tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27832573841154955962024-03-12T16:24:42.145-07:00My Life Within The MarginsThe life and times of a Phoenix writer brought to the blogosphere by the author himself. I work in all formats including short stories, poetry, non-fiction articles, novels and screenplays.Michael C. Cordellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09965617497632908328noreply@blogger.comBlogger92125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2783257384115495596.post-37357846766154240122015-03-11T21:22:00.000-07:002018-02-06T19:38:00.531-08:00When Alzheimer's / Dementia Comes Close to Home<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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CC Image courtesy of brutusfly on Flickr</td></tr>
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If you’re over fifty, I doubt you haven’t at least contemplated whether your mental faculties were slipping when you’ve forgotten where you left the car keys or your cell phone or your glasses. Or maybe it was when you forget the name of the band that did that one-hit wonder song everyone loved back in the day. Most likely, none of that is anything more than normal memory loss, likely due to aging. It happens to all of us, not matter who you are.<br />
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And then there are those who really do have a clinical condition that leads to a diagnosis of Alzheimer’s disease or some related form of dementia. When this happens to a family member, your worldview changes in ways you couldn’t have imagined.</div>
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Without detailing the long drawn-out retelling of how it happened, we recently moved my mother-in-law from her nursing home in Indiana to an Alzheimer’s care facility very close to us in Arizona. Since her arrival, our days and nights have been filled with addressing all of her needs in her new home. We visit her several days a week, sometimes twice. </div>
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Frequently, we join her at mealtimes, sometimes helping her eat when the shaking in her hand is too great to feed herself. In between times, we wheel her around the beautiful facility and answer the same questions and comment on the same things (furniture, decorations, people, nearby buildings, landscaping) over and over again. We fight with the insurance company when necessary — our latest victory was when we were finally able to score her a wheelchair of her own instead of rental. When schedule our visits when her physical therapist is there, our goal is to get her back on a walker, as she became wheelchair-bound when she was in Indiana.</div>
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It’s not all challenges, however, and that’s the purpose of the blog entry. My mother-in-law is generally a delight to be around. She makes us laugh with her sometimes shocking commentary about her observations and thoughts in the moment. Even though her short-term memory is gone, she does remember distant events like they just happened yesterday. She always seems happy to see us and a little sad when we have to leave. It tugs at my heart every time we say goodbye to her.</div>
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We’ve gotten to know many of the other residents and their families, along with all the staff, in the short time she’s been out here. It’s amazing to witness first hand the varying degrees the disease affects the residents and how different it manifests itself in each of them. I’ve grown fond of a few of them and enjoy talking to them and hearing their comments on various things and stories of their lives. I think the saddest part is when those who are still cognizant of their surroundings express sadness / frustration at their declining abilities. Thankfully, my mother-in-law is past that stage, but for those who know what’s happening to them, it’s more than a little heartbreaking.</div>
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You get to know the unusual habits of the residents, many of which can be grouped into categories. There are the “wanderers” — those who constantly walk around the hallways, trying to open every door they find, including those controlled by numeric keypads, in a desperate attempt to spring themselves from their environs. More than once, we’ve watched as these wanderers are gently given an assist away from the doors or out of rooms, usually with an arm linked in theirs and another arm guiding them away … not forcibly, mind you, but firmly.</div>
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There are the “shoppers” who walk away with any loose items lying out. Within the first two days my mother-in-law was there, someone walked off with her wheelchair’s footrests and it took almost a month to find them. By then, they had landed in a locked storage room along with at least another thirty pairs of footrests. No doubt many of them landed in the rooms of these shoppers and relocated.</div>
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We’ve talked to former priests and bankers, writers and teachers, all of whom at one time had full cognizance and led happy lives and now lived with declining faculties. Many of these residents have spouses who come to visit and we’ve gotten to know well. At “our” dinner table, the husbands of two of the residents join them and we sit there with them, talking, helping where needed and generally “being there.”</div>
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Of course, there are the sudden deaths that happen in such facilities. As terrible as Alzheimer’s / dementia is, it’s all a death sentence. As the disease continues to take over the brain, even basic functions begin to be affect and while most expire from secondary conditions (strokes, heart attacks, pneumonia), some do pass because their organs simply stop functioning because their brains no longer can control them.</div>
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In the month that my mother-in-law has been at this facility, she already lost a roommate, a sweet, but obviously distressed woman who died in the middle of the night. Thankfully, my mother-in-law slept through what must of been an anguishing experience. But her new roommate is bedridden and always seems to be asleep; our guess is she’s under hospice care and may not last very long, either.</div>
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As you interact with these residents, you can’t help but wonder if and when your time will come. My maternal grandmother was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s in her 90’s and lived only a few years with the disease before she died. In my wife’s family, besides her mother, her great uncle and aunt (twins) both have the disease as did her maternal grandfather (when they called it “senility” brought upon by “hardening of the arteries.”). If Alzheimer’s is in your gene pool, you tend to think about it … a lot!<br />
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To all those who live with the disease, both the sufferers and their families, I wish you peace and strength in your battles, both the daily ones and the over all one. As so many elderly people have told me before, it sucks to get old … so the best advice is to enjoy your good years while you have them.</div>
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Michael C. Cordellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09965617497632908328noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2783257384115495596.post-59885456478783261412015-01-24T10:52:00.000-08:002015-01-24T11:11:39.162-08:00Angelo Breathes Again - IndieGoGo Campaign<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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My friend, the talented filmmaker and screenwriter Angelo Bell, recently got out of the hospital after experiencing a <a href="http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/21705903" target="_blank"><span style="color: red;">saddle pulmonary embolism</span></a>, a condition that could have been fatal had he not received prompt medical attention. While the bulk of his medical costs are covered, he's still responsible for a part of it, which is breaking his budget and putting an undue financial strain on him. As a result, he's started an <a href="https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/angelo-breathes-again" target="_blank"><span style="color: red;">IndieGoGo campaign</span></a> to solicit donations for those costs.</div>
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<br />How will this money be used? I'll let Angelo explain that and the incentives for you toward his goal:<br />
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<i>"Simply. All the money raised will go to help me catch up on rent and expenses, pay uncovered medical bills, buy meds and buy some cheap clothes (I lost so much weight 90% of my closet stuff is too big for me).</i></blockquote>
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<i>I have been given a second chance. I don't look at life the same way now. In order to take advantage of the opportunities before me I need to get settled financially and physically once again. Once I do that I'll be able to enjoy my children, my friends AND excel at my chosen profession -- PRODUCING GREAT CONTENT FOR FILM AND TELEVISION. This year I'm shooting a pilot dammit! My project BROKEN HEARTS CLUB has made the rounds on TV in the US, Canada, Italy, Belgium and the UAE. Now it's streaming on Amazon Instant Video. My indie thriller, RESURRECTION OF SERIOUS ROGERS has been downloaded over 40,000 times from all over the world. Last year a script analyst compared my screenplay, A PERFECT WEAPON to the Coen Brother's film, NO COUNTRY FOR OLD MEN. In the past 24 months I've met with executives at NBCUniversal 24 times to pitch TV show ideas to NBC, and ESQUIRE.</i></blockquote>
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<i>I just want to look back at 2014 and shake my head and whisper, "You didn't beat me!"</i></blockquote>
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<i>I HAVE SOMETHING FOR YOU :)</i></blockquote>
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<i>When you donate $25 or more you will receive a Twitter THANK YOU, a Facebook ATTABOY... PLUS: you'll get digital downloads of my best movies and screenplays, PLUS you'll be added to my private mailing list where you receive a FREE copy of any and every movie, screenplay or TV show I personally create PERIOD! FROM NOW ON."</i></blockquote>
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If you're the type of person who likes to donate to a worthy cause, but don't do so because you don't know where the money will really go, then this is your chance to <u>really</u> make a difference in the life of a human being and father of four beautiful children. <b>Please</b> click <a href="https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/angelo-breathes-again" target="_blank"><span style="color: red;">here</span></a> to contribute. Angelo and his children really appreciate the help.<br />
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Thanks!
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Michael C. Cordellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09965617497632908328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2783257384115495596.post-38143501470219188532014-06-27T22:29:00.000-07:002014-06-27T22:29:33.657-07:00How I Use Evernote For My Writing (and Why You Should, Too)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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YNSkjhlAH/9k=" 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NSkjhlAH/9k=" style="margin-top: 0px;" title="http://themyndset.com/2011/09/the-five-greatest-productivity-tools-evernote-2-of-5/" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’m s</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">ure most writers in this day and age have their preferred digital method of keeping track of their writing. I’ve talked to my peers who use everything from a simple word processing “notebook” to a spreadsheet all the way through applications written for the exact purpose of allowin</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">g scribes to stay organized.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For years, I used OneNote from Microsoft, but at the time I switched to a Mac, I no longer had that option. As luck with have it, I stumbled on a new (at least then) <i>free</i> multi-platform tool that allowed me to maintain access to my notes from my desktop as well as on the road and found it to be perfect for me: <a href="https://evernote.com/"><span class="s1">Evernote</span></a>, by the Evernote Corporation.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Like OneNote, Evernote doesn’t force you into any structured methodology — it provides you the tools and widgets and lets you decided how to leverage them. So while my process won’t necessarily appeal to you, perhaps it will give you some ideas on how to better use the software or switch to it, if you’re not familiar with it and want to try something new.</span></div>
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<b><span style="color: red; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Starting with Notebooks</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Generally speaking, I respect hierarchies, especially those that make my life easier, and since I usually have several active works-in-progress, I find writing hierarchies imperative. In this case, a logical breakdown in separate notebooks helps me keep my thoughts orderly and compartmentalized. My most active ones are:</span></div>
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<li class="li1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Daily Pages</b> — This is my core notebook and contains a single page for every day. The first thing I do when I wake up is create a new page simply titled with the day’s date. These pages contain anything I create that’s not for a WIP throughout the day. These can include, but aren’t limited to, the following:</span></li>
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<li class="li1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="s2"><u>Titles</u></span>: Frequently, an interesting title just pops into my head and even though I may not have anything more to go with at the moment, I’ll jot it down anyway. Many of my stories have just started with a title and then weeks / months later, I see it when scanning my notes and the story idea (or storyline) just appears.</span></li>
</ul>
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<li class="li1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="s2"><u>Opening lines</u></span>: Sometimes, I either have a good opening line come to me or I’ll just sit down and write opening lines that I think will lead to more down the road. It’s a good creative exercise I use to warm up if I have nothing in the WIP queue I want to begin continue working on.</span></li>
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<li class="li1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="s2"><u>Story ideas / Loglines</u></span>: Frequently, I get an idea that’s not necessarily fully formed, but still can be expressed in a few sentences. I call these “story ideas” (or if they’re better suited for a screenplay, the industry term “loglines”). They can be framed in the form of a “what if” question, for example — or anything that gives enough to work with when I’m ready to develop it further.</span></li>
</ul>
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<li class="li1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="s2"><u>Storylines</u></span>: Storylines are extended versions of story ideas / loglines. They are fully formed, but short, story synopses with a definable throughline, usually comprised of at least three paragraphs representing the beginning, middle and end of the story in question. Each storyline's premise is clearly defined, the hero’s journey is delineated from start to finish and key conflicts are called out. Storylines are usually the most “dangerous” because they can derail me from my current WIPs in order to further develop the idea while the storyline is still fresh in my mind.</span></li>
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<li class="li1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="s2"><u>Snippets</u></span>: Very often, I start with an opening line of a story and then write several paragraphs from that until I’ve drained the well from which the idea came or I’m falling asleep at my computer. Just like storylines, snippets can derail me from a fully planned schedule. I tend not to force myself to stop during these writing frenzies simply because I feel anything I can get out of my brain and down on digital paper is a good idea, even if I never use what I write ever again. More often then not, though, I do continue from where I left off weeks, even months, down the road.</span></li>
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<li class="li1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="s2"><u>Scenes</u></span>: Similar to snippets, sometimes an opening scene for a screenplay comes out of nowhere and I just write to see where it goes. As usually happens, I’ll write several scenes before I stop and transfer it over to Final Draft to continue. Two of my current WIPs began just like this — one of which I’m “pantsing” (just writing without an outline or any other formal story structure) from beginning to end), the other began as a pantsing project, but I stopped after fifteen pages and began outlining the rest. </span></li>
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<li class="li1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="s2"><u>Blogs</u></span>: These are blog ideas, either short one sentence descriptions or a few paragraphs (or bullet points) to make sure I capture the key elements of the intended post.</span></li>
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<li class="li1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="s2"><u>WIP progress</u></span>: In order to keep myself honest, I track progress on my current WIPs, but I don’t record word counts or hours worked on each. Instead, I just note the WIP and what scene(s) I’ve completed. As long as I can see steady headway, I’m satisfied … unless I’m on a deadline, of course, then I have a writing plan, a process that’s for a separate blog post.</span></li>
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<li class="li1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="s2"><u>Journal entries</u></span>: Though I don’t keep a formal journal, on those days where I can't get a lot of writing done because of something else — traveling, for instance — I at least mark a note on that day’s Daily Page indicating what I was doing instead of writing.</span></li>
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<li class="li1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Blogs</b> — While I use MacJournal for blogging on my Macbook Pro, sometimes I’m not able to continue with my current post because I’m in mobile mode. Since Evernote is multi-platform, it’s easy enough to copy my current WIP to a blog page in Evernote and keep writing on any one of my mobile devices. When I get back to my Mac, I simply transfer the updated post to MacJournal, format it, then upload it.</span></li>
