soup blog:
"I put in my three weeks notice ... to prepare for a stay at the Creative Kids Museum (at the Telus Science Centre.) Here I will be the resident artist for a limited stay, manning a small exhibit called COMIC WORLD! More details to follow, but basically, it'll be a little place where I will display the history, process and magic of comics, along with my comic work.
"Even more exciting, is I will be working on the spot to complete a brand new all ages story called NO MORE PARENTS! Based on an idea I had last year, this exciting romp will be written by Andrew Freakin' Foley and drawn before your very eyes, at the centre, by myself."
I'm faintly hopeful he'll be able to squeeze out some THE HOLIDAY MEN in "For Whom The Sleighbell Tolls" pages too, when the Innocent aren't around to be Seduced (or at least their parents aren't around to complain about their minds being twisted in exciting new anti-authoritarian directions.)
***
STORIES I'LL PROBABLY NEVER WRITE #2: BRO-MAGNON
I could describe the ins and outs of this Altered States meets Superbad mashup, but it's pretty much all there in the title, life's too short, and I should really be working on NO MORE PARENTS right now, anyway. The sad thing is, I'm pretty sure if I mentioned the title to the manager, she'd think writing it was a good idea.
Which it might well be, for someone.
But not for me (knock on wood.)
A
Up until Friday, this last month. The teen gross-out horror comedy is off to Emmy-Award Winning producer, the spec pilot's been revised per managers' instructions, and what will likely be the next spec screenplay (based on a very old story) is being broken.
Got a phone call from an independent Canadian producer a couple weeks back, asking after the rights to an old project of mine--one he was a little surprised to discover I'd actually written a spec screenplay for. He generally writes his own material, but after I'd made it clear I understood that film is a collaborative medium and I was open to input, he told me to send the spec over. So I did.
First thing the next morning, he phones me to tell me he really likes the script, but is passing, because it's a ten million dollar script as written and he didn't think he could raise more than six mil for financing (and even that would be pushing it in the current climate. Managers told me anything more than two mil's a fight in the indie world these days.) I asked him if he had any suggestions for ways I could alter the screenplay and make it a six million dollar film. He told me I shouldn't do that--the screenplay was good as written, it just isn't something he personally could get made at this time.
I took advantage of the situation to pump him for info about the industry, but at the end of the day, all he could really offer me for advice was to hang in there. In his estimation, with a solid spec and effective representation that's setting up meetings with real, honest-to-god producers who have a reasonable chance of getting something made, I'm ahead of 90-95% of the would-be screenwriting pack. He noted, accurately, that that might not feel like much of an accomplishment as I'm not making any more money off this thing that the 89% below me, but I'm on the right track.
So yay me, I guess...?
The last few days and the forthcoming few weeks are going to be all about comics. I have a phone meeting with the head of a major entertainment company's new comics initiative tomorrow morning, where I'll be presenting my "take" (that being the general direction I'd take a story based) on a property they're looking to develop.
I've offered takes before, but never over the phone. And to make matters worse, the material I received on Friday to base the take on was pretty much the document I'd generally offer as my take on a property being developed. Much more detailed than what I've usually had to work with in the past. And of course the managers were busy producing their new TV show to answer my questions in time for the answers to help shape what I had to come up with. So there's me, working without a net, creating something I've no clue is appropriate or not. Guess I'll find out tomorrow morning (or possibly tonight--apparently the managers are going to contact me prior to the meeting to prep me.)
Once that's out of the way, I plan to dig into the new project I'm doing with my HOLIDAY MEN collaborator and Future of Comics (III) Nick Johnson. I was going to sit on the details, but he dropped the following over at his Nick Soup blog:
"I put in my three weeks notice ... to prepare for a stay at the Creative Kids Museum (at the Telus Science Centre.) Here I will be the resident artist for a limited stay, manning a small exhibit called COMIC WORLD! More details to follow, but basically, it'll be a little place where I will display the history, process and magic of comics, along with my comic work.
"Even more exciting, is I will be working on the spot to complete a brand new all ages story called NO MORE PARENTS! Based on an idea I had last year, this exciting romp will be written by Andrew Freakin' Foley and drawn before your very eyes, at the centre, by myself."
I'm faintly hopeful he'll be able to squeeze out some THE HOLIDAY MEN in "For Whom The Sleighbell Tolls" pages too, when the Innocent aren't around to be Seduced (or at least their parents aren't around to complain about their minds being twisted in exciting new anti-authoritarian directions.)
***
STORIES I'LL PROBABLY NEVER WRITE #2: BRO-MAGNON
I could describe the ins and outs of this Altered States meets Superbad mashup, but it's pretty much all there in the title, life's too short, and I should really be working on NO MORE PARENTS right now, anyway. The sad thing is, I'm pretty sure if I mentioned the title to the manager, she'd think writing it was a good idea.
Which it might well be, for someone.
But not for me (knock on wood.)
A
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Because Mom Worries
Not a whole lot happening the last few days. Finished the latest revision of a script for the managers and Big Hollywood Producer (I) Sunday night, spent most of Monday decompressing, reading, and feeling like I should be working on the next thing (the next thing's almost certainly going to be a script revision for Somewhat Smaller but Still Well-Established Hollywood Producer that's several million light years in tone and subject matter from the just-finished one.)
Tuesday I decompressed some more, read, and wrote a 1600 word ramble on a project I'm hoping to work with The Future of Comics (III) Nick Johnson on. It originated with Nick and about half of it was me making an argument in favour of doing something with the project he'd already established he'd rather not do, so we'll see how that goes.
Today I read and started puttering around with something I've tentatively called The Monster Matrix. It's not a story or even an idea for a story. I'm not sure exactly what it is, actually. I came across an interesting piece of speculative trivia a few months back and I know there's a story there, but I'm having a hell of a time finding it. In the meantime, the research for this hypothetical story is filling my brain with all sorts of interesting stuff, but nothing's gelling in a way that's useful just yet. Which is probably just as well, as I've got at least three things I ought to be working on before developing something else entirely.
Why yes, that was a clumsily obvious attempt to passive-aggressively cajole the cosmos into giving me a lightning bolt of inspiration. Do you think the cosmos noticed?
***
In other Future of Comics News, Fiona Staples has an interview on Newsarama. Readsies!
A
Tuesday I decompressed some more, read, and wrote a 1600 word ramble on a project I'm hoping to work with The Future of Comics (III) Nick Johnson on. It originated with Nick and about half of it was me making an argument in favour of doing something with the project he'd already established he'd rather not do, so we'll see how that goes.
Today I read and started puttering around with something I've tentatively called The Monster Matrix. It's not a story or even an idea for a story. I'm not sure exactly what it is, actually. I came across an interesting piece of speculative trivia a few months back and I know there's a story there, but I'm having a hell of a time finding it. In the meantime, the research for this hypothetical story is filling my brain with all sorts of interesting stuff, but nothing's gelling in a way that's useful just yet. Which is probably just as well, as I've got at least three things I ought to be working on before developing something else entirely.
Why yes, that was a clumsily obvious attempt to passive-aggressively cajole the cosmos into giving me a lightning bolt of inspiration. Do you think the cosmos noticed?