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<li class="li1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Fodder</b> — In conjunction with the Evernote Web Clipper (see below), I capture interesting / unique news stories and other oddities that could one day be grist for the writing mill. I may never look at it again, but with Evernote’s search function, I can find virtually anything I’ve had an interest in writing about. This is one of the handiest tools Evernote has.</span></li>
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<li class="li1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Writing</b> — Many times, I want to continue building on a story Idea and maintain it in an separate Evernote page. I dedicate the Writing notebook to these pages and with Evernote’s Table of Contents feature (see below), I can easily create an index to make it easier to pick up where I left off. At some point, though, the proverbial chick has to leave the nest and it must move on to my writing application ... usually Scrivener.</span></li>
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<b><span style="color: red; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The Importance of Tags</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The entire Daily Pages methodology would be severely limited if not for tags. My process is pretty simple: when I come up with a new Title, for example, I simply add “Title” in the tags. Other tags I commonly use include:</span></div>
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<li class="li1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Snippet</span></li>
<li class="li1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Blog</span></li>
<li class="li1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Journal</span></li>
<li class="li1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Opening line</span></li>
<li class="li1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Story idea</span></li>
<li class="li1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Storyline</span></li>
<li class="li1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Logline</span></li>
<li class="li1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Scene</span></li>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In addition, I use tags that are titles to my WIPs if I do anything creative for those projects in order for me to easily go back to see what days I worked on those WIPs.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">With Evernote’s filter capabilities, I can easily isolate pages by a specific tag. This definitely helps when trying to reorganize notebooks or consolidate pages related to a single WIP or entry type.</span></div>
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<b><span style="color: red; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The Web Clipper</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As noted above, Evernote has a browser extension they call the Web Clipper. What this clever little tool allows you to do is clip some or all of a web page and have it automatically be added to the notebook of your choice. While I use the Clipper to capture articles of general interest, I use it most to capture ideas for stories to write, placing them in the Fodder notebook mentioned earlier. The Clipper is somewhat intuitive in that it is able to figure out into which notebook the clipped page is likely to fit. More often than not, it’s correct, too, but it’s easy to change to another notebook if you prefer it elsewhere. The Clipper makes life so much easier.</span></div>
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<b><span style="color: red; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Using Note Links & Tables of Contents</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Another great feature of Evernote is the ability to create note links — links to other note pages anywhere within your Evernote library — and an offshoot of that, creating a table of contents of links to pages within a single notebook. This latter capability is particularly handy for my Writing notebook which consists of over one hundred partially written stories: I can easily jump to any story I’d like to continue working on after I scan a page of links to choose from. Another great use of note links: adding a link to a “fodder” page as a reference for a story I’m writing. This way I won’t have to copy the content of the entire clipped page into the story page itself. Pretty neat.</span></div>
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<b><span style="color: red; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Other Bells & Whistles</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">While there are too many other features of Evernote to describe here, there are a couple of others worth mentioning that I use a lot of: bulleted lists and horizontal lines. Because I tend to "think in outlines" even when I’m pantsing (this goes back to my days as a software developer where I would have to write hundreds of lines of code on the fly), I like to capture ideas in bulleted form. Evernote provides the ability to create numbered lists as well, a feature I rarely use. A button to create horizontal lines is also quite helpful: I use those to separate activities / writings within a single Daily Page, for example. For me, it helps keep the page looking neat and organized.</span></div>
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<b><span style="color: red; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Pulling It All Together</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">All of these features make Evernote a pretty powerful tool, but no collection of features is worth anything if you can’t use them effectively. Here is a overview how my “typical” writing day goes with Evernote. I put typical in quotes because there is no such thing in reality.</span></div>
<ul class="ul1">
<li class="li1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Create a new Daily Page and title it with the day’s date (“June 27, 2014”).</span></li>
<li class="li1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Any ideas that stayed with me from my dreams get written down with a descriptor for what type it is preceding it. For example, “Title: <i>Title of an Amazing New Story.”</i></span></li>
<li class="li1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Add “Title” as a tag.</span></li>
<li class="li1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Insert a horizontal line after the aforementioned title.</span></li>
<li class="li1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If my brain is ready to pick up from a WIP, I would do the work on the WIP until I stop, then go back to the Daily Page and write “<i>WIP Name — scene N.”</i></span></li>
<li class="li1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Add the WIP name as a tag.</span></li>
<li class="li1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Insert a horizontal line after that note.</span></li>
<li class="li1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And so on.</span></li>
</ul>
<div class="p1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">At the end of my writing day, I have an idea of what occupied my creative efforts in chronological order. Not too shabby.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So will all this make you a better writer? Maybe yes, maybe no. However, it certainly will make you a more organized one and that usually leads to being a better <i>something</i>. If you a process or a tool that works for you, then you’re probably better off than 80% of other writers. Keeping organized requires constant attention — and tweaking — in order to be successful. If you have no process, who knows, maybe I’ve given you a framework from which to build. In any case, Evernote is a free software program worth exploring.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One final word: I know that OneNote is now available on the Mac, and while I use it for access to my old notes on occasion, I am too entrenched in my Evernote world … and I like it that way. ☺ </span></div>
</div>
Michael C. Cordellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09965617497632908328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2783257384115495596.post-85963024243063261072014-06-04T07:26:00.000-07:002014-06-05T17:14:41.421-07:00(Un)Follow Me, (Un)Follow You<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="https://encrypted-tbn1.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSNnAHCgB28ZJuyDHIFfWakRP45PnIJUef8qer43pth8bpMv0DN" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" class="rg_i" data-src="https://encrypted-tbn1.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSNnAHCgB28ZJuyDHIFfWakRP45PnIJUef8qer43pth8bpMv0DN" data-sz="f" name="fIEZG5NruKxPXM:" src="https://encrypted-tbn1.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSNnAHCgB28ZJuyDHIFfWakRP45PnIJUef8qer43pth8bpMv0DN" style="height: 205px; margin-top: 0px; width: 205px;" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One o</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">f the reasons I enjoy penning short stories across a diverse spectrum of topics is because I get to write about a wide array of characters in myriad story situations. No matter what you write — poetry or prose, novels, short stories, screenplays, song lyrics — in order to be successful, you need to be a lifelong student of human behavior. Even if you only write about cyborgs, your creations usually mimic core aspects of how people act or at least within the framework of your story world’s ethos.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Social media sites provide so many tangibles that are well-known — you get to interact with so many individuals across the entire world and get to hear opinions and ideas that aren’t those you normally subscribe to or even thought about. But the mere ebb and flow of contacts on sites such as <a href="http://www.twitter.com/socalvillaguy">Twitter</a> are also petri dishes for understanding a lot about human nature.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’ve been an active member of Twitter since April 2008 or this as provided by <a href="http://www.howlonghavei.com/">http://www.howlonghavei.com/</a>:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img alt="screenshot-2014-06-4-07-26.png" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-ZofGdgcIwnU/U4_2pQNXykI/AAAAAAAAA10/i-wT_KijK1Q/screenshot-2014-06-4-07-26.png" /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In those years, I’ve been able to classify the 7 types of followers I’ve had.</span><br />
<strong style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"><br /></strong>
<strong style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">Analysis of Twitter Followers</strong><br />
<ul style="list-style-type: disc;"><ol style="list-style-type: decimal;">
<li><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Spammers, from the “how to increase followers” type to the ubiquitous purveyors of porn as well as trolls with politics opposite of mine.</b> These I automatically block and in the case of the porn people, report.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Social media “experts,” SEO / marketing geniuses, and the like.</b> These I rarely, if ever, follow back. What makes these folks so top in their fields isn’t what they do, but what they try to get you to believe that they do.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Entrepreneurs of all types.</b> Unless it’s a product or service that interests me (which is rare), I typically don’t follow back.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Artists/musicians/filmmakers/writers, aspiring or established.</b> These folks I usually follow back, especially if I find their last dozen or more tweets interesting / compelling.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Like-minded individuals.</b> I have myriad interests that I list in my Twitter profile — beyond writing — so anyone searching for those who are into the same things that I am will more often than not find me. I almost always follow them back.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Friends / colleagues / collaborators.</b> It goes without saying that I always follow them back.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>No idea why they’re following.</b> Much like everyone else who has been Twitter a long time, I have my share of I-have-no-idea-why-they’re-following-me followers. Mayors of towns I never heard of, car dealers all the way on the other side of the country, and others. I often tweet them and ask if they’ve made a mistake, but usually don’t follow them back.</span></li>
</ol>
</ul>
<h2 style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"><strong>Analysis of Twitter UNFollowers</strong></span></h2>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But the big reveal in human nature isn’t who follows you, but who, when and why they UNFOLLOW you. I recently joined </span><a href="http://unfollowers.com/" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Unfollowers.com</a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">, a site that really does give you insight into that aspect of Twitter dynamics missing in the past. For years, as I watched my follower count ebb and flow, I wondered what was going on behind the scenes. </span><a href="http://unfollowers.com/" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Unfollowers.com</a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> helps me do that. Here’s what I learned.</span><br />
<ul style="list-style-type: disc;"><ul style="list-style-type: hyphen;">
<li><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><strong>More than half of followers unfollow within a week if not followed back.</strong> This usually is the case with those from Category 2 and tells me that for the most part, they are just trying to crank up their follower count and nothing more. It’s all a numbers game for them and as soon as they see you’re not jumping onboard, they unfollow and move on. Similar for those in Category 3 … if you’re not interested in what they have to offer, it’s adios.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><strong>About 10-20% unfollow within a month of following them back.</strong> Usually these are from Category 4. This can be attributed to a few things, including just wanting to build their follower count quickly, but mostly want to maintain a favorable following/follower count — they unfollow in hopes I wouldn’t notice. Now I do.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><strong>Approximately 5% or less of Category 5 followers unfollow.</strong> When they do, I always wonder:</span><ul style="list-style-type: hyphen;">
<li><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>Did I tweet something to offend them?</i></span><ul style="list-style-type: hyphen;">
<li><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Certainly possible, I am pretty opinionated politically. Whether my comments on national and world affairs is a benefit or detriment for my social media reputation is a discussion for another post.</span></li>
</ul>
</li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>Did I not tweet enough regarding their preferred topic?</i></span><ul style="list-style-type: hyphen;">
<li><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Certainly possible. I have a myriad of interests & may not focus on their preference during the window they’re following me.</span></li>
</ul>
</li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>Did I not interact with them enough (or at all)?</i></span><ul style="list-style-type: hyphen;">
<li><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Certainly possible. I have a good number of followers & while I try to interact with many of them, it’s not possible to do so with all of them.</span></li>
</ul>
</li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>Did I not retweet them enough?</i></span><ul style="list-style-type: hyphen;">
<li><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Certainly possible, for the same reason as noted above. I do like to pimp my followers’ announcements and never expect reciprocation, but there are only so many hours in a day to do that and I can’t do that for everyone.</span></li>
</ul>
</li>
</ul>
</li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><strong>Less than 1% of Category 6 followers unfollow.</strong> When they do, I have to say, I’m always surprised, but I am only able to offer a weak guess as to why — though I never, ever ask. Everyone has their reasons and don’t deserve to be challenged and besides, it’s probably best NOT to know.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><strong>Those in category 7, the odd ducks.</strong> They unfollow eventually … usually. I have to admit, they amuse me no matter what they do.</span></li>
</ul>
</ul>
<h2 style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"><strong>What Does It All MEAN?</strong></span></h2>
<h2 style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;">In the end, there are a few conclusions I can offer:</span></span></h2>
<ul style="list-style-type: disc;">
<li><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As a writer, you can’t ignore social media as a tool for building your audience, but more importantly, to connect with real life people, many of whom are walking the same path you are. We are often an introverted lot, so interaction with our fellow humans, even virtually, is better than shutting ourselves in a 10’x10’ room with a typewriter and a bag of Doritos. The folks I’ve met and have gotten to know quite well on Twitter, Facebook and the rest are just like you are and damned fine people to boot.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Just as in the “real” world, there are so many on social media gaming the system, looking for a way to get ahead by any and all means. You can learn much from their behavior and if you’re smart, you’ll use that intelligence when you’re developing your characters. I know I have.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If you’re lucky, you may learn much about yourself and how you respond when someone unfollows you. If you’re curious, I almost always reciprocate. :-)</span></li>
</ul>
</div>
Michael C. Cordellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09965617497632908328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2783257384115495596.post-90490378870283458852014-03-12T10:46:00.000-07:002014-03-12T11:10:08.637-07:00Quantity First<p>Long time, no blog. This place is awfully dusty. I need to bring someone in to clean up. Explaining my absence …</p><p>The last year-and-a-half has been, in the words of many a sage, a “challenge.” In short, my wife was diagnosed with breast cancer in October 2012, a situation that basically consumed a large part of our lives until February of this year. While all this was happening, two other life events came up, one of which was self-imposed — my mother-in-law was diagnosed with dementia and was put under the care of a state-appointed guardian and we decided to take advantage of the sellers’ market in California and move to Arizona.</p><p>Good news does usually seem to arise from bad situations, however. First, my wife is fully recovered and doing very well. We look forward to many, many cancer-free years. Because of this and my own past health scare, we decided to move out of our stressful lives on the west coast and take refuge in Phoenix’s West Valley. This was the smartest choice we ever could have made for ourselves.</p><p>As for my wife’s mother, we are happy that at least she’s in a good nursing home and is being cared for. My wife is an only child and all this happening with her mom occurred in the midst of all her treatments, preventing her from going back and dealing with what appeared to be her declining mental faculties (a challenge since she lives so far away from us). At 76, she’s healthy, safe and in good hands now — and she’s no longer smoking — my wife’s now leaning to deal with the new normal of sharing guardianship with a stranger.</p><p>Creativity doesn’t take a holiday, of course, and last year was no exception. I was not happy with my production, however, and didn’t quite hit my quota, though I did satisfy all my commitments in spite of schedule somewhat in flux most of the time.</p><p>This year, however, we’re off like a bottle rocket. I already conceived of and wrote the first draft of a new screenplay and just finished the first draft of a new novella. Now I’m in the midst of editing a novel I began a couple of years ago during the only NaNoWriMo I participated in and soon will be picking up where I left off. My goal is to finish that first draft by June 1st. After that, I’m going back to my TV sitcom project and finishing off the “bible,” from which I hope to be able to get pitched to some of the networks.</p><p>So, as the title says, this year’s all about quantity — output first, editing and polishing second. This will be done while increasing my blogging output and working on committed editing and writing projects for others.</p><p>Stay tuned?</p><p>~ Michael</p>Michael C. Cordellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09965617497632908328noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2783257384115495596.post-12962916927470792232012-08-26T09:45:00.000-07:002012-08-26T09:45:12.948-07:00Tropes<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The word “trope” is one of my favorite writing terms. It refers to a creative device that’s not quite a cliché, but is sufficiently familiar as to be recognizable to the reader (or viewer of it’s regarding a movie or TV program). Tropes have been on my mind a lot lately. One of my many side projects these days is writing a treatment for a television sitcom that I think will strike the right chord in these times. Including tropes in the sample episodes is a necessary evil and somewhat tricky business, too. You want to put in some familiar gags to give the audience a comfort level with the material, but at the same time, you want to avoid coming off a hackneyed and stale.<br />
<br />
So it’s no surprise that when I was at the Y the other day and found myself without my ear buds, that the thought of tropes returned to keep my mind occupied while I did my cardio workout. As a mental exercise, I came up with an example of a trope that could be used in different ways within a similar scenario.<br />
<br />
The scene takes place in a health club, full of all kinds of fancy machines and attractive people in exercise gear. Most everyone is very fit, though you may have a few “regular” people working out among them. Enter your main character, a guy ready to exercise. Let’s call him Joe. The basic action in the scene is this: Joe walks over to an unoccupied treadmill, gets on it and falls, at least once, due to his ineptitude, cockiness or any number of other reasons. As he lies in a heap, bruised and humiliated, he becomes an object of ridicule, ending the scene.<br />
<br />
Sound familiar? Could be something that happens to Howard Wolowitz from <em>The Big Bang Theory</em> or Mr. Bean (or even Jack Tripper, in <em>Three’s Company</em>, if you’re a 70’s TV fan), right? Will you laugh even if you saw this in another show before? More than likely, yes, because one of the basic rules of comedy is people laugh when others fall down, as long as they don’t really get hurt.<br />
<br />
Let’s see this in action. Here is the scene with two different Joes. <br />
<br />
Joe #1 is a macho guy. He looks like he’s been working out for years, but he’s not a muscle-bound weightlifter. He’s dressed in the most gaudy workout clothes out there, designed to emphasize his physique. You know the kind of guy I’m talking about. Anyway, this Joe walks in like he owns the place. He scans the gym slowly, an animal on the hunt. He’s obviously looking to see if there are any hot women he can flex for. He spies some lovely ladies near an unoccupied treadmill, so he strides over to the machine and climbs on. Joe looks left, then right, smiling his most winning smile at the two women, then starts up the treadmill. Everything seems to be going fine at first as Joe trots at a low speed. He’s looking good (he thinks), smiling as though there’s nothing to this and nods to the two women like “this is the way it’s done.” For their part, neither woman really respond much, something not lost on our friend. <br />
<br />
Then Joe decides it’s time to pick up the pace to raise the stakes, so he hits a button or two and starts jogging faster. He looks at the two ladies again, but they’re unimpressed as they continue their own exercise. Not to be daunted, Joe hits the button several more times until the treadmill is turning at an almost maniacal pace. Now it looks like Joe can barely keep up, but he keeps that rictus of a smile plastered on his face as he struggles to pump his legs fast enough to match the machine’s speed. He then makes the fatal mistake of looking at both women to see if they’re watching and KA-BLAM, he slips and the treadmill launches him backwards on his butt. The two women finish their exercise and towel themselves off as they step over the now prone Joe.<br />
<br />
Pretty funny, right?<br />
<br />
Joe #2 is totally different. He’s a geeky-looking fellow, not conditioned at all, wearing unfashionable clothes -- checkered shorts, extra long athletic socks, an “E = MC<span style="font-size: xx-small; vertical-align: super;">2</span>” T-shirt, and the like. It’s obvious he’s probably never stepped into a gym before and he appears to be lost with all the bustling activity going on, not to mention all the machines standing like trees in a metal forest. He wanders sort of aimlessly, looking with more than casual interest at some of the other exercisers and appears a bit befuddled by their obvious skill. He backs up and bumps into an unoccupied treadmill. A woman comes up to him and asks if he’s using it and looking confused, he stammers he is, then climbs on. Joe stares at the panel with all the buttons and lights and tries to figure it out. The woman looks on and asks if he needs any help, but of course, Joe’s ego is going to trump his common sense here and he declines. He pushes one button and nothing happens. Then he pushes a second one and the treadmill begins to turn. Joe has to grip the handrails to prevent falling over and straddles the moving belt, watching as it rolls under him. Still hovering over him, the woman tells him he needs to step on the belt and walk at the pace it is moving. Joe thanks her and tries it. <br />
<br />
To his surprise, he’s moving along quite nicely and he smiles, pleased with himself. Unfortunately, curiosity creeps in and he can’t help but push another button to see what happens. The machine speeds up and Joe barely keeps his feet while maintaining the treadmill’s pace. Somehow, the machine speeds up some more without Joe’s intercession this time and he’s now struggling to keep up. The machine ramps up another notch and now Joe is running as fast as he can, panting like a madman. The woman tells him to hit the red button, but Joe can’t hear her over the roar of the machine. She yells again, “The red button!” and he repeats it after her, then sees the button she means. He presses it; the machine stop immediately, but Joe isn’t expecting that and his forward momentum sends him careering over the top of the treadmill and he lands face first in front everyone. The woman walks over to him, bends down and instead of asking him if he’s okay, she wants to know if he’s done using the machine now. He replies with a resigned “yes.”<br />
<br />
Can you picture it?<br />
<br />
I’m sure you can imagine other Joe scenarios (like Joe who has a crush on one particular woman, sees her there and wants to impress her on the treadmill, and his shoe lace gets caught in the mechanism, sending him flying). Or what about if you add a prankster to the mix? Either it’s a friend or rival in any of the above circumstances who sabotages the machine while Joe is on it -- say by stepping on the back of the belt or pulling the plug -- and the consequences are the same with poor Joe sailing this way or that, landing on some body part that’s going to hurt like hell later.<br />
<br />
Want to know more about tropes? Check out this <a href="http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/HomePage" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">link</a>.<br />
<br />
Tropes, my friends -- fun for the whole family, don’t you think?<br />
<br />
- Michael</div>
Michael C. Cordellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09965617497632908328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2783257384115495596.post-40596378597514898952012-08-25T11:30:00.000-07:002012-08-25T11:19:22.584-07:00Organizational Me<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Those people who know me are quite familiar with my lifelong preoccupation with organization and its scion, time management. That’s not to say in this area I’m practically perfect in every way (to quote a description of Mary Poppins) -- God knows my wife can point to examples of my LACK of organization, to be sure. However, in certain areas of my life, most notably my writing, I’m forever actively pursuing my ideal world and devote much time to the effort.<br />
<br />
For many years, I’ve used Microsoft OneNote to keep my writing organized. OneNote allows you to create a notebook-like structure that you can arrange to handle all of your writing needs. For example, since I write many different types of pieces, I break mine down from top down beginning with Movies, Television, Non-Fiction and Fiction. Both Movies and Television are broken down into Comedy, Drama and Action / Adventure. Under Fiction, there are Novels, Novellas and Short Stories. Under Non-Fiction, you’ll find General Essays, Technology and Blogs. Each of these is split further until I finally get to different sections for each work-in-progress, with a separate section for story ideas and snippets, the latter of which is just a container for fragments of prose I compose out of the blue with no other intended purpose other than to get an idea out of my head and maybe use some day.<br />
<br />
Unfortunately, OneNote is not a cross-platform product, leaving me bereft when I migrated to the Macintosh. For a while, I continued to run OneNote on a Windows virtual machine, but that grew old pretty quickly. Then I discovered Evernote, a true cross-platform product that allows you to maintain your data in a cloud and makes it accessible to all your IOS, OSX and Windows devices. I found my nirvana! The only challenge was moving all my data from OneNote to Evernote. There was no easy migration path that I could figure out, so I did what anyone would do - I avoided it.<br />
<br />
For the last few years, I adapted Evernote into my organizational system, only moving some of my active WIPs from OneNote into it, but leaving 90% of my older unfinished material to gather digital dust. Until recently, that is. <br />
<br />
I finally broke down and began the long arduous process of moving all my old data into Evernote. It took several weeks to go through everything I had and then rearrange Evernote to accommodate it all. I tried to maintain the same organizational system in Evernote that I had in OneNote, but I had matured that process significantly in Evernote. Besides, since Evernote doesn’t have multiple layers of hierarchy (unlike OneNote), I had to learn to live within the two-layer system they have and then figure out how to go from conform my old structure to my new one. Trust me, this was a lot more work than it sounds like.<br />
<br />
In the end, I’m pleased with the results. All of my legitimate projects (current and future) now reside in their own Evernote folder, with story ideas, snippets, fodder (web articles with potential story material), articles and the like all occupying their own folders. I have documents in a general Writing folder dedicated to Titles (book, story, whatever), Names (people and places, of either real or made-up names), Opening Lines (starting sentences that just come to me) and Loglines (single sentences describing a film idea, like “An amateur scientist discovers the secret to immortality, only to discover that the government will do anything to prevent the invention from getting into the wrong hands.”).<br />
<br />
The best part of this exercise is not only did I pick out the next twelve stories in the last of the <em>Foothills </em>collections (tentatively entitled <em>Life Beyond the Foothills</em>), I have another dozen as back-up (for another collection down the road), PLUS I have thirty-six more for a three-book sci-fi series of twelve stories each. Not all of these stories are complete yet -- some are merely titles and general plots, others are halfway through the first draft, etc. However, I’m now ready to start the next book for real!<br />
<br />
Stay tuned for more …<br />
<br />
Michael</div>
Michael C. Cordellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09965617497632908328noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2783257384115495596.post-4378079452206155922012-08-06T16:12:00.000-07:002012-08-07T06:36:36.674-07:00Labor of Love<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Slightly longer than four years to the day, I published my second short story collection, <em>Secrets of the Foothills</em>. This book is the second of three books in the <em>Foothills</em> series, the first of which was entitled <em>In The Foothills</em>. [Ed. the capital “T” in “the” was completely intentional. Don’t ask.]. If everything goes according to plan, the final collection will be published in less than two years from now.<br />
What keeps authors driving toward completion, especially when faced with the daunting task of creating from scratch a plausible narrative, rewriting, editing and polishing the draft so that it sparkles, handing it off to beta readers and editors who red-line the hell out of it, rewrite, re-edit and re-polish and so on, only to send it timidly into bookshelves (virtual and real) throughout the world?<br />
<br />
<strong>Simply put, insanity. </strong><br />
<strong><br /></strong>
Sure, you were expecting something more poetic with the title “Labor of Love,” but in truth, we authors have to be a little bit out there to do what we do. The same goes for artists in any medium, I guess. Voluntarily baring one’s soul for a public flogging certainly isn’t a sign of someone playing with a full deck, right? And yet we do it, willingly, gladly, even joyfully if we’re doing it right.<br />
What does it take to be a writer? Talent, sure. Guts, absolutely. But if you’re not a little bit eccentric, you may just be like Sisyphus pushing that big ol’ rock up that hill, year after year, typed line after typed line. It’s not going to work for you no matter what you do. If you’re not <em>non compos mantis</em>, you need not apply. Really.<br />
<br />
We writers are the odd ones, always looking off in the distance, trying to resolve some conflict our main characters have found themselves in, because God knows <em>we</em> didn’t put them there, right? Or when we finally show a little mercy to our protagonists, we’re busy dreaming of new ways to torture them. We’re sadists AND we’re masochists, it seems. Yeah, we’re normal alright, aren’t we?<br />
<br />
Of course, I’m just kidding. Who among us who take the craft of writing seriously could ever see ourselves doing anything else? We’re not crazy -- we just have something to say and want to do it in the only way we know how and damned the consequences. We want to create people or worlds or whole universes simply because we feel this is the best way our message can go out to get through to the right people, if only they would listen.<br />
<br />
Writing is truly a labor of love. It’s the best way I’ve found to say something profound and in an entertaining way. There’s power in knowing you can do that. You know what I mean, those of you who love to create. <br />
<br />
So, keep your pen sharp and your quill well-inked … and remember, publishing a book isn’t an end, it’s only permission to start a new one.<br />
<br />
~ Michael ~</div>Michael C. Cordellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09965617497632908328noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2783257384115495596.post-812184542553318072012-07-12T23:44:00.000-07:002012-07-13T00:00:41.940-07:00Wherein I Channel My Inner Hemingway<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Lately, I've been listening to <i>To Have and Have Not</i> on my Nano while working out at the gym, which was a novel by Ernest Hemingway on which a movie of the same name was loosely based. The film is one of my favorites from the 1940's because it stars Humphrey Bogart, one of my favorite actors of all time, and the nineteen year-old actress, Lauren Bacall.<br /></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>A variation on a tweet someone posted triggered the following vignette in the mode of the popular literature of the time, featuring the daring exploits of characters like Harry Morgan, Bogart's character in the film, or Sam Spade and Rick Blaine, two other roles Bogey played in <i>The Maltese Falcon</i> and <i>Casablanca</i>, respectively.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><u> </u></span><br />
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<div class="p1">
She smiled with the look of someone who knew all the answers. I couldn't help thinking she'd be a real knockout if she would wipe that smug grin off her face. Instead, it took all I had to sit in the same room with her, especially after what I knew. I had no choice, though. I had a job to do.</div>
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<br /></div>
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"Nothing to say, Mr. Bishop?" she said, her eyes narrowing like a cat about to pounce on an unsuspecting mouse. "I'm all ears."</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"And all wisecracks, too," I said to her with a sneer. "Look, let's put all our cards on the table, shall we?"</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
She grinned that grin again, then crossed her legs, one long stem slowly over the other, and leaned my way. "Sure. I call."</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"Fine, I'll play it your way. The way I see it, Mrs. Talbot, you had three chances to kill your husband. The first two, well, they'd be kind of messy and complicated. You don't strike me as all that bright to pull either of them off."</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
She batted her eyes and turned her finely chiseled profile where I could admire it. "Go on."</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