***
In other Future of Comics News, Fiona Staples has an interview on Newsarama. Readsies!
A
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Note to Self
When pitching an idea to an editor at DC imprint, mentioning a supporting character who could conceivably be perceived as a Superman analogue having a monogamous, loving homosexual relationship with a character that might bear some passing resemblance to Jimmy Olsen is probably not a good idea.
In my defence, the editor really liked the pitch. So much that he sent it to the higher-ups, who were less impressed. It took them all of 15 seconds to come back with the thumbs down. In retrospect, I'm not really sure what I (or the editor) was thinking...
But he really did like it--was more enthusiastic about it than the one that's moving to the next phase of development, and even advised me not to let the rejected idea go but continue shopping it around to other publishers. Which was quite nice of him, I thought.
***
In other news, I feel like crap. Not the normal crap I feel, but a kind of mutated supercrap. On the verge of throwing up all day, back's tweaking in just the kind of way that generally ends up with me spending four hours in an emergency room waiting for a demerol shot, and if I had the right powertools, I'd probably have cut my head off shortly after the snow started falling this afternoon.
I hope I'm sick, because if this is the new normal...well, it can't be. It just can't be.
A
In my defence, the editor really liked the pitch. So much that he sent it to the higher-ups, who were less impressed. It took them all of 15 seconds to come back with the thumbs down. In retrospect, I'm not really sure what I (or the editor) was thinking...
But he really did like it--was more enthusiastic about it than the one that's moving to the next phase of development, and even advised me not to let the rejected idea go but continue shopping it around to other publishers. Which was quite nice of him, I thought.
***
In other news, I feel like crap. Not the normal crap I feel, but a kind of mutated supercrap. On the verge of throwing up all day, back's tweaking in just the kind of way that generally ends up with me spending four hours in an emergency room waiting for a demerol shot, and if I had the right powertools, I'd probably have cut my head off shortly after the snow started falling this afternoon.
I hope I'm sick, because if this is the new normal...well, it can't be. It just can't be.
A
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Text and Fury, Signifying
Back in the dark days when I painted buildings for a living, I had a boss named Roland.
Roland was a character. He tried very hard to be a balanced, thoughtful person, and he just...wasn't. A bad drug experience had fried his nervous system when he was a teen. He spent years meditating, trying to get back some sense of equilibrium--assuming he had any equilibrium to begin with, which as time went on I started to seriously doubt.
Roland was filled with rage. He struggled to control it, but he lost the struggle on nearly a daily basis. His attack on a private contractor who pushed his buttons too much over the course of a job stands out as the most violent altercation I've ever been involved with. I tried to hold him back. He shoved me aside, knocked a five gallon pail of paint over onto a freshly stained hardwood floor, took a swing at the contractor (who, I must admit, I'd fantasized about decking myself--he really was a dick). I'd seen him mad before, but this was something else.
Roland was perpetually pissed off. But he was almost incapable of admitting--or maybe it wasn't admitting, so much as recognizing, what was making him angry.
No, in retrospect, I think it was admitting it that was the problem. His self-image as a zen figure was vitally important to him. Whenever something went wrong on a job--and something always went wrong--he'd clamp down on his fury, try to maintain the image of composure he delusionally believed he'd carefully crafted over years of therapy and meditation.
He'd generally hold it in for about fifteen minutes, after which someone would invariably do something to give him an excuse to go off. What the something was was pretty much irrelevant. It could be something you'd done regularly every thirty seconds since you met him; it just so happened that you'd finally do it once too often shortly after he found out he'd been passed over for a big contract, or someone was refusing to pay the agreed-upon amount. Once he got mad at me for coughing. Another time it was because I and another painter decided to go home after a twelve hour day, rather than staying an additional eight hours to finish a job, as Roland spent the next week repeatedly pointing out he would have (the fact that every time he pushed himself past fourteen or so hours of work he'd lose the next two days following to exhaustion and whacked-out sleeping patterns never registered in his thought processes.)
This post isn't about Roland.
I was angry this afternoon. Really, deeply pissed off.
Why?
Because my webpage isn't the way I want it to be, yet. It hasn't been what I want it to be for months, but today I was almost in tears and emitting throat-shredding yells, so great was my frustration over this relatively insignificant issue. (Tiina wasn't home when this happened--if I absolutely must completely lose my $#%, I'd prefer to do it in private.)
It didn't take long for me to recognize that, of course, I wasn't really upset about the webpage.
I know why I felt--continue to feel--angry and frustrated. There's not a whole lot I can do, no obvious action I can take to effect positive change at the moment. All I can do is acknowledge the emotions and what's causing them and ride things out till my mood improves, taking care to ensure that the people around me know that if I'm more negative than usual, it's not because of anything they've done.
I reckon this puts me a step or two up from Roland. But it still sucks.
***
STONE TO THE NOSEGRIND
Screenplay revision for the Thing My Managers Believe Will Actually Sell This Time No Honestly This Time For Sure is done. Finally. Post-script depression will set in soon. Because I'm not miserable enough as it is.
The artist for my story for the Big Anthology has bigger fish to fry and can't get it done for the deadline for the next volume. I'm scrambling, trying to think of something that the editors and another artist I'd like to work with might go for.
It's really not working. Then again, I've had everything mentally backburnered while I work on the screenplay. Now that that's out of the way, I'm faintly hopeful I'll be able to come up with something that satisfies everyone over the weekend.
***
COMING SOON TO A COMIC SHOP NEAR YOU
Did I mention that Robert Burke Richardson's THE MATRIARCH comic is in the latest Previews catalogue? Because it is. The first 30-some pages of the book can be found online here. Give it a read, and if you like what you see, please go order a copy at your local comic shop. The publisher isn't Marvel or DC, so odds are it won't show up there if you don't.
A
Roland was a character. He tried very hard to be a balanced, thoughtful person, and he just...wasn't. A bad drug experience had fried his nervous system when he was a teen. He spent years meditating, trying to get back some sense of equilibrium--assuming he had any equilibrium to begin with, which as time went on I started to seriously doubt.
Roland was filled with rage. He struggled to control it, but he lost the struggle on nearly a daily basis. His attack on a private contractor who pushed his buttons too much over the course of a job stands out as the most violent altercation I've ever been involved with. I tried to hold him back. He shoved me aside, knocked a five gallon pail of paint over onto a freshly stained hardwood floor, took a swing at the contractor (who, I must admit, I'd fantasized about decking myself--he really was a dick). I'd seen him mad before, but this was something else.
Roland was perpetually pissed off. But he was almost incapable of admitting--or maybe it wasn't admitting, so much as recognizing, what was making him angry.
No, in retrospect, I think it was admitting it that was the problem. His self-image as a zen figure was vitally important to him. Whenever something went wrong on a job--and something always went wrong--he'd clamp down on his fury, try to maintain the image of composure he delusionally believed he'd carefully crafted over years of therapy and meditation.