Look at her, I thought. So damn cool. Wait until I deliver the punch line.</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"Like I said, three chances. Number three has something to do with your husband's little drinking problem."</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"So he drank, so what?"</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"Drinking makes a man weak, that's all. Weak men make for stupid husbands. They tend to spend a little too much time hanging around with people who are even weaker."</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
She uncrossed her legs and leaned back, stretching those long limbs. I turned my head so as to not appear interested in the view, but she knew I couldn't help myself. She chuckled.</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"Lots of people are weak, Mr. Bishop. You must meet plenty in your business."</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
I pulled his last cigarette out of the pack and gestured with it. "Do you mind?"</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"Not at all. I'd join you, but I quit years ago. Please continue, though. This fairy tale you're telling is just getting interesting."</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
I lit the cigarette and walked to the other side of the room. She tried real hard not to watch me. I leaned against the wall and took a long drag on the butt.</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"Let's see, where was I?" I said.</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"Weak associates of my husband."</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"Oh, that's right. Your husband enjoyed the company of some women of, let's see, questionable morals?"</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"Questionable tastes, too."</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"You could say that. Anyway, the way I see it happening is this -- he was out cavorting with one of his dates--"</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
She sat up. "Dates? That's what the kids are calling them now?"</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
I laughed in spite of myself. "Just hear me out."</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"Go on, I'm listening. But hurry it up, I have my own 'date' tonight."</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"So he was cavorting pretty closely with this blonde number, but you had enough. So you followed them from the gin joint back over to that one room walk-up he kept for his private meetings."</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
She stood up and walked around the desk, then leaned against it with her perfect hip. "Sounds like it's getting interesting."</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"Quite so, in fact. You stayed in the shadows and entered the apartment building just behind them."</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
I watched her smirk and for a moment, wished I could shake her until she stopped her gloating.</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"You look perturbed. Was it something I said? I'm just wondering how I could've followed this loving couple into a locked apartment building," she said.</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
I jumped at the bait. "Locked? How did you know it was locked?"</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
She sat back on the desk and smiled. "An unlocked apartment building in <i>this</i> city? Let me tell you one thing, Mr. Bishop. My husband may have been a philandering drunk, but he was no fool. I lived with the man for five years and he was a nut for security."</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"That may be true, Mrs. Talbot, but he was a sloppy drunk. That night he made a fatal mistake."</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"What's that?"</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"Someone else -- another tenant, perhaps -- left the door ajar. Maybe something blocked it and your husband and his lady friend didn't notice in their, shall we say, 'festive' mood, leaving it ajar as well."</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"So what? I just waltzed on in there without a key? How did I get into his apartment then?"</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
I stubbed out the cigarette against the wall and waited a moment as I sized her up. She's going to make one gorgeous inmate, I thought.</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"Well?" she asked, now getting impatient. Good, I like impatient. It leads to mistakes.</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"This is how I see it. You waited outside the door for a while, imagining all the sins the dearly departed were committed, getting more and more steamed. A neighbor, a gentleman next door maybe, sees you, this somewhat attractive woman, pacing around the hallway, anxious to get inside. You explain you're the guy's secretary and you need to get in his place to get some papers for an important meeting your boss is having in the morning."</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
Her laugh started out as a soft chuckle, then crescendoed into a full-throated, bawdy laugh. I had seen this many times before and I waited her out.</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"Shall I go on?" I asked.</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"By all means."</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"So you flash your baby blues and maybe a bit of bare leg and the guy's drooling at your heels. It just so happens he has a spare key to the apartment, given to him by your husband in case of emergencies."</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"Like when important papers are needed?"</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"Yes, just like that. So he let's you in and without so much as a thank you, you close the door in his face and get to work."</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"And what work would that be, Mr. Bishop?"</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"Murder. The real world's oldest profession. Ask Cain."</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
She stuck out her chin in defiance. "You ask him."</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"Wish I could, Mrs. Talbot, wish I could. Were you ever your husband's keeper?"</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
I sat back and watched her jump off the desk and head toward the door. </div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"I think I've had enough of your questions, Mr. Bishop. I hired you to find my husband's murderer, not to make up stories about how I killed him. I loved Howard, more than anyone ever! To hear you tell it, I'm a cold-hearted killer and I'm nothing like that, I tell you."</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
She cried a few tears and pulled a hankie out of her bag, then dabbed her eyes. For a moment, I almost believed her. Almost.</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"Don't you want to know how the story ends?" I asked, taunting her.</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"I told you, I'm done here."</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"Then why aren't you walking out the door?"</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
Her shoulders slumped in defeat and she slid into the chair next to the desk. She didn't say anything, but her eyes begged me to end her misery. I was happy to comply.</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"Now here's where it gets interesting. You walk into the apartment, expecting them to be locked in the clinch in the living room. You planned to confront him, maybe break a lamp or ashtray or something. But he wasn't on the sofa necking with the blonde. The bedroom door was closed, but you could hear them in there."</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
She sank lower in her chair, the tears flowing for real now. I had her where I wanted her.</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"While the loving couple were making noise, you were getting madder and madder. Then you spotted the blonde's purse on the coffee table, so you decided to do a little snooping, figuring they were going to be busy for a while. As you were looking, you found a .38 stuff in one of those hidden pockets that come with those things. For a minute, you thought you'd leave it there, but something came over you. Disgust? Maybe. Jealousy? Probably."</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
Mrs. Talbot blew her nose in unladylike fashion and wiped her eyes again. Her mascara ran like a dime store watercolor, but she didn't seem to care how she looked at the moment. Her eyes told me to get on with it.</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"Just then, you heard the door knob rattle, but there was nowhere to hide. There you stood, your hand in some floozy's purse, holding her loaded gun and you were about to be confronted. The first one out the door was the blonde. She screamed when she saw you, but froze. Your husband, dressed only in his boxers, came running out to see what the commotion was and there you stood with that gun in your hand. He made a run for you and before you knew it, you pulled the trigger just once. Down he went like a sack of eight balls."</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
I opened up my desk drawer and pulled out a bottle and two shot glasses. I pulled out the cork and poured both glasses full, then walked them over to where she sat and placed one in front of her.</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"Drink," I told her. "You look like you can use a belt."</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
She shook her head, but watch me sip mine. After a moment, she picked up her glass and took a taste, then a little more.</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"Thanks, I needed that."</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"I figured. Mind if I continue?"</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
She just shrugged and took another sip of the rye. I took that as a go-ahead.</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"After you spill your husband's blood on his nice gray carpet, you confronted the blonde who now knelt down on the floor, cowering like a whipped dog. You told her to get up, but she just shook all the harder. You yanked her to her feet by her hair--"</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"Her hair? How would you know that?" she asked.</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"The cops found a clump of her hair with the damaged follicle at the crime scene. Forensics took note that the shaft was broken in two or three places. They theorized you pulled her up by her bottle blonde tresses."</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"Smart cops," she said, swallowing the last of the booze. "Hit me again, barkeep."</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
I laughed and gave her another dose. Celebrate while you still can, I thought.</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"Go on."</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"Not too much more to tell, really. The blonde stood there, shaking like a leaf in her unmentionables, begging you for mercy. You hit her hard, once, twice, with the back of your hand to her face. She spit out the blood along with the fake tooth you knocked out and forgot about. You turned and she thought you were going to leave. But she made one mistake -- she thanked you for sparing her."</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
Mrs. Talbot finished the second drink and sat back. "Go on, finish what you started," she said with a gesture of her hands.</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"You heard 'thank you' and you saw red. You turned the gun back toward her, aimed it at her head and shot her twice. She didn't stand a Chinook's chance in Hades. After that, you wiped off the gun and put it back into the blonde's purse, then left as quietly as you could. The neighbor was a nosy character, though, and had a lot to tell the cops when they interviewed him."</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"Like what?"</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"Well, Mrs. Talbot, I can't give away all the best parts, can I? You'll hear plenty at the trial anyway."</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
I lit another cigarette, satisfied I had done my job.</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"Give me one of those, will ya?" she said.</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"I thought you quit."</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"I did, but I could use one right now."</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
I flipped out a cigarette and handed it to her.</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"Light?"</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
I lit hers with the end of mine. No sense wasting a good match.</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"Thanks," she said, taking a deep drag and blowing out the smoke with her perfectly painted lips forming a tight circle, her eyes closed like she was lost in a dream. "So now what?"</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"The cops are on their way over. It's up to them."</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"What makes you think I'll stick around?"</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
I shrugged. "Where do you think you're going to run off to? Besides, maybe if you cooperate, the judge will go easy on you."</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"I see your point."</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"You're a funny one, Mrs. Talbot."</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"Why's that?"</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"There I was, telling you the entire story of how you committed a double homicide, even filling in conversations I figured you had even though I wasn't there to hear them and you didn't even challenge me on the details. What gives?"</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
She smiled, her well-manicured eyebrows arched quizzically. "Come now, Mr. Bishop, a girl has to keep a few secrets, doesn't she?"</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"What secrets might that be?" I asked, sensing a fuller rendering of the truth was coming. I sat back in my chair and laid my crossed legs on the desk. "Humor me."</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
She leaned toward me. "Oh, I admit your tale was pretty engaging and had me going for a minute. I almost felt like I did kill them. But you got it wrong."</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"How so?"</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"I was out of town the day my husband was murdered."</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
I jumped and sat up. "You mean to tell me that's your strongest hand?"</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"I'm just telling you what happened. You can decide whether or not it's the truth."</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"That a job for the cops."</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
Just then, the phone rang. I picked up the receiver and listened.</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"Bishop, it's O'Shea. Is the Talbot woman still with you?"</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"Why yes she is, Lieutenant," I said, winking at her. "In fact, she's sitting right across from me."</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"Well, we have a bit of a problem. Can you come down to the station?"</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"What about the girl?"</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"Don't worry about her now, just come down."</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"Alright, Lieutenant, if that's what you want. See you in an hour."</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
I hung up the phone and just stared at it.</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"Anything wrong?" she asked, a grin plastered on her face. A grin that said she had an ace in the hole and just went all in.</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"Nothing I can't handle. Look, I have to run. You're free to go."</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"Wait, what about the cops?" she asked, blowing smoke in my direction.</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
I leaned toward her. "Listen, I wouldn't get too cocky if I were you. The cops have enough evidence to put you away for life, if you're lucky. Me, I don't care whether they give you the chair or not. Just one thing -- I advise you don't get lost quite yet."</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
She stood up, stubbed out her cigarette and sauntered to the door. "Who, me? Lost? Why would I get lost? I'm an innocent woman."</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
With a final flip of her hair, she walked out the door and slammed it behind her.</div>
</div>Michael C. Cordellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09965617497632908328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2783257384115495596.post-78957311887246697272011-12-20T08:32:00.000-08:002011-12-25T11:54:46.909-08:00Why "A Christmas Story" Became a Classic<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Warning: if you haven’t seen the movie <em>A Christmas Story</em> even once, you will probably won’t get a lot out of this post and there are plenty of spoilers here to boot. If this describes you, by all means do yourself a favor this holiday season and SEE THIS MOVIE before you read this, especially if you’re one of those merry souls who feel your Christmas season isn’t complete unless you view the likes of Charlie Brown, Rudolph, Frosty and the Grinch. <em>A Christmas Story</em> is a modern classic that has the distinct privilege of being featured in a 24-hour marathon on TBS (the Turner Broadcasting System) and watched by millions of people every year. I watch it at least six times each marathon and love it more and more each time I see it.<br />
<br />
<strong>A Little Background</strong><br />
<br />
<em>A Christmas Story</em> is a 1983 movie based on short stories by American author and radio humorist Jean Shepherd from his book <em>In God We Trust, All Others Pay Cash</em>. Set in late 1930's / early 1940's Indiana, it follows the adventures of nine-year-old Ralphie Parker and his relentless pursuit and acquisition of his heart’s desire for Christmas: a Red Ryder BB gun. The film did not impress critics in its theatrical release and had limited audience enthusiasm, in part because holiday-themed movies were not in vogue during that time. Over the years, thanks to television and in particular the TBS marathons, the film has grown significantly in popularity and ranks near the top of all-time favorite holiday movies.<br />
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<strong>Story Structure</strong><br />
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<em>A Christmas Story</em> is easily contained within the 3-act story structure, with each act featuring Ralphie trying to convince an adult (his mother, his teacher and Santa Claus himself) that the BB gun would not be the instrument whereby he would “shoot his eye out” (an ongoing motif that links the acts). In all three cases, Ralphie’s elaborate methods to convince the adult in question of the safety of the toy are successfully foiled, but at the end of Act III, Ralphie’s father (the “Old Man”) comes in to save the day and makes sure Ralphie receives the gun from Santa.<br />
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The plot follows the basic pattern for all good stories: the hero (Ralphie) wants something so badly he’s willing to do whatever it takes — within reason, of course — to get it. Along the path of this journey, he is repeatedly thwarted from reaching his goal by stronger and stronger adversaries, increasing his desperation and lengths he’s willing to go until finally, when it appears his mission has failed, he gets what he worked so hard for. <br />
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<strong>Subplots Galore</strong><br />
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If you watch the movie enough times, you become intimately familiar with the subplots. Some of them:<br />
<ul style="list-style-type: square;">
<li>The Old Man’s constant war with the neighbor’s dogs</li>
<li>The Old Man’s constant war with inanimate objects (the furnace and family Oldsmobile)</li>
<li>The Old Man’s gift of creative cussing pulled out on many occasions</li>
<li>The infamous "Leg" lamp</li>
<li>Ralphie and his friends’ escalating confrontations with the neighborhood bully</li>
<li>Ralphie’s mother and her overprotectiveness of his younger brother</li>
<li>Ralphie’s finally receiving his long-awaited Little Orphan Annie decoder ring (and being disappointed by the “secret message” it provides)</li>
</ul>
All of this is played in the background to the overall theme: Christmas and Ralphie’s getting his perfect present on Christmas Day, mixed in with the odd daydream here and there, consistent with that which floats through any kid’s mind during a long and boring day.<br />
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<strong>Tying All of It Together</strong><br />
<strong><br /></strong>Unlike in lesser made films, the myriad subplots do not detract from the main story in this movie, but rather enhance it. At the end, Ralphie does get his gun — but he also beats up the bully so badly that he has to be pulled off the kid before he did him any serious damage, essentially providing satisfying closure for both dramatic points. The Old Man’s lost final battle with the neighbors’ dogs leads the family to enjoy a charming, but odd, Christmas dinner at a Chinese restaurant that remained a cherished memory for Ralphie (as narrator) for the rest of his life — as only delightfully strange events in our lives can do.<br />
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There are many other examples of how the subplots weave within the main story and/or the characters’ motivations and personalities. There’s not a bit of wasted dialog or action; any further editing would do irreparable damage to the overall effect of the film. <br />
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Thus the appeal of <em>A Christmas Story</em>: it cultivates a familiar storytelling approach with highly entertaining subplots that enhance the effect of the time and place, and thus, the overall feel.<br />
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<strong>Theme</strong><br />
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One can speculate on a number of themes. Here are a few examples:<br />
<ul style="list-style-type: square;">
<li>Persistance pays</li>
<li>If it’s worthwhile goal, it’s worth fighting for</li>
<li>Never come between a boy and his BB gun</li>
</ul>
No matter which one you decide on, though, there is plenty of subtext to consider.<br />
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<strong>Hidden Lesson?</strong><br />
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After Ralphie gets his gun, he rushes outside to try it. An ill-advised shot nearly causes what most of the adults in the movie already warned him about: he comes close to <em>really</em> shooting his eye out. However, thanks to some creative storytelling, Ralphie is able to successfully blame the near tragedy on something else, only eliciting the sympathy of his ever-supportive mother. Perhaps the lesson learned is this: adults really <em>do</em> know better than kids, but that knowledge is certainly limited to what input the parents have access to. True to form, however, movie heroes, even kids, always win the day, even through deception and subterfuge. Didn’t we all survive childhood with a bit of that?<br />
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<strong>Final Thoughts</strong><br />
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I’ve taken time to analyze my own feelings about what makes <em>The Christmas Story</em> such an enjoyable one to watch over and over again. Sure, it’s a little holiday tradition I’ve established for myself, coming from a very traditional (and large) extended family. We humans enjoy our little rituals, don’t we? ☺ <br />
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However, I think it’s more than that. Perhaps it’s the realism of the sets and the nostalgia they elicit. Or maybe it is, at the end, a heartwarming story about a young boy who gets his Christmas wish, courtesy of Santa (with an assist from a bighearted father who remembered his own boyhood). There certainly appears to be genuine affection expressed by the boys’ mother toward them and even an amused tolerance of her husband’s larger-than-life personality. I’m sure it’s all that and more, for me and for the many people who camp out in front of the TV every Christmas to watch it.<br />
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Merry Christmas to all!<br />
<br />
Michael</div>Michael C. Cordellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09965617497632908328noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2783257384115495596.post-40330827993171712152011-12-11T10:43:00.001-08:002011-12-11T11:25:33.336-08:00Playing Catch-Up (Ever So Briefly)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm not sure if I should be shocked or amused that the last post I made to this blog was back in early June. To say the year's flown by is not only a cliché, but a regular comment I keep hearing from both my off-line and online friends. What the hell is going on? Did someone speed up the timeline? I feel like it was just last week we were celebrating Christmas and here we are again, with only thirteen shopping days left.</span><br />
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">New Book</span></b><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What have I been doing, writing-wise, since June? To begin with, I decided to publish another collection of short stories again, this time without poetry. The working title is </span><i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Secrets of the Foothills</i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">, which is a spin-off from the first book, </span><i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In the Foothills</i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> (and yes, I have the title for the next one to follow this one). I have several stories completed, but unedited, for the new book, plus I have several stories plotted, but in various stages of completion. Needless to say, this has kept me very busy the second half of 2011. The book should be released by August 31st, 2012.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Screenplays & Television</b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">At the same time, I've also been busy working on my screenplays (I have several in various phases of development). Writing those takes a totally different mental state and is a welcome respite from the short story writing. I've been getting a lot of interest in my scripts lately, too, so perhaps the industry is opening up a bit. Can I get a witness? No? </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One of the most promising new projects I have in the entertainment genre is a TV series (a sitcom) that I think would be a hit, but as always, only with the right producer, director, cast and crew. I've already outlined a treatment with an entire season of plot lines written up. "All" I need to do is write up a synopsis for each episode and package the whole thing as a single treatment. Perhaps more to come on that later.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>The Idea Jar</b></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Finally, I made the "mistake" of opening up the idea jar. I do this sometimes and just collect random titles or phrases I read everywhere (including from Twitter), then writing them down to noodle on. From there, I just free-write a plot line based on the title alone. Amazing out of all of those, how many are viable future projects. To say I have more to write than I will have years to live is no exaggeration! Believe me, it takes a lot of discipline not to get sidetracked on any of these new ideas.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Seasons Greetings</b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That's all from our hill, where the wind doth blow and Christmas is nigh. Wishing you and yours all the best this holiday season (especially you Druids, from whom we get the quaint custom of dragging dead pine trees into our homes).</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />Peace,</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Michael</span></div>Michael C. Cordellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09965617497632908328noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2783257384115495596.post-50933435533902926472011-06-05T20:52:00.000-07:002011-06-06T00:12:29.990-07:00What's New - Week of May 29, 2011Good evening, gentle reader. June arrived at our little enclave with little fanfare. Rather, the infamous “June gloom” stopped by for its annual visit, promising a few weeks of un-summer-like weather. After a cold, wet winter and a cooler than normal spring, I’m starting to wonder whether the sunny California weather is just a myth anymore.<br /><br /><strong>On-Going Activities<br /><br /></strong>Editing remains the top activity lately, though I’ve done my share of writing, too. I spent part of the week going back through some of my other WIPs (short stories, this time) and editing them as well. I’m always pleased when I revisit any of my WIPs, especially after I let a lot of time go by, to see the work with new eyes, which enables me to make the piece even better. My advice to anyone editing their own work is to put it away for a while after the first draft (at least a month, unless you’re on a deadline), the return to it. It makes all the difference as far as what the finished product turns out to be.<br /><br />For example, this is a piece I began in January 2010 which I just edited for fun:<br /><br /><em><blockquote>They've only known him as The American. He lived in the small pink bungalow as close to the shore as was sensible. At times, the tide lapped within six feet of his front door, leaving eddies still swirling in their wake. When the summer storms arrived, the structure appeared to pitch against the angry winds, but no matter how strong the gales pounded the shore, the bungalow stayed upright and true. At those times, The American could be seen sitting on his front stoop, rocking back and forth, watching the storms' anger, almost challenging them to wash him out to sea. For fifteen years, maybe more, the man and his shelter survived all comers and stood stronger after each battle.<br /><br />The children from the neighboring towns dared each other all year long to say hello to him. Every once in a while, a brave soul or two would venture as far as the front door, but would lose their nerve before actually knocking, instead running away as though a ghost accosted them. The American could be seen standing on the front porch, surveying the hasty retreat of the brown-skinned urchins that tried to make contact with him.</blockquote></em><br /><br />Does the beginning make you want to learn more about this mysterious man?<br /><br /><strong>First Lines</strong><br /><br />Sometimes I like to indulge in an exercise of creating first lines for short stories (or longer works) just to see what my mind can conjure up. It certainly helps get the creative juices flowing. Here are the first lines I came up with this week (as always, these are raw and may not go anywhere):<br /><br /><em><blockquote>I came to Santa Lucia de la Terra for only one reason: to die.<br /><br />Wherever Tonia traveled, bad luck could be found sitting proudly in the sidecar.<br /><br />Steven walked to the open window, stuck his head outside and witnessed the end of civilization.<br /><br />Many knew Peter all too well and that made him a marked man, for no one in town wanted to see him alive by the next morning.<br /><br />As the explosions grew ever closer, Crystal stood up in her Mustang convertible and viewed the Pacific for the last time.<br /><br />Anxious to greet the day, Bob tore out of his driveway and plowed into the neighbor's '57 T-bird, ran over a garbage can, shifted into first and laid rubber all the way down Friendly Lane.<br /><br />Life had a funny way of throwing curve balls at a person, as Priscilla discovered the night she returned home and found her husband and all her belongings gone.<br /><br />Three days before, Terry stood on the very edge of taking his own life, but since he found the false wall in his house, he wanted to live forever.<br /><br />The excruciating pain in his torn knee caused Jim to pass out, his head hitting the solid oak table as he fell and splitting open the back of his head.<br /><br />Chambliss stood on the boardwalk, watching the vendors sell their kitschy wares, and wished that they notice him just once.<br /><br />Armed with her last grenade and an overused baseball bat, Loretta realized that reinforcements weren't going to arrive in time, so she girded her courage and headed out to meet the invaders head-on.<br /><br />Gideon slid back the hidden panel and stuck his hand inside the small compartment, then pulled out the paper tube he knew would be there, now yellowed with age and darkened by plant spores.<br /></blockquote></em><br />If you’ve never tried this before, definitely give it a go (and let me know how it turned out).<br /><br /><strong>New Story Start</strong><br /><br />I woke up this morning with a title for a short story in my head, a bit of an odd thing, called “Monty McGillicuddy Is Dead.” I’ve laid out a basic plot and a snippet of the start:<br /><br /><em><blockquote>Sundays are my designated do-nothing-but-watch-sports-and-nap days. So, in honor of that tradition, I was fast asleep during the last round of the Masters when the phone rang next to my head, jarring me awake.<br /><br />"Hey, John, it's Dad. Are you in the middle of something?"<br /><br />I rubbed my eyes and sat up to clear my head. "No, just watching golf. Anything wrong? You and Mom okay?"<br /><br />"Sure, we're fine. No, I wanted to tell you something. I don't know if you remember him from school, but I just saw in the paper the Monty McGillicuddy is dead."<br /><br />Monty McGillicuddy. I hadn't heard that name or even thought of him in at least ten years.<br /><br />"John?"<br /><br />"Oh, sorry. Yeah, of course I remember Monty. How'd he die?"<br /><br />"That's the thing. They don't say what he died from. But who cares, that jerk's dead and that's all that matters. You probably don't remember how he made your life a living hell for so long."<br /><br />I chuckled. "Oh yeah, Pop, that's not something I'd be like to forget ever."<br /><br />My dad laughed, too. "I suppose not. Well, it may be wrong for me to say it, but I'm glad he's dead. Seeing what he did to you, I hated him. And I don't hate anybody, you know."<br /><br />That much was true. My father had unusual tolerance for just about everyone and for those he didn't, he usually reserved judgment, saving that privilege for someone else.<br /><br />"I know, Pop. Look, thanks for the news. I'll check it out on the web."<br /><br />I hung up the phone and walked over to my office. In a few minutes, I found a couple of obits and a piece on a midwestern law school website that discussed how Monty's sudden death was a "sad loss" and how he was an "honored member" of the faculty. So that's what happened to my old nemesis. For some reason, this revelation about his last occupation surprised me more than news of his demise. To think that Monty would be honored by anyone, the least of which being law students, caused me to laugh in spite of myself.</blockquote></em><br /><br />This is another story I just want to sit down and write, stopping all other WIPs, especially since the whole thing is more or less formed in my head. This is both a curse and a blessing, as I say (probably too often). There aren’t enough hours in the day, I tell ya! <br /><br />So, with that little editorial comment, I’ll sign off. Wishing you a great week!<br /><br />- Michael<br />Michael C. Cordellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09965617497632908328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2783257384115495596.post-24411610200840186292011-05-30T16:11:00.000-07:002011-05-30T16:36:12.071-07:00What's New - Week of May 22, 2011Greetings and salutations, all. Today is Memorial Day in the States (and our twelve year wedding anniversary, too), so while I wait for my wife to get primped up for our night out, I decided to write a short blog post.<br /><br /><strong>On-Going Activities</strong><br /><br />In the past couple of weeks, I’ve been spending a large amount of my writing time on two things: editing my works-in-progress and writing brand new material that has nothing to do with the former. As I noted in my last post, I downloaded Celtx for the iPad and have working to get my various screenplays synced between the desktop and tablet versions. That gave me the chance to revisit some of my favorite future projects and think a bit more about what I want to do with them.<br /><br />Besides Project X to which I referred last time, there’s also Projects Y and Z (also screenplays). All three of them have potential commercial appeal and I can’t wait to be working on them for real. That’s one of the challenges of having these ideas - there is not enough hours in the day to do all the writing I would love to be doing. It’s funny - there was a time I had major insomnia, but I was so zoned, I couldn’t write much even while I was completely awake. Now I’m back to being able to sleep without trouble, so I find myself stealing time from my designated sleep time to write. As we all know, eventually the piper has to be paid.<br /><br /><strong>Short Stories - New Idea</strong><br /><br />A week wouldn’t be complete without my drafting a fresh snippet or three. Here is the start of a short story thriller I began a couple of weeks ago (as always, this is raw material. God knows what the final product will look like):<br /><br /><em><blockquote>The instant I heard the shot, I knew the last of the guards sworn to protect me to the end met his fate like the rest of his comrades. I'm all alone, I thought to myself. No, not completely alone. That would never be true so long as they roamed the island.