He'd generally hold it in for about fifteen minutes, after which someone would invariably do something to give him an excuse to go off. What the something was was pretty much irrelevant. It could be something you'd done regularly every thirty seconds since you met him; it just so happened that you'd finally do it once too often shortly after he found out he'd been passed over for a big contract, or someone was refusing to pay the agreed-upon amount. Once he got mad at me for coughing. Another time it was because I and another painter decided to go home after a twelve hour day, rather than staying an additional eight hours to finish a job, as Roland spent the next week repeatedly pointing out he would have (the fact that every time he pushed himself past fourteen or so hours of work he'd lose the next two days following to exhaustion and whacked-out sleeping patterns never registered in his thought processes.)
This post isn't about Roland.
I was angry this afternoon. Really, deeply pissed off.
Why?
Because my webpage isn't the way I want it to be, yet. It hasn't been what I want it to be for months, but today I was almost in tears and emitting throat-shredding yells, so great was my frustration over this relatively insignificant issue. (Tiina wasn't home when this happened--if I absolutely must completely lose my $#%, I'd prefer to do it in private.)
It didn't take long for me to recognize that, of course, I wasn't really upset about the webpage.
I know why I felt--continue to feel--angry and frustrated. There's not a whole lot I can do, no obvious action I can take to effect positive change at the moment. All I can do is acknowledge the emotions and what's causing them and ride things out till my mood improves, taking care to ensure that the people around me know that if I'm more negative than usual, it's not because of anything they've done.
I reckon this puts me a step or two up from Roland. But it still sucks.
***
STONE TO THE NOSEGRIND
Screenplay revision for the Thing My Managers Believe Will Actually Sell This Time No Honestly This Time For Sure is done. Finally. Post-script depression will set in soon. Because I'm not miserable enough as it is.
The artist for my story for the Big Anthology has bigger fish to fry and can't get it done for the deadline for the next volume. I'm scrambling, trying to think of something that the editors and another artist I'd like to work with might go for.
It's really not working. Then again, I've had everything mentally backburnered while I work on the screenplay. Now that that's out of the way, I'm faintly hopeful I'll be able to come up with something that satisfies everyone over the weekend.
***
COMING SOON TO A COMIC SHOP NEAR YOU
Did I mention that Robert Burke Richardson's THE MATRIARCH comic is in the latest Previews catalogue? Because it is. The first 30-some pages of the book can be found online here. Give it a read, and if you like what you see, please go order a copy at your local comic shop. The publisher isn't Marvel or DC, so odds are it won't show up there if you don't.
A
Saturday, March 7, 2009
Just when I think I'm out (of comics), they (comics) pull me back in...
This was actually a pretty interesting week on the comics front for me, and against all odds that had pretty nothing to do with the Watchmen.
After months of indifference from practically everyone in the medium who isn't in some way related to Zeros2Heroes, things comics-related suddenly started moving for me again. I got the OK to pitch for an ongoing comic anthology last week, did so over the weekend, got an "ok, go to the next step" with one of the stories pitched (they passed on a Spooky Kids short accompanied by kickass designs by artist extraordinaire John Keane--the fools, the damn fools!). Wrote the script on Tuesday, got notes on Wednesday, revised earlier today. One of the co-editors has already responded, stating he's happy with the latest draft. Hopefully the other one will be too, and then it'll be down to whether the artist can work the story into her schedule for the deadline for the next volume.
Even if it all goes south, it's still nice to be working on something in my preferred medium--and even nicer to have people responding positively to it. Which brings me to the next happening in this synchonicity-charged period:
After months of radio silence, an editor at a major comics publisher got back in touch with me to inform me that he liked my three pitches. He's kicked them up the chain for his bosses to look at, so hopefully I'll hear something on them in the next couple of weeks (which I'm interpreting as in the next six months, if I'm lucky). While it'd be great to get something I wrote picked up by a company that has a decent page rate for a change, this process has been so drawn out that I'm not holding out a lot of hope for anything happening on that front. If it does, great, but I'm trying to approach it as icing on my so far mostly theoretical comics writing career, rather than the cake.
While the advances on those two fronts largely came out of left field, the third high point of the week was something I'd been anticipating for some time, literally years. On Friday, I formally requested the rights to JEST CAUSE and CONVICTION back from Platinum Studios. I'd been faintly hopeful of getting one or both returned without the intervening period in which Platinum can either start principal photography on a TV show or movie (given the speed with which things happen in Hollywood in general, and the speed with which they haven't happened with these projects in particular, if this happens I'll probably fall out of my chair) or give me substantially more money than I got the first time round to extend their control of the properties for another painfully long period of time.
It was good that the hope for a quick return was faint, as my request to forego the renewal period was politely rebuffed. The reasons given for said rebuffing make perfect sense from the company's viewpoint but are still frustrating from mine, mostly because, prior to this week, I hadn't heard of them attempting to do anything at all with the properties for literally years and, for various reasons, can't see them succeeding in getting something going even if they were or are trying to get the properties picked up for development in non-comics media. I'd be fine with that if I had a published comic to show for either of them, but to the best of my knowledge, any work on producing a comic based on my scripts stopped long ago (in Conviction's case I don't think it even actually started). I've long since stopped expecting or hoping for production of a comic to resume unless and until I get the rights back (and even then, it's unlikely even I'd go much further with at least one of the properties--an idea whose "best before" date expired some time ago.)
Not that I'd be upset to see something happen in non-comics (read as "financially lucrative") media. According to my managers, even a project like Cowboys & Aliens, which I was only ever involved in as a comic and have had absolutely nothing at all to do with for...I think it's a couple years?, is apparently good to be associated with. Even if a C&A film never gets made--and at this point, I'm honestly surprised any film ever gets made--it's got some kind of "buzz", because of Robert Downey Jr.'s supposed connection to the project (last I heard, he was just in negotiations to be a part of the movie {a movie I don't think has actually been fully written yet}, which didn't strike me as something to be particularly excited about, but a lot of people seemed to be, regardless...). And buzz is supposedly a good thing in Hollywood, at least that's what the people who'll someday get 10% of my Hollywood earnings for knowing stuff like that tell me.
Getting the property back, a film deal, or some "buying myself out of crippling debt" money for Jest Cause and Conviction does presume Platinum's still going to be around a year from now, of course--something that might not seem like a great bet if you're on the outside looking in. I believe this was the third consecutive Previews catalogue with no Platinum books solicited. That would indicate they stopped soliciting even prior to Diamond's new benchmark levels being instituted, but it isn't necessarily as disastrous a sign as it might be in the case of some other smaller publishers. Platinum has a fairly long history of using the web to distribute its product (cutting costs by both eliminating printing and if not absolutely removing, cerrtainly curtailing the possibility of creator royalties. I believe DJ Coffmann has stated he never received ad revenues for his online Hero By Night work; I certainly never got any compensation beyond my initial advances on Cowboys & Aliens, Crimson Rose, and Jeremiah: The Last Empire, for online ad revenues or anything else.)