<br /><br />Death's ugly stench filled the cave, forcing me to seek another hiding place. Theirs was a race drawn to such horrors like the stars to the night sky and I only had a little time before they'd be upon me. Thank God they weren't as numerous as the stars - maybe I could still escape their clutches if kept my head on straight!<br /><br />The guards told me that in the event I had to flee, I would find a barely passable exit at the rear of the cave. My lantern barely put out enough light to see more than a few feet in front of me and I only had two flares left, but I had no choice. I strapped on my threadbare backpack and took off.<br /><br />The sound of my footsteps echoed as I stumbled half-blind over the slick limestone. Behind me, I heard nothing but silence. So far, so good.<br /><br />I climbed over a four foot pile of rocks and almost fell face first into a small pool of murky rainwater. The water looked green with algae, a sure sign there would be plenty of slippery rocks to deal with as I made my way to freedom. I stepped gingerly over the water and continued along the narrow path down the end of the cave wall.<br /><br />When I first arrived eleven days before, I couldn't believe how fortunate I was to find such a deserted place. My pilot landed the plane on the leeward side of the island, guiding the Cessna with the precision honed from years of landing all types of aircraft on slivers of flat iciness atop of Alaska's most delicate glaciers. He cut the engines and we both jumped out, me with my backpack and fishing gear, him with a cooler of beers and food. We both cracked open a cold one and toasted our safe landing.<br /><br />"I'll be back in ten days to get ya," he told me, chugging down the rest of his brew. "Just meet me here around 1:00 in the afternoon. You'll see me coming in from the northeast."<br /><br />He pointed in the general direction of his intended flight path, but I knew where he meant. I surely would be here on time to pick up my ride.<br /><br />My pilot climbed back into the cockpit, started up the Cessna's engines and took off again, heading back to Guam, his home base. I watched him until the plane was a mere speck on the horizon, then looked around the beach to figure out my next move.<br /><br />I spent years seeking out the most obscure spots on the planet to play survivalist, escaping the brutal corporate grind a couple of weeks every year. Nature always fascinated me and untamed nature appealed the most to my sense of adventure and deep desire to return to the basics. I certainly was no misanthrope, as my circle of close friends and business acquaintances would tell you; simply put, I needed time away from mankind to recharge my batteries. A little danger intentionally put in my way certainly helped my restoration.</blockquote></em><br /><br />What will happen to our hero? Hopefully, a lot. Will he survive? Maybe yes, maybe no. I’m not tellin’. :-)<br /><br />OK, that’s all for now. I said it was going to be a short post.<br /><br />Until next time,<br /><br />MichaelMichael C. Cordellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09965617497632908328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2783257384115495596.post-17900235414966391822011-05-14T18:14:00.000-07:002011-05-15T23:44:24.183-07:00What's New - Week of May 8, 2011Mid-May and you’d think Spring would’ve stayed sprung, no? This morning, it was cold and rainy here on The Hill, a place known for both cool weather and that famous “dry heat” the Southwest is famous for. Well, not to complain - weather like this makes it easier to suppress the demons tempting me to go outside and play. Writing’s what it’s all about. And on that note ... <br />
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<strong>On-Going Activities<br />
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</strong>I took a week off from editing <em>Lens Flare</em> and instead spent some time on my screenplays - both works-in-progress and those in the queue. Some of this was done in order to test out Celtx for the iPad, which I finally broke down and bought (now that they lowered the price by 50% and added a syncing function with the desktop app).<br />
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In order to test this, I exported the current incomplete draft of <em>A Grand Delusion</em> (the one I’m writing based on my short story of the same name) from Final Draft into text format and then imported it into Celtx desktop. It took a bit of time to format it properly (that is, to assign the correct elements to each piece of text), but once I completed, I sent it over to my iPad and it looks great! Definitely a plus, especially since I recently purchased a Bluetooth keyboard for my iPad. Much better taking that to bed to write on than my MacBook Pro.<br />
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Then I decided to use Celtx for the iPad to begin the opening scenes for a script I’ve had in on my to-do list for several years. I’ll call it Project X for now, as I think the title is too intriguing to give away at this time. The app worked wonderfully and after I synched it back to my desktop, I was able to easily pick up where I left off. <br />
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There are a couple of other screenplays I have in progress (unnamed for now as well) that I started in Celtx which now reside on my iPad. This will make it so much easier to write & edit them as time permits. Once I have first drafts completed, I’ll move them over to Final Draft to polish and prep. How cool is that?<br />
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<em><strong>Ricochet Man</em> - The One That Got Away</strong><br />
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Whenever someone’s about to tell a joke, they say “Stop me if you’ve heard this one.” I’ll ask the same indulgence in the (re)telling of this story.<br />
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Back in 2005, I wrote my first screenplay called <em>The Rebound Guy</em>. I don’t remember the original logline (it’s in my notes somewhere), but here it is now:<br />
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<em>After spending a lifetime bedding women on the rebound, a lothario finally falls in love and finds himself in competition with his own brother for her heart.</em><br />
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The idea for this came to me in a dream. We were living in our downtown LA loft apartment (our 18-month bohemian period) and I woke up one Saturday summer morning with this idea fully formed in my head. I had just bought a Toshiba tablet PC and remember writing the treatment longhand on it (forty pages worth), even including music that would work perfect at various points in the movie. I already knew who would play the main roles and everything.<br />
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I next bought Final Draft and proceeded to write the screenplay in about two weeks time. After several drafts, I asked my wife to edit it for me - she was a creating writing major, after all - but alas, she procrastinated. Summer turned into fall, fall turned into winter and finally I couldn’t wait any longer and did the final review & edit myself, then posted it on Inktip (around February 2006) and waited.<br />
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Not too long after, I got a call from a producer - the wife of a well-known DC, in fact - who expressed interest in working with me. I met her and her husband at Starbucks near their home and long story short, they wanted to option the script. Naturally, I was thrilled. This was my first screenplay and it was possible someone was going to turn it into a film!<br />
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I hired an entertainment lawyer - I didn’t have an agent - and he edited the contract. I sent it to the producer who, to my surprise, had no objections with any of the changes. We were ready to sign.<br />
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Then I got the brilliant idea to secure the domain for the movie - and when I did the look-up, I saw that Twentieth Century Fox Films already took it. No!! More research showed that they announced the pitch for a movie with that title in <em>Variety</em> in December 2005 - long after I wrote mine, but before I posted it to Inktip. Clearly, this was a coincidence, but the loglines at the time looked almost identical! Their script hadn’t been written yet, though the writers were chosen, and Seed Productions was going to produce it. Their executive producer happens to be Hugh Jackman, who would also be the star of the movie.<br />
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I guess I’m too honest - when I told my producers about this, they decided to pass on the opportunity and I was left high and dry. I retitled my script to <em>Ricochet Man</em> (a play on “rebound guy”) and altered it a bit to distinguish it from Fox’s - my producers recommended I make it about a pair of brothers instead of a guy and his best friend. Even though I’ve had interest from others in making this film since then, I’ve not gotten past the negotiations stage with any of them.<br />
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A few interesting tidbits:<br />
<ul style="list-style-type: disc;"><li>Three years ago, I sent Seed Productions a letter and told them I had the completed script and wrote it before they did (if they every did). They sent a succinct reply back telling me they had no interest.</li>
<li>Fox’s movie has yet to be made. IMDB Pro lists it as being released in 2012 - this has changed virtually every year since it got on the site. Since it doesn’t appear that any talent is yet attached to this project, I predict it will be pushed out again. </li>
<li>Seed Productions no longer appears to be associated with the movie, nor is Hugh Jackman, for that matter.</li>
</ul>And so, that’s the scoop in the nutshell. There are hundreds of stories in the naked city and that’s just mine. Will I see the movie if it’s ever made - probably.<br />
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<strong>Short Stories - New Idea</strong><br />
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This was also one of those weeks where I had ideas that I had to start working out or I would bust. This snippet began with the opening scene just tripping in my head - I think I was daydreaming while waiting for my turn to be questioned during my recent jury duty service. I couldn’t wait to get home to capture it and then kept it going, the entire plot sketched out to complete. Here it is (so far), raw and unedited:<br />
<br />
<blockquote><em>Harvey Biscombe stumbled and limped his way along the uneven sidewalk, stopping at short intervals to observe the most mundane things: a bird gripping a styrofoam cup in its beak, a plastic bag held aloft by the updraft from a passing car. The world's small dramas still mesmerized him, despite his diminishing eyesight and failing attention span.</em><br />
<br />
<em>Other pedestrians strode by him, almost toppling him in the wake of their got-to-get-to-work passage. Sometimes he used his cane like a bullfighter with his cape and issued a full veronica after each passing body, artistry that left no lasting impression on his conquests, but instead elicited sneers of derision. After each torrent of abuse, Biscombe would chuckle in that way old men do, dry and throaty, with a hint of a rasp from tired lungs.</em><br />
<br />
<em>At stoplights, he stood with the others, waiting for the signal to cross, but as soon as the signal changed, the sea of humanity pressed him forward and caused him to dig in until the crowd pushed past him. He then stepped off the curb in two full steps and inched across the street, just making it to the other side before traffic continued. Without fail, he would turn toward the passing cars and wave as though thanking them for the privilege of letting him share their street with him.</em><br />
<br />
<em>After walking several city blocks in this manner, the cityscape changed from busy and bright metropolis where pedestrians outnumbered the vehicles to the gray outskirts, devoid of crowded sidewalks and dense auto traffic. Instead, Biscombe would have to walk around or over the occasional transient that lay in his path. Ancient Fords and Chevys, blue smoke billowing from rusted tailpipes, snuck past him, heads and eyes turned, watching his every move, suspicious of his odd presence in their neighborhood.</em></blockquote><br />
Do you want to guess where Harvey is going and what happens next? You may be surprised at where this story leads him.<br />
<br />
<strong>Next Week</strong><br />
<br />
I didn’t cover everything I thought I would this week, so I’ll tee them up again for next time:<br />
<ul style="list-style-type: disc;"><li>Some unlikely plots I’ve dreamt up</li>
<li>A silly TV series idea</li>
<li><em>Doc On Loan</em> - results from the first ScriptFrenzy</li>
<li>Another short story snippet</li>
</ul>So until next time, have a great week and keep writing!<br />
<br />
MichaelMichael C. Cordellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09965617497632908328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2783257384115495596.post-4923788095663683582011-05-08T14:07:00.000-07:002011-05-09T07:13:09.901-07:00What's New - Week of May 1, 2011It’s Mothers Day, so my hat’s off you all of you who are mothers or have mothers. And now, the week that was ... <br />
<br />
<strong>On-Going Activities</strong><br />
<br />
Editing dominated the week’s work, as has been the case for the last month (I’m up to chapter 5 right now). <em>Lens Flare</em> remains the novel I’ll most likely publish first among those I’ve already invested a lot of time in, which is why I’m being particularly fastidious about the editing process with this partial manuscript. I stopped at chapter eight before and from there I’ll pick up the writing. I can’t wait.<br />
<br />
<strong>The Genesis of Yet Another Story</strong><br />
<br />
As I’ve noted before, it’s easy to become distracted from your task list to chase another “really great idea.” I encourage everyone not to be so rigid as to dismiss that burst of inspiration, especially if you’re like me and think they’re gifts from your Muse ... she doesn’t like being rebuffed, trust me. Instead, take a little time to jot down some key information or a snippet of prose so you can come back to it later. That is, unless the idea is fully formed, of course - then you may need to sketch out the entire thing before you lose it all.<br />
<br />
Case in point - last Saturday morning, I woke up at 6:30 and as always, our almost fifteen year-old beagle mutt observed me lift my head and in a blink, she stood in front of the sliding glass door of our bedroom, wanting to see if the Food Fairy left her anything overnight - only to be disappointed, I assure you. I watched her trot to the other side of the house, then meander her way around the back deck, exploring her queendom and trying to decide where to leave her Morning Deposit. A pretty stiff wind rose unexpectedly and shook the trees, something that caused her to be distracted and standing, sniffing the air for whatever interesting smells the wind brought her way. For whatever reason, the phrase “Idiot Winds” popped into my head, so I got up out of bed and walked down to my study to capture this (note this is <em>very</em> raw):<br />
<br />
<ol style="list-style-type: decimal;"><li>Fired up Evernote</li>
<li>Created a new noted and entitled it “Idiot Winds,” adding “Titles” as the tag</li>
<li>Launched Google Chrome (my new browser preference) and went to <a href="http://amazon.com/">Amazon.com</a> to check the title. It turns out, Bob Dylan has a song called “Idiot Wind,” but I’m not worried about that.</li>
<li>I wrote down the premise: “A freak windstorm buffets a small rural town, causing the residents to behave as strangely as the weather.”</li>
<li>I then wrote the opening scene:</li>
</ol><em></em><br />
<blockquote><em>“I bet I can beat you to that ridge,” Jenny yelled, looking back at Toby. She pointed to the spot for emphasis.</em><br />
<br />
<em>“You never have before,” Toby said, holding his horse in place. “What do I get if I beat you?”</em><br />
<br />
<em>“The usual, I guess,” Jenny said with a wicked smile. “But what do I get if I beat you?”</em><br />
<br />
<em>Toby laughed. “I never thought about it. We’ll figure it out if that ever happens.”</em><br />
<br />
<em>Jenny trotted Chestnut over to Toby and slapped him on the arm, then took off for the ridge at a full gallop.</em><br />
<br />
<em>“Cheater!” Toby shouted as he and Liberty set out after her.</em><br />
<br />
<em>The pair spurred their horses repeatedly, jumping over dips and ruts at a frenzied pace, nearly caroming against each other several times. Their horses knew the drill and galloped as fast as they could, each wanting to take their rider to victory.</em><br />
<br />
<em>A thousand yards from the finish line, Chestnut slowed up without warning, almost causing Jenny to pitch headlong over the horse’s head. Moments later, Toby passed her and raced to the ridge’s edge. He stuck his fists in the air and let out a war whoop to declare victory. When he turned to await Jenny’s late arrival, he saw her standing next to Chestnut, holding him back by the reins as he strained to get away.</em><br />
<br />
<em>In a moment, he reached her and got off of Liberty, then grabbed Chestnut’s reins along with her.</em><br />
<br />
<em>“What’s going on?” he asked her as they both struggled to calm the horse down.</em><br />
<br />
<em>“No idea,” Jenny replied between gritted teeth. “Something spooked him awful.”</em><br />
<br />
<em>“Was it a snake?” Toby asked, scanning the thick grass. “I don’t see anything around here.”</em><br />
<br />
<em>Jenny didn’t answer, but pulled harder on the reins, cooing softly to her horse. After several minutes, Chestnut got the message and relaxed, still panting, a look of panic in his eyes.</em><br />
<br />
<em>“We’d better go back,” Toby said, mounting Liberty. “I don’t like it when these horses start acting skittish.”</em><br />
<br />
<em>Jenny climbed back on Chestnut and the two trotted back toward the ranch.</em><br />
<br />
<em>“By the way, I won,” Toby said with a snicker. “We’ll discuss the terms of your surrender later.”</em></blockquote>Will this go anywhere? Maybe. I already know what’s going to happen in the next scene, but before I write that, I will plot it out. This is definitely a short story, nothing longer - and at least it will be fun to write.<br />
<br />
<em><strong>30 Rock</strong></em> Idea<br />
<br />
If you’ve never seen this comedy, you’re missing one well-written, funny show. What’s interesting is I’ve mostly only watch it on Netflix as I have other things going on when it airs (and believe it or not, I don’t have a DVR - don’t ask).<br />
<br />
Anyway, if you’re not familiar with the premise, Tina Fey (from SNL fame) plays the head writer of a variety sketch show, in charge of a group of “characters” who are tasked to produce this live show every week. Fey (as Liz Lemon) spends a large part of her time trying to get the writers, acting talent and others to create something watchable while the remainder of the time, she obsesses with her less-than-stellar personal life.<br />
<br />