Curious, I asked a number of Platinum employees what's happening with the company. I didn't really expect much in the way of an answer. Since Platinum went public, people there have been playing their cards very close to their chest when it comes to what's going on, citing information restrictions based on their public company status as the reason for their reticence to discuss things. This seems a little weird, at least to a non-business-minded person like myself, considering they now seem to have to publicly report their financial situation on a regular basis. But then, almost everything business-oriented seems weird to me. When it doesn't seem weird, it generally seems just plain evil, so weird isn't bad, not at all. It's for the best, both for me and the world in general, if this is stuff I continue to not understand. Ignorance may not be bliss, but I'll take it where I can get it.
While straightforward and detailed answers on the company's situation weren't forthcoming--shock!--most of the people I talked to did seem pretty upbeat about its future prospects (more upbeat than I'd be if I was working for minimum wage in Hollywood, anyway.) I gather they're looking at non-Direct Market distribution alternatives for future publishing. IM completely uninformed O, that would be a smart thing for them to be looking at. After all, the entire line of books being developed when I first started pitching to the company was aimed not at comic shops but very directly at mass market bookstores. I still think stuff like Adventures of Tymm and Jest Cause would work best in a graphic album format along the lines of Asterix & Obelix and Tintin--in fact, now that I think about it, if I ever do manage to get JC back and decide to do something with it as a comic, I'll probably return to the original script, which was written with at least an 8 1/2 by 11 inch page size in mind. Digest sized books still seem to be all the rage, but I was reading Asterix and Tintin when I was six years old and those books are still on store shelves today. It's got to have something going for it as a format to have lasted that long.
There's still some good people at Platinum, so I hope the company does survive--for their sake as well as my own. It'd be nice to get either a five figure cheque or my stuff back, but I've got at least a year before either of those is a reasonable possibility. Tick tock, tick tock...
(It's times like this I'm glad my managers don't read my blog--I'm supposed to have been working on revising a screenplay all week. That's where the money theoretically is, not this penny-ante, creatively satisfying comic stuff.)
A
After months of indifference from practically everyone in the medium who isn't in some way related to Zeros2Heroes, things comics-related suddenly started moving for me again. I got the OK to pitch for an ongoing comic anthology last week, did so over the weekend, got an "ok, go to the next step" with one of the stories pitched (they passed on a Spooky Kids short accompanied by kickass designs by artist extraordinaire John Keane--the fools, the damn fools!). Wrote the script on Tuesday, got notes on Wednesday, revised earlier today. One of the co-editors has already responded, stating he's happy with the latest draft. Hopefully the other one will be too, and then it'll be down to whether the artist can work the story into her schedule for the deadline for the next volume.
Even if it all goes south, it's still nice to be working on something in my preferred medium--and even nicer to have people responding positively to it. Which brings me to the next happening in this synchonicity-charged period:
After months of radio silence, an editor at a major comics publisher got back in touch with me to inform me that he liked my three pitches. He's kicked them up the chain for his bosses to look at, so hopefully I'll hear something on them in the next couple of weeks (which I'm interpreting as in the next six months, if I'm lucky). While it'd be great to get something I wrote picked up by a company that has a decent page rate for a change, this process has been so drawn out that I'm not holding out a lot of hope for anything happening on that front. If it does, great, but I'm trying to approach it as icing on my so far mostly theoretical comics writing career, rather than the cake.
While the advances on those two fronts largely came out of left field, the third high point of the week was something I'd been anticipating for some time, literally years. On Friday, I formally requested the rights to JEST CAUSE and CONVICTION back from Platinum Studios. I'd been faintly hopeful of getting one or both returned without the intervening period in which Platinum can either start principal photography on a TV show or movie (given the speed with which things happen in Hollywood in general, and the speed with which they haven't happened with these projects in particular, if this happens I'll probably fall out of my chair) or give me substantially more money than I got the first time round to extend their control of the properties for another painfully long period of time.
It was good that the hope for a quick return was faint, as my request to forego the renewal period was politely rebuffed. The reasons given for said rebuffing make perfect sense from the company's viewpoint but are still frustrating from mine, mostly because, prior to this week, I hadn't heard of them attempting to do anything at all with the properties for literally years and, for various reasons, can't see them succeeding in getting something going even if they were or are trying to get the properties picked up for development in non-comics media. I'd be fine with that if I had a published comic to show for either of them, but to the best of my knowledge, any work on producing a comic based on my scripts stopped long ago (in Conviction's case I don't think it even actually started). I've long since stopped expecting or hoping for production of a comic to resume unless and until I get the rights back (and even then, it's unlikely even I'd go much further with at least one of the properties--an idea whose "best before" date expired some time ago.)
Not that I'd be upset to see something happen in non-comics (read as "financially lucrative") media. According to my managers, even a project like Cowboys & Aliens, which I was only ever involved in as a comic and have had absolutely nothing at all to do with for...I think it's a couple years?, is apparently good to be associated with. Even if a C&A film never gets made--and at this point, I'm honestly surprised any film ever gets made--it's got some kind of "buzz", because of Robert Downey Jr.'s supposed connection to the project (last I heard, he was just in negotiations to be a part of the movie {a movie I don't think has actually been fully written yet}, which didn't strike me as something to be particularly excited about, but a lot of people seemed to be, regardless...). And buzz is supposedly a good thing in Hollywood, at least that's what the people who'll someday get 10% of my Hollywood earnings for knowing stuff like that tell me.
Getting the property back, a film deal, or some "buying myself out of crippling debt" money for Jest Cause and Conviction does presume Platinum's still going to be around a year from now, of course--something that might not seem like a great bet if you're on the outside looking in. I believe this was the third consecutive Previews catalogue with no Platinum books solicited. That would indicate they stopped soliciting even prior to Diamond's new benchmark levels being instituted, but it isn't necessarily as disastrous a sign as it might be in the case of some other smaller publishers. Platinum has a fairly long history of using the web to distribute its product (cutting costs by both eliminating printing and if not absolutely removing, cerrtainly curtailing the possibility of creator royalties. I believe DJ Coffmann has stated he never received ad revenues for his online Hero By Night work; I certainly never got any compensation beyond my initial advances on Cowboys & Aliens, Crimson Rose, and Jeremiah: The Last Empire, for online ad revenues or anything else.)
Curious, I asked a number of Platinum employees what's happening with the company. I didn't really expect much in the way of an answer. Since Platinum went public, people there have been playing their cards very close to their chest when it comes to what's going on, citing information restrictions based on their public company status as the reason for their reticence to discuss things. This seems a little weird, at least to a non-business-minded person like myself, considering they now seem to have to publicly report their financial situation on a regular basis. But then, almost everything business-oriented seems weird to me. When it doesn't seem weird, it generally seems just plain evil, so weird isn't bad, not at all. It's for the best, both for me and the world in general, if this is stuff I continue to not understand. Ignorance may not be bliss, but I'll take it where I can get it.
While straightforward and detailed answers on the company's situation weren't forthcoming--shock!--most of the people I talked to did seem pretty upbeat about its future prospects (more upbeat than I'd be if I was working for minimum wage in Hollywood, anyway.) I gather they're looking at non-Direct Market distribution alternatives for future publishing. IM completely uninformed O, that would be a smart thing for them to be looking at. After all, the entire line of books being developed when I first started pitching to the company was aimed not at comic shops but very directly at mass market bookstores. I still think stuff like Adventures of Tymm and Jest Cause would work best in a graphic album format along the lines of Asterix & Obelix and Tintin--in fact, now that I think about it, if I ever do manage to get JC back and decide to do something with it as a comic, I'll probably return to the original script, which was written with at least an 8 1/2 by 11 inch page size in mind. Digest sized books still seem to be all the rage, but I was reading Asterix and Tintin when I was six years old and those books are still on store shelves today. It's got to have something going for it as a format to have lasted that long.
There's still some good people at Platinum, so I hope the company does survive--for their sake as well as my own. It'd be nice to get either a five figure cheque or my stuff back, but I've got at least a year before either of those is a reasonable possibility. Tick tock, tick tock...
(It's times like this I'm glad my managers don't read my blog--I'm supposed to have been working on revising a screenplay all week. That's where the money theoretically is, not this penny-ante, creatively satisfying comic stuff.)
A
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Countdown.
Newest spec screenplay is done and off to the manager.
Cue crushing post-script depression in 3... 2... 1...
Cue crushing post-script depression in 3... 2... 1...
Monday, January 12, 2009
Quantum Sleep
If there's one sure way I know it's been too long since I posted last, it's when my mother calls up to make sure everything's still all right. So here's the update:
I lost most of last week to insomnia. I've never had it go several consecutive days like that before, and flying spaghetti monster willing, I hope never to have to go through it again. My brain melted into a toxic sludge, I had to concentrate to not see double, and, while I have slept a lot better the last few nights, I'm still recovering, physically, mentally, and work-wise.
***
WORK IT ON OUT
On the work front:
-the paperwork for the agreement with Hollywood Producer 1, Scott O. Brown, and me is almost finalized. We're literally three words away from having it nailed down, after which there will be nine months of seeing what happens next, if anything.
-the spec screenplay for Hollywood Producer 2 was what really took the hit last week. I'm at least a couple polishes away from being comfortable calling what I've got a first draft; it's still forty pages too long; and in a fit of optimism, I told Hollywood Managers I'd have them a first draft by Sunday, which I'm fudging to mean first thing Monday morning.
-I just realized I was going to follow up with Comic Editor today and didn't yet. Bugger.
-there's now a Hollywood Producer 3 in the picture, who's interested enough in a spec pilot script I wrote that we're going to be talking about it on Wednesday. This will be preceded tomorrow by what's looking to turn into a traditional pep talk phone call from Hollywood Managers tomorrow, to tell me what to expect when I talk to HP3. So far, the only thing I know is that he thinks the spec needs to be darker in order for him to sell it. This is probably the first time in the history of the universe anyone's ever looked at something I wrote and though it needed to be darker. Naturally, my first instinct is to not want to go that direction, but I will, because he's a Hollywood Producer and Money is Nice.
-The Future of Comics (II) John Keane has finished his wholesale revision of the initial Spooky Kids storyline up to page 7.
-The newest Future of Comics (III) Nick Johnson has penciled the first two pages of the second Holiday Men storyline. This one's forcing him to stretch a bit as an artist, which is probably good for him as an artist but lousy for the schedule.
-I want to go to the New York Con.
-I'm not going to go to the New York Con.
-I want to go to the San Diego Con.
-No, seriously. I do.
-Might...MIGHT be able to pull that one off. Mmmmmmaybe...
-Really feeling the desire to produce some comics work. Screenplays are fun and likely more lucrative, but I miss doing comics.
-By "doing" I mean writing them. Looks like there'll be more editing work coming my way from Zeros2Heroes soonish. Which I'm really happy about, because getting paid rocks. But I could be happier, if I was getting paid to write, and happier still if I was getting paid to write comics.
***
MORTALLY WOUND YOUR TELEVISION
TVtropolis is rerunning ONCE A THIEF Monday mornings at 10:00! This is truly awesome.
Showcase has started running the sequel to the British LIFE ON MARS television series, ASHES TO ASHES, Sundays at...1:00, I think. I discovered that in time to catch the first episode entirely by happy accident.
SCRUBS is back on Tuesday nights. And it's been gone just long enough for me to miss it enough to start enjoying the stuff that used to grate a little again.
New BATTLESTAR GALACTICA and SUPERNATURAL later on in the week.
LEVERAGE is a lot of fun.
What does this all mean? Mostly that I'll be able to keep track of what day it is again...
There. Happy now, Mom?
A
I lost most of last week to insomnia. I've never had it go several consecutive days like that before, and flying spaghetti monster willing, I hope never to have to go through it again. My brain melted into a toxic sludge, I had to concentrate to not see double, and, while I have slept a lot better the last few nights, I'm still recovering, physically, mentally, and work-wise.
***
WORK IT ON OUT
On the work front:
-the paperwork for the agreement with Hollywood Producer 1, Scott O. Brown, and me is almost finalized. We're literally three words away from having it nailed down, after which there will be nine months of seeing what happens next, if anything.
-the spec screenplay for Hollywood Producer 2 was what really took the hit last week. I'm at least a couple polishes away from being comfortable calling what I've got a first draft; it's still forty pages too long; and in a fit of optimism, I told Hollywood Managers I'd have them a first draft by Sunday, which I'm fudging to mean first thing Monday morning.
-I just realized I was going to follow up with Comic Editor today and didn't yet. Bugger.
-there's now a Hollywood Producer 3 in the picture, who's interested enough in a spec pilot script I wrote that we're going to be talking about it on Wednesday. This will be preceded tomorrow by what's looking to turn into a traditional pep talk phone call from Hollywood Managers tomorrow, to tell me what to expect when I talk to HP3. So far, the only thing I know is that he thinks the spec needs to be darker in order for him to sell it. This is probably the first time in the history of the universe anyone's ever looked at something I wrote and though it needed to be darker. Naturally, my first instinct is to not want to go that direction, but I will, because he's a Hollywood Producer and Money is Nice.
-The Future of Comics (II) John Keane has finished his wholesale revision of the initial Spooky Kids storyline up to page 7.
-The newest Future of Comics (III) Nick Johnson has penciled the first two pages of the second Holiday Men storyline. This one's forcing him to stretch a bit as an artist, which is probably good for him as an artist but lousy for the schedule.
-I want to go to the New York Con.
-I'm not going to go to the New York Con.
-I want to go to the San Diego Con.
-No, seriously. I do.
-Might...MIGHT be able to pull that one off. Mmmmmmaybe...
-Really feeling the desire to produce some comics work. Screenplays are fun and likely more lucrative, but I miss doing comics.
-By "doing" I mean writing them. Looks like there'll be more editing work coming my way from Zeros2Heroes soonish. Which I'm really happy about, because getting paid rocks. But I could be happier, if I was getting paid to write, and happier still if I was getting paid to write comics.
***
MORTALLY WOUND YOUR TELEVISION
TVtropolis is rerunning ONCE A THIEF Monday mornings at 10:00! This is truly awesome.
Showcase has started running the sequel to the British LIFE ON MARS television series, ASHES TO ASHES, Sundays at...1:00, I think. I discovered that in time to catch the first episode entirely by happy accident.