My idea sprung from my recent addiction with Angry Birds, the computer game sensation that’s really captured a lot of eyeballs (and money) from the ever-hungry gaming community. In my plot, Liz belittles her staff who have become obsesses with a computer game, mocking them every chance she gets about how lame it is. At some point, they challenge her to try it and she goes about proving how dumb it is - only she realizes it’s not as simple-minded as she originally thought. The more she tries to prove her point, the deeper she gets into it until she becomes even more addicted than anyone else in her office.<br />
<br />
Liz’s addiction moves to dangerous levels. She starts neglecting her hygiene, her job, her relationships, and mostly everything else just so she can play this game. At some point, she goes head to head with an online opponent who taunts her and as a result, brings Liz’s game up several notches. When she finally reaches the last level, she discovers she’s made it into the top ten players and that all of them are invited to compete for the championship trophy. Unfortunately, that championship coincides with a deadline for a two-hour special she and her team have to finish and air that same evening. Liz has to choose between this big show and the championship. The question is what does she do?<br />
<br />
It’s unlikely I’ll write this episode - fan fiction really isn’t my thing - but if someone from the <em>30 Rock</em> writing team wanted to steal this, I’d be happy to look the other way.<br />
<br />
<em><strong>A Perfect Tenant</strong></em> - A Movie I’d Love to See Made<br />
<br />
I’ve written three feature-length screenplays (so far), one of which is called <em>A Perfect Tenant</em>. Here’s the logline:<br />
<br />
“When a couple takes in a conniving boarder to earn extra money, it’s up to their ten year-old son and Great Dane to convince him to leave.”<br />
<br />
Think of it as a comedic <em>Pacific Heights,</em> the movie starring Michael Keaton as a crazed tenant who is bound and determined to force his landlords (played by Melanie Griffith and Matthew Modine) to abandon the property so he can buy it cheap, using the California tenant laws in his favor. In my version, Robin Williams would play the tenant who moves from house to house, taking advantage of naive landlords by faking injuries in order to gain free room and board. Unfortunately for Charlie Pound (the tenant), his new landlords have a bratty son, Kyle, and his destructive Great Dane, who are hellbent on expelling the usurper. Hilarity ensues when Charlie falls victim to Kyle’s pranks time and again until the joke goes to far and Charlie <em>really</em> gets hurt, forcing Kyle to kowtow to Charlie’s every whim.<br />
<br />
Maybe some day ... <br />
<br />
<strong>Next Time</strong><br />
<br />
That’s all for this week. Possible topics for next time:<br />
<ul style="list-style-type: disc;"><li>Discussion of <em>Ricochet Man </em>(another feature-length screenplay I wrote)</li>
<li>Some unlikely plots I’ve dreamt up</li>
<li>A silly TV series idea</li>
</ul>Until then, have a great week!<br />
<br />
MichaelMichael C. Cordellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09965617497632908328noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2783257384115495596.post-80831422751940281972011-05-01T10:50:00.000-07:002011-05-01T18:22:06.947-07:00What's New - Week of April 25, 2011Aloha! It’s May Day - or Lei Day (if you’re in Hawaii). Here’s a snapshot of the week that was.<br />
<br />
<strong>Activities</strong><br />
<br />
I spent another week of editing <em>Lens Flare</em>. I remember that when I first started writing, I hated (dreaded) the editing process. Like many other beginning writers, I felt that I poured it all out on the page already and except for fixing typos and grammar nits, my work was sacrosanct. As one matures as writer, that dread you feel becomes an opportunity to approach “perfection” - certainly not in the purest sense of the word, but as close as you think you should be before putting it before an audience of critical readers. <br />
<br />
The thing about the process of editing (and re-editing and re-re-editing) is much like a sculptor that fashions a share out of a blob of clay - at first, the substance of the finish piece is barely seen within the medium, but after cutting, smoothing, massaging and tweaking, the final product finally emerges. Oh, what a great day that is!<br />
<br />
But how do you know when you’re really finished? After all, if one can never achieve “perfection,” then it stands to reason you can keep editing for the rest of your days. Sometimes you really do need the input from an interested third party to get feedback before calling your work “done.” Be prepared for whatever you may hear, though - if you’re squeamish about getting well-meaning critique about your new baby, you may be in for a major shock when your reader sends you a laundry list of “must fix” items (especially after you’ve invested so much time getting it right in your eyes). Advice for receiving critique on your work: take what you need and leave the rest. Similarly, if you provide critique, be constructive, but kind - tough love is great for keeping kids out of trouble, but artists’ egos are fragile things, so there’s no reason to live by the motto “it’s cruel to be kind.”<br />
<br />
<strong>Work-in-Progress (Last): <em>Jenkie and Me</em></strong><br />
<br />
The only novella in the bunch (and only one of three I’ve attempted to write over the years - the other two having been put on the back burner, perhaps indefinitely), this work features two young women of limited means who opt to leave high school in order to pursue factory jobs. These two women are best friends, but are very different in temperament and motivation.<br />
<br />
Meredith, the “me” in the piece and who tells the story in her own voice, feels that completing high school is unnecessary as she has no plans to go to college - first, her mother can’t afford to send her and is already working two jobs just to make ends meet. Meredith feels compelled to contribute to the family income instead of frittering away her time in school, where she won’t learn anything useful to apply to the goal of making money <em>now.</em> Meredith’s mother is dead set against her daughter quitting school as she’s a bright girl with lots of promise; however, Meredith is determined to no longer be a “drain” on her mother and gets her way. Jenkie, on the other hand, has a drunk for a father and unlike Meredith, isn’t the greatest student anyway, so quitting and going to work is not a big sacrifice for her.<br />
<br />
The two young women start out in the same place, but their personal paths diverge early at their new job, leading them both on a journey of self-discovery and clarity. <em>Jenkie & Me </em>captures their story.<br />
<br />
This concludes a brief description of WIPs I want to complete this year.<br />
<br />
<strong>Right-Brain Stimulation</strong><br />
<br />
Having had a technology background, I always thought of myself of being left-brained (logical) versus right-brained (creative). So how did a left-brainer find a use for his right hemisphere? More to the point, how does one stimulate that part of the grey matter that helps one produce decent writing?<br />
<br />
In my case, I came from a family of musicians (on both sides). My Italian mother’s father, straight from the old country at eighteen, earned a living playing guitar and mandolin with some friends after he first moved to Peekskill, NY from Naples. We are related to the Carusos, thanks to my maternal grandmother (though none of us can really sing that well). On my father’s side, there are guitar players, drummers, banjo pickers and players of all kinds of other instruments as well as talented vocalists, many of them professional (or semi-professional).<br />
<br />
So it was only natural that I would pick up an instrument (guitar) at the age of nine and with instruction from one of my uncles - another musician, of course - learned to play. In time, I went on to learn how to play the keyboards and compose music. While I don’t play much these days (though GarageBand has given me an outlet for my composition again), I found that during the times I played, that my ability to create stories became much easier because of all the right-brain stimulation.<br />
<br />
These days, I find I get the same kind of stimulation by studying and enjoying art. If I ever get stuck when writing, I merely pull out my two-volume complete works of Vincent Van Gogh (by Taschen) and look at the paintings for a half-hour or so before going back to the computer. Or lately, I’ve really been exploring the abstract expressionists, a group of artists I associate with bebop jazz or beat poets because of the structured “unstructuredness” of their work. Unlike with music or writing, I can’t draw or paint for spit, but I can certainly appreciate the complexities and subtleties in producing such artistic works.<br />
<br />
My recommendation to all writers: if you get stuck, need a break, what have you - don’t turn on the TV or organize your sock drawer. Just go the Google Images and browse the millions of images from the great masters of the arts. I promise it’ll be a worthwhile use of your time.<br />
<br />
<strong>The Period Controversy<br />
<br />
</strong>Recently, I had a discussion (or a gentle debate) with someone on Facebook about the correctness of two spaces following a period at the end of a sentence. This person claimed that two spaces are no longer required after a period - that this is an artifact from the world of typography and now that we have computers with proper font spacing, there is no need to accommodate that any longer. In fact, I was sent a link to an article on <a href="http://salon.com/">Salon.com</a> supporting that point of view. Admittedly, the writer did a great job supporting his position and perhaps I could be swayed but for the following reasons:<br />
<ol style="list-style-type: decimal;"><li>Pick up any printed (and recent) novel these days and it is likely you’ll see the two-space convention.</li>
<li>Most writers make a stink about one-space usage when critiquing others.</li>
<li>After years of typing a la two spaces, my brain refuses to let me fingers type only one.</li>
</ol>I did experiment with the one-space method and I can’t seem to shake the notion that paragraphs look a too <em>packed</em> that way. I know it’s probably only psychological, but if your target readers are over the age of thirty, it’s probably a good idea to stick with the old school way of doing it. When I start seeing the one-space convention become the norm in book publishing, I may force myself to change. Until then, I’m sticking with what I know best.<br />
<br />
<strong>Next Time</strong><br />
<br />
Possible topics for my next blog post:<br />
<ul style="list-style-type: disc;"><li>Genesis of yet another story</li>
<li>A <em>30 Rock</em> episode I’d love to write (and may do so anyway)</li>
<li><em>A Perfect Tenant</em> - a movie I’d love to see made</li>
</ul>Until next time, cheers!<br />
<br />
MichaelMichael C. Cordellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09965617497632908328noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2783257384115495596.post-73569746924136041122011-04-24T21:51:00.000-07:002011-04-25T00:42:34.317-07:00What's New - Week of April 17, 2011Happy Easter (if you celebrate) or happy Sunday (if you don’t) ... time for a brief update from my little piece of heaven.<br /><br /><strong>Activities</strong><br /><br />This was another week of editing <em>Lens Flare</em>. A couple of interesting things I’ve noticed in my efforts that I thought I’d share.<br /><br />First, since I wrote this during NaNoWriMo, I can clearly see how I just went full out writing without a lick of editing along the way. Sometimes, the typos (or inadvertent word substitutions) I’ve found make me laugh, if not confuse me. Using homophones for words I wanted to use is a typical mistake, but in other cases, I’m downright puzzled as to what I was trying to say when I wrote it - I mean the word comes out of left field. I usually find reading the paragraph aloud helps me figure out the right word (or words) to help it make sense. It still amuses me as I think to myself what stream of consciousness was I riding when that word popped onto that digital paper.<br /><br />Second, and something that requires more work, are the plot flaws I mentioned last time. While I outlined this book in pretty extreme detail before I started writing it, I didn’t have it laid out paragraph by paragraph - nor do I think that’s the “right” way to do it, at least for me. But the two plot points that need adjusting are going to take me some time to resolve to my (and the reader’s) satisfaction. Not that this bothers me, mind you - it’s all part of the process.<br /><br /><strong>Work-in-Progress Time: <em>A Grand Delusion</em></strong><br /><br />Last year, some writer on Facebook ran a contest to find a guest author to contribute a story to an anthology he was penning. Contestants were given the first sentence and were expected to write a story from there. Here is the line:<br /><br /><em>Jake Everson woke up one day in St. Bart's and picked up the newspaper to discover he'd died that morning in Spain.</em><br /><br />I didn’t think about the plot too much - another one of those where I just started writing - and landed on a drama about two rivals, one of whom took their rivalry way too far. Originally, I called the story “An Interesting Exchange,” but after I was chosen as one of three finalists, the author and his editor asked me to find a different title, so I came up with “A Grand Delusion.”<br /><br />While my story wasn’t chosen for the anthology, I liked it so much that I decided to write a screenplay based on it (with the same title). It’s an interesting change writing a screenplay based on one of my short stories. For one thing, I have so much of it written already, at least for a first draft. I think the story has enough surprises and plot to give the whole drama enough “legs” to make it a feature film.<br /><br /><strong>Ideas - Where Do They Come From?<br /><br /></strong>So as you’ve seen in my blog posts, ideas don’t typically have a single point of origin, at least for me. Sometimes they can be a single line, as with “A Grand Delusion.” Other times, it’s just a title that triggers an entire plot. Other places I’ve gotten ideas from:<br /><br /><ul style="list-style-type: disc"><li>Overheard comments</li><li>News headlines</li><li>Tweets</li><li>“What if” questions</li><li>Dreams (mine or from others)</li><li>Daydreams</li><li>Myths</li><li>Song lyrics</li><li>Human interest pieces</li><li>Science articles</li><li>Other stories, movies or books (without plagiarizing, of course!)</li></ul>Really, getting ideas isn’t the problem, if there is one. The bigger challenge is having enough time in a normal lifespan to be able to finish the writing all that these ideas demand. I have an idea bank right now that would keep me writing well into my hundreds and that’s if I stop coming up with new ideas today. As noted in a previous post, however, the ideas never stop and sometimes I have to pause to capture the hot thought of the moment so I don’t lose it. May it always be this way!<br /><br /><strong>Word Count vs. Clock</strong><br /><br />Discipline is one of the biggest challenges writers have to master. We all lament there aren’t enough hours in the day, but if we’re being honest with ourselves, we’d have to admit we fritter away many hours every week that could be invested in writing (or editing, marketing, querying, etc.). Every time you turn around, there’s another article about what’s the best way to achieve that discipline.<br /><br />There’s one school of thought that swears by the word count method - write until your word count for the day is met, then you’re free to do other things (presumably writing-related things, but they never say). Start small, they say, then increase the word count until you get to a number that you’re comfortable with and more importantly, that you know you can do without burning yourself out. After all, it’s not a sprint, it’s a marathon (unless you’d doing ScriptFrenzy or NaNoWriMo, then it’s definitely a sprint!).<br /><br />Then there’s the other school that swears that the clock method is the only way to go. Take a kitchen timer (or the timer function on your smart phone, your pick), set it for a duration, then write until the alarm goes off. Move on to another task - editing another piece, let’s say, or reward yourself somehow - then set the timer for another session and so on. The idea is to write without stopping to edit or puzzle over a particular word or phrase, but rather to muscle through and save the editing for the period designated for editing, and in this way, get as much down on paper as possible within the time constraints.<br /><br />I’ve actually employed both of these methods, depending on my mood and circumstances. However, I also use another method. Simply put, I lay out what I want to get done for the day - write a chapter, a number of scenes, a first draft of a story - and keep my head down until I achieve that goal. I typically note the time I start and end so I have an idea as to my speed in case I need to schedule specific slots of time for subsequent chapters, scenes or drafts. But that’s just me - your mileage may vary - but consider the task list method.<br /><br />Finding what works best for you is probably one of the most important things a writer should strive to discover in order to be successful. You may not know until you experiment over several months (or years) or you may evolve from one way to another over time. Remember, your methods for writing can be as unique as your voice. No matter what you do, just keep writing!<br /><br /><strong>Contests</strong><br /><br />Someone recently asked me what contests I think are most worthwhile. The short story contests sponsored by <em>Writer’s Digest, The Writer</em> or other writer-oriented publications (on- or off-line) are all valuable venues to help showcase your work and get your name out there. On the screenplay side, there’s Scriptapalooza or BlueCat (or contests sponsored by screenplay-oriented magazines, both on- and off-line). I recommend you do your research before you enter anything, however - go with a legitimate organization that has a reputation of actually awarding prizes instead of just advertising that they will.<br /><br />No matter which contests you enter, they’re worth the price of admission, so to speak - the entry fee is nominal - because even if you don’t win, you’ll have the opportunity to have someone else read your work and depending on the contest, you could get objective feedback from a professional. If you’re worried about rejection, there’s only one piece of advice I can give you: get over it. Unless you’re one of the superstars of the publication world, you’re going to get rejected much more frequently than you’ll hear “yes” over the course of your writing career. It’s all part of the learning process, no matter what feedback you get. Don’t let the fear of failure - or success - get in your way of being a writer!<br /><br /><strong>Next Time</strong><br /><br />Topics for my next post:<br /><br /><ul style="list-style-type: disc"><li>Complete my description of my works-in-progress</li><li>Right brain stimulation</li><li>The period controversy</li></ul>Until then, have a great week!<br /><br />Michael<br />Michael C. Cordellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09965617497632908328noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2783257384115495596.post-65161844869113016772011-04-17T20:30:00.000-07:002011-04-18T06:05:37.728-07:00What's New - Week of April 10, 2011Sunday night and it’s blogging time. The content of this one is a bit different than originally planned.<br />