SCRUBS is back on Tuesday nights. And it's been gone just long enough for me to miss it enough to start enjoying the stuff that used to grate a little again.
New BATTLESTAR GALACTICA and SUPERNATURAL later on in the week.
LEVERAGE is a lot of fun.
What does this all mean? Mostly that I'll be able to keep track of what day it is again...
There. Happy now, Mom?
A
Sunday, December 21, 2008
It's beginning to look a lot like Cold, White Death
Final lettering revisions for ReBoot's last two installments are done. I and the creative team were skating perilously close to the weekly deadline pretty much from Day One, but we never actually missed one. It was a rocky road, but we appear to have reached our destination. Which means one less thing I've got to worry about over this next week (I'm saving my "Where's the next paycheque coming from?" freakout for Boxing Week.)
As is my somewhat sporadic tradition, I've come up with an idea for a Christmas-themed story. I don't know why I continue to do this--out of the eight or nine I've come up with over the years I've only ever used THE HOLIDAY MEN and, hopefully, The Christmas Spirit as the second or third Spooky Kids story.
I was going to write about this new idea, but typing the last paragraph, I just remembered I've got something important to do re: The H-Men. So maybe I'll pick that up tomorrow. Or not at all. It's pretty bleak, which is in keeping with my standard mood round this time of year, but not necessarily something I ought to be inflicting on the world.
If I don't get back to blogging for a bit, I hope everyone reading has a joy-filled X-Mas or equivalent winter-themed holiday of their choice. Beware mmistletoe hanging in unusual places.
A
As is my somewhat sporadic tradition, I've come up with an idea for a Christmas-themed story. I don't know why I continue to do this--out of the eight or nine I've come up with over the years I've only ever used THE HOLIDAY MEN and, hopefully, The Christmas Spirit as the second or third Spooky Kids story.
I was going to write about this new idea, but typing the last paragraph, I just remembered I've got something important to do re: The H-Men. So maybe I'll pick that up tomorrow. Or not at all. It's pretty bleak, which is in keeping with my standard mood round this time of year, but not necessarily something I ought to be inflicting on the world.
If I don't get back to blogging for a bit, I hope everyone reading has a joy-filled X-Mas or equivalent winter-themed holiday of their choice. Beware mmistletoe hanging in unusual places.
A
Sunday, December 14, 2008
"Might be time to lay off the pills a little, Foley..."
A few minutes ago Diego Simone, long-suffering ReBoot
artist sent me pencils for three of the last four pages for the weekly webcomic, which got him a reply of "This is great, but I really need the inks/colours for page 39 like, RIGHT NOW, because the letterer needs to have them done, like, RIGHT NOW."
Which got me the reply of "I sent you that page, but here it is again."
I figured we were facing a repeat of Tuesday, when a page had been lost between his sending it and my gmail account, and was seriously considering looking at alternate e-mail otions, until I looked at my Sent Mail list...and discovered I actually had gotten the page, looked at it, and forwarded it to equally long-suffering letterer Ed Brisson and the comic's writer. And I had and have no memory of doing that. Looking at the timeline, I realize all of this happened sometime after me taking a SleepMD pill last night, which I can only hope at least contributed to this piece of lost time.
Mind you, I do keep seeing images of grey aliens every time I close my eyes. Maybe that's related...
Anyway, the important thing is, we've got five pages to go and then my part on the ReBoot project is basically done. And that'll be me unemployed in any creative capacity, and just in time for Christmas, from the looks of it.
***
On the upside, I'm feeling more energized about writing right now than I have in some time. The screenplay's ticking along at a regrettably glacial pace, but I'm also working on a new proposal for a project with Nick Johnson, and I've been thinking of taking another shot at finding a story to go along with the characters from OLD DOGS. When writing up the idea to show Hollywood Manager, I came up with a new twist to the scenario I hadn't considered before that might just pull the thing into a workable shape.
***
I had an idea a bit like this one a couple years back. It was called SAME SH*T, DIFFERENT GALAXY, and was a workplace sitcom about the janitorial staff on a starship, the bridge crew of which were the stars of a reality television show. I even got the Future of Comics (I) Fiona Staples to do some character designs for a possible animated version. I don't know why I never went much of anywhere with the idea, but it just...never happened. Which is for the best, apparently. One FOOL'S ERRAND in this life is enough for me.
A
artist sent me pencils for three of the last four pages for the weekly webcomic, which got him a reply of "This is great, but I really need the inks/colours for page 39 like, RIGHT NOW, because the letterer needs to have them done, like, RIGHT NOW."Which got me the reply of "I sent you that page, but here it is again."
I figured we were facing a repeat of Tuesday, when a page had been lost between his sending it and my gmail account, and was seriously considering looking at alternate e-mail otions, until I looked at my Sent Mail list...and discovered I actually had gotten the page, looked at it, and forwarded it to equally long-suffering letterer Ed Brisson
and the comic's writer. And I had and have no memory of doing that. Looking at the timeline, I realize all of this happened sometime after me taking a SleepMD pill last night, which I can only hope at least contributed to this piece of lost time.Mind you, I do keep seeing images of grey aliens every time I close my eyes. Maybe that's related...
Anyway, the important thing is, we've got five pages to go and then my part on the ReBoot project is basically done. And that'll be me unemployed in any creative capacity, and just in time for Christmas, from the looks of it.
***
On the upside, I'm feeling more energized about writing right now than I have in some time. The screenplay's ticking along at a regrettably glacial pace, but I'm also working on a new proposal for a project with Nick Johnson, and I've been thinking of taking another shot at finding a story to go along with the characters from OLD DOGS. When writing up the idea to show Hollywood Manager, I came up with a new twist to the scenario I hadn't considered before that might just pull the thing into a workable shape.
***
I had an idea a bit like this one
a couple years back. It was called SAME SH*T, DIFFERENT GALAXY, and was a workplace sitcom about the janitorial staff on a starship, the bridge crew of which were the stars of a reality television show. I even got the Future of Comics (I) Fiona Staples to do some character designs for a possible animated version. I don't know why I never went much of anywhere with the idea, but it just...never happened. Which is for the best, apparently. One FOOL'S ERRAND in this life is enough for me.A
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Owowowowowowow.
Well, it's been nearly six months since my last trip to the ER, and sure enough, my back started getting tweaky yesterday. Tossing back four extra-strength gelcaps per the ER doctor's orders last time did indeed abort the problem last night, when it got really bad, but this morning I awoke in roughly the same position I was in yesterday--not in excruciating pain, but with a catch in my back (and, in this instance, side) that tells me I'm one wrong move away from, well, another trip to the hospital.
What would constitute a wrong move, you ask? Well, there's the rub. This thing always hits out of nowhere. Carrying fifty pounds of cat litter into the house isn't the problem; opening the trunk of the car to get the cat litter might be. Or something like, well, breathing deeply.
I don't have enough ESA gelcaps on hand to do what I did last night tonight; I don't have the will to venture out into the icy wasteland the last couple days has turned out neighbourhood into to get enough of said gelcaps; and even if I did, I don't think my stomach could take another dose in that quantity without bursting from my midsection like an Alien and brutally killing everything in the house (which, in the case of Smoky, is not necessarily a bad thing. Stupid, stoopid cat.)
So we'll see what the night and tomorrow hold on the back front.
One thing tomorrow absolutely will not be is the stress-fest that today was. As if expending time and energy trying not to inhale the wrong way wasn't bad enough, the artist for ReBoot dropped off the face of the earth for a solid 24 hours--without having delivered the much-needed final colours for the last page of this coming Monday's installment. Or, more accurately, he had delivered the page, I just hadn't received it in my inbox, for reasons only the universe that's decided to #*%(ing hate me today could tell you.
The page has been received and I'm currently not going to sleep while I wait for the letterer to finish applying his art to the page, which is due tomorrow. There are some days I just hate editing, and this was one of them.
Prior to my sending increasingly frantic "Where are you/where's my page/are you still alive/if you're still alive why haven't you sent me my page?" e-mails every fifteen minutes for several hours, I actually got a reasonable amount of work done on the new screenplay. I think we're finally into the stage where the thing takes on a life of its own. No longer do I have to force (most of) the characters to say something--I understand (most of) them enough that they're talking to each other without me nudging them.
If this were July, I'd probably have a first draft ready to go in maybe two weeks. As it's December, I'm thinking maybe another month. Decembers and I do not get along.
***
DEFENDING THE INDEFENSIBLE
So, if Neil Gaiman
and various others are reading things right, Lisa Simpson of the animated show the Simpsons is considered a person under Australian law, and images of her having sex with her father qualify is roughly equivalent to having images of non-fictional human minors having relations with non-fictional human adults.
My position on this should come as no surprise to anyone who's read this blog. For an opposing viewpoint, check out Occasional Superheroine Valerie D'Orazio's post on the subject. I respect and to some degree understand her position on the subject and can sympathize with her feeling uncomfortable expressing her opinion (ironic, as the discussion is all about freedom of speech.)
As I stated in a reply to her post that, as yet, hasn't been cleared, this subject is bound to bring out extreme positions. Both sides are looking at the bottom of their respective slippery slopes, and, having seen the destination, are going to do whatever it takes to ensure the slide never gets started.
Also, the character of Lisa Simpson is well past the age of consent. She just looks young.
A
What would constitute a wrong move, you ask? Well, there's the rub. This thing always hits out of nowhere. Carrying fifty pounds of cat litter into the house isn't the problem; opening the trunk of the car to get the cat litter might be. Or something like, well, breathing deeply.
I don't have enough ESA gelcaps on hand to do what I did last night tonight; I don't have the will to venture out into the icy wasteland the last couple days has turned out neighbourhood into to get enough of said gelcaps; and even if I did, I don't think my stomach could take another dose in that quantity without bursting from my midsection like an Alien and brutally killing everything in the house (which, in the case of Smoky, is not necessarily a bad thing. Stupid, stoopid cat.)
So we'll see what the night and tomorrow hold on the back front.
One thing tomorrow absolutely will not be is the stress-fest that today was. As if expending time and energy trying not to inhale the wrong way wasn't bad enough, the artist for ReBoot dropped off the face of the earth for a solid 24 hours--without having delivered the much-needed final colours for the last page of this coming Monday's installment. Or, more accurately, he had delivered the page, I just hadn't received it in my inbox, for reasons only the universe that's decided to #*%(ing hate me today could tell you.
The page has been received and I'm currently not going to sleep while I wait for the letterer to finish applying his art to the page, which is due tomorrow. There are some days I just hate editing, and this was one of them.
Prior to my sending increasingly frantic "Where are you/where's my page/are you still alive/if you're still alive why haven't you sent me my page?" e-mails every fifteen minutes for several hours, I actually got a reasonable amount of work done on the new screenplay. I think we're finally into the stage where the thing takes on a life of its own. No longer do I have to force (most of) the characters to say something--I understand (most of) them enough that they're talking to each other without me nudging them.
If this were July, I'd probably have a first draft ready to go in maybe two weeks. As it's December, I'm thinking maybe another month. Decembers and I do not get along.
***
DEFENDING THE INDEFENSIBLE
So, if Neil Gaiman
and various others are reading things right, Lisa Simpson of the animated show the Simpsons is considered a person under Australian law, and images of her having sex with her father qualify is roughly equivalent to having images of non-fictional human minors having relations with non-fictional human adults.My position on this should come as no surprise to anyone who's read this blog. For an opposing viewpoint, check out Occasional Superheroine Valerie D'Orazio's post on the subject.
I respect and to some degree understand her position on the subject and can sympathize with her feeling uncomfortable expressing her opinion (ironic, as the discussion is all about freedom of speech.)As I stated in a reply to her post that, as yet, hasn't been cleared, this subject is bound to bring out extreme positions. Both sides are looking at the bottom of their respective slippery slopes, and, having seen the destination, are going to do whatever it takes to ensure the slide never gets started.
Also, the character of Lisa Simpson is well past the age of consent. She just looks young.
A
Sunday, November 16, 2008
I am a machine.
An aging machine that's going to break down soon, but a machine nonetheless. Cold medication might slow me down, but nothing short of finishing the job can stop me when I've got deadlines. I AM UNSTOPPABLE.
And now some Nyquil is in order, I think.
A
And now some Nyquil is in order, I think.
A
Sunday, November 9, 2008
What is the sound of one head desking?
There comes a time in writing prose--and other written media, but it's much more acute and noticeable with prose--when one's gone over the same material so many times in an effort to improve it that one no longer knows if it's any good at all (but, when the one in question is me, one suspects it's complete garbage.) At the moment, I blame The 10% Solution, Ken Rand's incredibly useful but mind-numbingly repetitive editing system, detailed in his book of the same name, for this. Rand says going over the same sentences over and over is a Good Thing, and my personal experience says he's right. But it's damn hard to believe it when you're trawling through the same three thousand words for the tenth or more time.
But! The novel outline is done, and polished to the best of my meager abilities. And, more importantly, it's off to the Book Editor, who will hopefully like it, or at least confirm my suspicion that it's complete garbage. If the latter, I shall cry and then get back to work. If the former, however, the outline, along with sample chapters and the editor's recommendation, will go upstairs to the office of whoever's responsible for deciding which projects the Book Editor's employer decides to pick up.
I'd be nervous about that if I was conscious, but if The Solution wasn't bad enough, winter has arrived. Oh, there's no snow, yet. But darkness is falling in the middle of the afternoon, the air is as cold and bitter as John McCain's campaign staff, and the daytime sky is an oppressive grey ceiling hovering just out of reach. The pills prescribed by the neurologist are not doing their job, or at least not doing it well enough, as today's throbbing headache is going about its business with no regard to the thrice-daily stomach-disintegrating anti-inflammatory I've been taking. I'm not sure if the overwhelming desire to sleep for the next six months or so is the result of the shortening day, changing weather, the new medication, or just common sense telling me it would be Better not to be awake for the winter. Or a combination of all four.
I'm told the Hollywood Producer (I) liked my outline for his movie idea inspired very, very loosely by one of my comics. That said, he of course has "some notes". Why I should need to have a pre-phone meeting phone meeting with my manager prior to having a phone meeting with HPI, I don't know, but the Manager has declared it so, and so it shall be, sometime this week.
While I await those phone meetings, notes and/or a reaction from The Book Editor, I plan to work on an outline for STEEP CURVE, a comic miniseries, in the probably vain hope that someone will someday express some interest in my writing one again. It could happen. An editor contact I thought was dead recently resurfaced wanting to know whether we'd talked several months ago as planned (we hadn't) and suggesting we get together on the phone to discuss a few ideas I'd sent his way. Of course, he suggested this while I was in Calgary and we haven't managed to get together yet, but hope springs eternal. Or, if not eternal, it at least springs for a long time.
Don't ask about the bathroom. I'm not.
A
But! The novel outline is done, and polished to the best of my meager abilities. And, more importantly, it's off to the Book Editor, who will hopefully like it, or at least confirm my suspicion that it's complete garbage. If the latter, I shall cry and then get back to work. If the former, however, the outline, along with sample chapters and the editor's recommendation, will go upstairs to the office of whoever's responsible for deciding which projects the Book Editor's employer decides to pick up.
I'd be nervous about that if I was conscious, but if The Solution wasn't bad enough, winter has arrived. Oh, there's no snow, yet. But darkness is falling in the middle of the afternoon, the air is as cold and bitter as John McCain's campaign staff, and the daytime sky is an oppressive grey ceiling hovering just out of reach. The pills prescribed by the neurologist are not doing their job, or at least not doing it well enough, as today's throbbing headache is going about its business with no regard to the thrice-daily stomach-disintegrating anti-inflammatory I've been taking. I'm not sure if the overwhelming desire to sleep for the next six months or so is the result of the shortening day, changing weather, the new medication, or just common sense telling me it would be Better not to be awake for the winter. Or a combination of all four.
I'm told the Hollywood Producer (I) liked my outline for his movie idea inspired very, very loosely by one of my comics. That said, he of course has "some notes". Why I should need to have a pre-phone meeting phone meeting with my manager prior to having a phone meeting with HPI, I don't know, but the Manager has declared it so, and so it shall be, sometime this week.
While I await those phone meetings, notes and/or a reaction from The Book Editor, I plan to work on an outline for STEEP CURVE, a comic miniseries, in the probably vain hope that someone will someday express some interest in my writing one again. It could happen. An editor contact I thought was dead recently resurfaced wanting to know whether we'd talked several months ago as planned (we hadn't) and suggesting we get together on the phone to discuss a few ideas I'd sent his way. Of course, he suggested this while I was in Calgary and we haven't managed to get together yet, but hope springs eternal. Or, if not eternal, it at least springs for a long time.
Don't ask about the bathroom. I'm not.
A
Friday, October 24, 2008
The List
Paperwork from the Big Hollywood Producer (I) interested in the thing SOB and I did years ago being looked at by manager? Check.
Outline for movie project based so loosely on one of my comic projects it's unrecognizable sent to Big Hollywood Producer (II)? Check.
Ideas for YA novel sequel ideas requested by Editor at Big NY Publisher sent out? Check.
Cheque? No.
But someday. Maybe even someday soon-ish.
Still waiting to hear back about THE HOLIDAY MEN. Fingers crossed.
Because he can't look at something he drew ten minutes ago without believing it's god-awful, regardless of how awesome the ten minute old art actually is, The Future of Comics (II) John Keane has redrawn the first six pages of THE SPOOKY KIDS.
ReBoot continues to plug along. We're past the halfway point now. Never really built up that buffer that we were supposed to have from the beginning, but we seem to be staying ahead of the curve.
Round 3 of the corporate comic strip editing gig is underway, with a tightened schedule to accommodate the artist going on holiday in a week and a bit. The World Fantasy Con in Calgary next week could be a bit of a clusterschmutz, schedule-wise, as I'm probably going to have to be editing the strip while I'm there.
Editing for THE WEST WAS LOST #1 is more or less finished.
Need to write up a bunch of ideas for Hollywood Manager to show the production company that's financing a bunch of comics series with an eye towards setting things up as films. Not an ideal scenario, but I gather there's more participation by the creators than has usually been the case when I've dealt with other wannabe Hollywood bigshots, and these guys actually have a decent record of getting things done. Oh, and making some money to write again would be nice. As would getting a new comic with my name on it on the shelves.
***
MEANWHILE, IN THE REAL WORLD
I'm actually kind of surprised it's taken this long for something like this to happen.
How does anyone who isn't wealthy see the idea of "redistributing wealth" as a bad thing? (Same way people who'd benefit from it see socialism as a bad thing, I suppose. I don't really get that, either, pinko that I am.)
***
TY TEMPLETON LIKED PARTING WAYS...
...and I can prove it.
I haven't really had time to get into this past weekend's Pure Spec convention, but I really enjoyed it. Also, it's hard to stop taking part in a conversation after the person you're substituting for on a panel shows up and takes his rightful place. Even if that marks the moment when most of the audience started seeing the event as a good panel.
A
Outline for movie project based so loosely on one of my comic projects it's unrecognizable sent to Big Hollywood Producer (II)? Check.
Ideas for YA novel sequel ideas requested by Editor at Big NY Publisher sent out? Check.
Cheque? No.
But someday. Maybe even someday soon-ish.
Still waiting to hear back about THE HOLIDAY MEN. Fingers crossed.
Because he can't look at something he drew ten minutes ago without believing it's god-awful, regardless of how awesome the ten minute old art actually is, The Future of Comics (II) John Keane has redrawn the first six pages of THE SPOOKY KIDS.
ReBoot continues to plug along. We're past the halfway point now. Never really built up that buffer that we were supposed to have from the beginning, but we seem to be staying ahead of the curve.
Round 3 of the corporate comic strip editing gig is underway, with a tightened schedule to accommodate the artist going on holiday in a week and a bit. The World Fantasy Con in Calgary next week could be a bit of a clusterschmutz, schedule-wise, as I'm probably going to have to be editing the strip while I'm there.
Editing for THE WEST WAS LOST #1 is more or less finished.
Need to write up a bunch of ideas for Hollywood Manager to show the production company that's financing a bunch of comics series with an eye towards setting things up as films. Not an ideal scenario, but I gather there's more participation by the creators than has usually been the case when I've dealt with other wannabe Hollywood bigshots, and these guys actually have a decent record of getting things done. Oh, and making some money to write again would be nice. As would getting a new comic with my name on it on the shelves.
***
MEANWHILE, IN THE REAL WORLD
I'm actually kind of surprised it's taken this long for something like this to happen.
How does anyone who isn't wealthy see the idea of "redistributing wealth" as a bad thing? (Same way people who'd benefit from it see socialism as a bad thing, I suppose. I don't really get that, either, pinko that I am.)
***
TY TEMPLETON LIKED PARTING WAYS...
...and I can prove it.
I haven't really had time to get into this past weekend's Pure Spec convention, but I really enjoyed it. Also, it's hard to stop taking part in a conversation after the person you're substituting for on a panel shows up and takes his rightful place. Even if that marks the moment when most of the audience started seeing the event as a good panel.
A
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