<br />
<b>Activities</b><br />
<br />
More editing of <i>Lens Flare</i> this week, where I spent most of my writing time this week. As I go through, I’m using Scrivener’s highlighting tools to call out weak plot points and other concerns so as not to interrupt the flow of the editing process. With me, just like with writing, I get into a rhythm with editing and don’t like to pause to research or puzzle over a flaw in the storyline ... rather, I’d much prefer calling it out in with a quick highlight and note about what’s bugging about that particular area and continue on. Anyway, I’m pleased that I’m still enjoying the story and the moment I’m accumulating here will get me past the place I stopped at without holding me back.<br />
<br />
I mentioned last time that occasionally, a story just starts forming in my head and I have to take a time out to write up what’s distracting me to get it out of the way. It could be as simple as a single line of dialog or an observation. This week, quite out of the blue, the beginnings of a short story crept out from my subconscious and as I wrote it down, I was surprised to see how fully-formed it was words just tumbled out of my brain. Here it is, in its entirety:<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;"><i><blockquote>I first met Henry Dimple in the fall of 1921, a man of difficult temperament and an apparent lack of cultural breeding of any sort. One afternoon, I wandered into Morey's Deli over on East 53rd and seated myself at the rear table, my back facing the rest of the patrons. I only desired one thing that afternoon and that was a private place where I could collect my thoughts and have a bite to eat. As luck would have it, the bistro wasn't particular crowded and within a few moments of my arrival, a red-headed waitress, two pencils stuck in her beehive hairdo, hurried over and in an exasperated voice, asked me what I wanted to eat.<br />
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"Just a bowl of chicken noodle soup, my dear," I replied pleasantly enough. <br />
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She scribbled my order down on her pad and walked apace behind the counter to add my request to the queue. I watched her for a moment or two more, then turned my attention to the daily newspaper someone kindly left behind.<br />
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Less than a minute later, as I browsed the business section of the paper, a gentleman sitting behind me leaned over to me and grunted, "Hey, are you done with that yet?" and pointed at the newspaper in my hands.<br />
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I chose to ignore him and kept reading, hoping my frank rudeness would send him away. Instead, he stared, his beady brown eyes boring holes into the back of my head and no doubt at the same headlines I was reading. To say the matter was unsettling would be underestimating my pique.<br />
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"May I help you?" I said, turning sharply and glaring with what I hoped would be sufficient menace.<br />
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If the cad felt any remorse about barging in on a stranger's personal space, he didn't give any evidence of it. Instead, he reached out and touched the corner of the paper and waited for me to react. I didn't disappoint him.<br />
<br />
"See here," I exclaimed, withdrawing the newspaper from his grasp. "Would you be mind enough to leave me to my affairs? How would you like it if I just reached over and touched your coffee cup over there?"<br />
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I pointed at the cup for effect, then turned around to begin reading again. The waitress stopped at my table to leave a glass of water, then scurried off to wait on some new arrivals. I took a moment to get a good look at my tormentor under the guise of watching the waitress. Just as I expected, he fit the image of a common criminal: sunken eyes, weak chin, nervous twitch in the corner of his mouth.<br />
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"Are you done with that paper yet?" he asked again, a rising urgency in his voice. Persistence walked closely with this man.</blockquote></i></div><br />
I have no clue where this came from, mind you. The name “Henry Dimple” - say what now??? Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining. I mean, this isn’t my style of writing by any stretch, but I’m just happy to be the conduit in this case. I haven’t been reading any older short fiction as of late, so i’m wondering what the source was. Another thing I’m wondering is where will this story go from here. Right now, It’s best to leave this one to simmer for a while (perhaps indefinitely).<br />
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Besides these beginnings of a story, two other ideas, both taken from news, popped in my head. Both of them have potential as great screenplays - one is a sci-fi morality play and the other is a tale of justice long denied. I don’t want to go into more detail than this, but the lesson here is ideas can come from anywhere, so it pays to keep your eyes and ears open. In cases like this, I don’t do anything more than snapshot the related web page and write up a 1-3 sentence paragraph so I remember what this was about later.<br />
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<b>Another Work-in-Progress</b><br />
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I mentioned a couple of weeks ago a short story that I wrote and needs editing called “Breathe.” I wrote this several months ago over a couple month period. It’s a retrospective by one man on his life as a teenager and how a single mistake had such far-reaching consequences and affected him so profoundly that he really never was able to recover. The theme here is universal: a single decision can have an unexpected (and undesired) impact.<br />
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The story begins like this:<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;"><i><blockquote>At sixteen, I could swim like an Olympian. This didn't happen as a result of some cosmic accident of genetic predisposition or preternatural talent passed on to me by ancient aquatic ancestors. My grandparents beached themselves on New York's gentle shores under the watchful gaze of Lady Liberty and her offer of welcome that so many immigrants took quite literally. While the roads weren't paved with the promised gold of prosperity, their new lives turned out better than they expected their future would if they stayed in those Mediterranean fishing villages. From my grandparents’ time to my own, the inevitable march of familial sprawl swept us onto the jungle green grass of the suburbs and all that particular nirvana offered.</blockquote></i></div>I may want to hold off publishing this on my blog, but instead submit this as a content entry sometime in the future.<br />
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<b>The Trick of Aphorisms for Writers</b><br />
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Or if you prefer, shorthand guidance for beginning writers and how it’s somewhat misleading.<br />
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You’ve heard it all before:<br />
<ul style="list-style-type: disc;"><li>Show, don’t tell</li>
<li>Never use adverbs</li>
<li>Limit adjectives</li>
<li>Never start a story with dialog</li>
<li>Never use variances on the infinitive “to be”</li>
<li>Use a more common word rather than a more “fancy” one when you can</li>
<li>Don’t end a sentence with a preposition</li>
<li>Etc.</li>
</ul>With such strict “rules” (as they seem to be), it’s a wonder that anyone writes at all. Think about it: we have all these lovely words in English at our disposal and we’re told not to use about half of them!<br />
<br />
Okay, perhaps it’s not so bad. The aforementioned writer friend (the crap-cutter from the previous post) seemed to be a slave to these aphorisms, God love him, so when he pulled out his red pen to edit a peer’s work, he’d slash and burn following the above guidance, often turning the piece into a sea of blood. When I would ask him what the story was about he had edited so liberally, he couldn’t answer: simply put, he was so intent on finding fault based on the above rules that he failed to read the <i>story</i>!<br />
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It’s easy to fall into the trap of no longer remembering how to read for content once you’ve written (and critiqued) a lot of work. The other other trap is to treat the above guidelines as hard and fast rules. I used to have a T-shirt that read: “Rule #1: there are no rules.” Perhaps that’s a bit too nihilistic. How about “There are exceptions to every rule” or “Rules are meant to be broken?”<br />
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So when do you break the rules then? It’s probably wise to read many works by your favorite authors - preferably those who’ve been published in the last 10 years or so - to see what the trends are in popular fiction (presuming you’re writing fiction ... if not, then you have a whole bunch of other rules I can’t help you with ... see what I did there with the preposition?). If you see the so-called rules being broken by these authors, then it’s safe to say you can do under similar circumstances <i>in moderation and judiciously</i>. After all, writing is all about communicating without boring your reader to death and if writing is stilt, yet conforming with all the rules, then you’ve failed, plain and simple.<br />
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More importantly: don’t forget how to ENJOY reading.<br />
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<b>Next Time</b><br />
<br />
Here are a few topics for next post (repeated from last time):<br />
<ul style="list-style-type: disc;"><li>Continuing discussion on my works-in-progress</li>
<li>Where do ideas come from</li>
<li>Contests</li>
</ul>Until then, have a great week!<br />
<br />
MichaelMichael C. Cordellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09965617497632908328noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2783257384115495596.post-28927062747777003462011-04-10T21:39:00.000-07:002011-04-11T07:51:45.560-07:00What's New - Week of April 3, 2011It’s Sunday night and time to wrap up the week that was.<br /><br /><strong>Activities</strong><br /><br />Another week of editing (mostly), again spending time going through <em>Lens Flare</em>. After being away from it for a couple of years now, I’m surprised to find out a couple of things: the story keeps my interest and I have quite a bit of work ahead of me to fill in some of the descriptive prose that is normally left out of short stories. While a novelist has a lot of room to expand on the details that address the senses, a short story writer, at least in the modern iteration of one, doesn’t have that luxury. I remember when I first started writing short stories, another writer with whom I became friends kept on me about cutting out the “crap” and leaving only what was needed to carry the narrative to its conclusion.<br /><br />Well, that’s all fine and dandy if you’re only writing short stories, but when you get to your novel, that kind of approach doesn’t usually cut it. Sure, it’s definitely worthwhile to keep your narrative lean no matter what you write, there’s something to be said about describing the scene, the people, the backstory and all the rest that makes a novel truly readable. And frankly, with short stories for publication, one is typically limited to a specific word count limit, while with a 150,000-word novel, you aren’t so constrained by word count alone.<br /><br /><strong>Another Work-in-Progress</strong><br /><br />As I mentioned a couple of weeks ago, I’m writing a short story called “My Life as a Serial Hostage.” This story, like many of those I’ve written or have at least outlined, came to me out of the blue. I can’t say exactly where I was or what I was doing when the title popped into my head, but when I fired up my computer and began typing in Evernote (not “Evernotes," as I mistyped last time), the following came out in a flood:<br /><br /><em>First, let me make one thing clear: despite popular opinion as expressed in the press as of late, I have never put myself in a situation to become a hostage. Never, even once. No one seems to believe that some people attract certain kinds of disasters and exclusively those. I can drive eighty miles an hour the wrong way down a busy city street and maybe walk away with a minor fender-bender. However, put me into a public place that is a likely target for criminals to hold innocent people for large sums of money, and there you'd be likely to find me. It is my personal albatross, something I came to terms with a long time ago. No one seems to understand that.</em><br /><br />As I continued writing, I discovered the story “had legs” and I could really make something of it. Many ideas aren’t like that, at least write away. I don’t throw out my ideas, but on rare occasions I put them on the back burner, sometimes indefinitely, but always with the hope that I’ll return to them someday.<br /><br />Anyway, this story is going to be a bit of a humorous piece, despite the rather ominous title. I look forward to finishing it and perhaps publishing it on Facebook or my blog.<br /><br /><strong>Outlining</strong><br /><br />Every writer has his or her own preferred method for writing and for those who outline like myself, they usually are particular about how they approach. I’m a total outliner and have been since, oh, forever. I think in outlines; it helps my brain sort through the morass and sheer volume of “stuff” that crisscrosses my synapses all the time. I learned a long time ago not to shut off the spigot, but rather to get to some sort of writing device right away and outline the hell out of whatever idea pops into my head at the moment. Sometimes I get distracted from a current work-in-progress for this new one. Some authors call it getting pulled into the rabbit hole (or some such thing). I don’t know, but it seems to be a waste if I don’t jump on the idea of the moment.<br /><br />So how do I do it? I pretty much have it down to a science, though it differs depending on the type of work it is. Here’s how I do it for screenplays:<br /><br /><ul style="list-style-type: disc;"><li>Original idea in 1-3 sentences.</li><li>A single paragraph expanding on the original idea</li><li>3-5 paragraphs, expanding on the single paragraph (one for each act)</li><li>Scene descriptions - one bullet point for each scene with 1-3 (short) sentences for each</li></ul>At this point, I have enough of an outline - then it’s time to fire up Scrivener and move all that into its structure (though sometimes I’ll go directly to Final Draft and use its tools to do the same thing). I like working with virtual index cards and both applications have those in their toolkit. Once I populate the index cards, I’m ready to expand upon the details of the scene description, then begin to start writing the sluglines. After that’s completed, it’s time to start writing!<br /><br />My approach to outlining novels is a bit more complicated than that (I’m usually using tables for those) and for short stories, it’s much simpler. <br /><br />With all this outlining, it doesn’t mean I just don’t sit down and write something beginning to end without an outline - I’ve done that before, too. However, with an outline, I don’t have to worry about being pulled off a project and then come back to no idea how to continue.<br /><br /><strong>Mind-Mapping</strong><br /><br />Another form of outlining is mind-mapping and if you’ve never tried this, you ought to because it’s a great way to brainstorm. While you can do this by hand, I recommend MindGenius, the best tool for this I’ve found. Essentially, you start out with a central idea in a circle (or rectangle); from there, you draw lines to other circles (called “children”) where related ideas are written; and from there, you continue draw lines to even more circles for more related ideas.<br /><br />The trick with mind-mapping is you don’t stop to edit, you just write/type. Turn the internal editor off and just get the ideas down as quick as they come to you. It’s both gratifying and surprisingly liberating to do this.<br /><br />The thing about MindGenius is, unlike any other software out there, is that if you select a shape and start typing text, it automatically creates a new child idea (with its own line and circle). In this way, you can type ideas even more quickly because you don’t have to pause to click a mouse or type in a key sequence. I’ve written entire outlines to screenplays using MindGenius.<br /><br />The down side about this software: it’s only written for the PC and I’ve recently confirmed with them (again) that they do not plan to write a version for the Mac. No worries, I have it on my PC laptop for when I need it.<br /><br /><em><strong>The Other Brother - Why I Never Finished Writing It</strong></em><br /><br />I began writing this novel in 2002 and by 2004, I had completed 175,000 words and still had about 20% left to go. The story is about the strained relationship between two siblings and how ultimately, one of the siblings has to get past that estrangement to come to the aid of the other in a time of crisis. The problem is the story was based (in large part) on real life experiences and I wasn’t convinced at the time that I would want the story as written to see the light of day for fear of the backlash that I would receive.<br /><br />Of course, I’m not planning on throwing out the manuscript, either, so I’m sitting on an incomplete novel that may or may not be worth publishing someday. That is what you call a quandary, gentle readers. And so, for now at least, <em>The Other Brother</em> sits languishing on my hard drive, ready for the day I decide to pick it up again.<br /><br />Someday.<br /><br /><strong>Next Time</strong><br /><br />Here are a few topics for next post:<br /><br /><ul style="list-style-type: disc;"><li>Continuing discussion on my works-in-progress</li><li>Where do ideas come from</li><li>Contests</li></ul>Until then, have a great week!<br /><br />MichaelMichael C. Cordellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09965617497632908328noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2783257384115495596.post-44148715160953320162011-04-03T21:57:00.000-07:002011-04-03T22:35:46.968-07:00What's New - Week of March 27, 2011Here are updates for the week, as well as some comments and observations I wanted to share.<br /><br /><strong>Activities</strong><br /><br />This was editing week, an exercise geared to reengaging me on trying to complete my first novel, <em>Lens Flare</em>. I have one other novel about 80% completed, but shelved that a few years ago (called <em>The Other Brother</em>, currently at 175,000 words), mainly because I knew it needs serious editing before I could feel comfortable penning the rest of the first draft. I wrote about 35,000 words of <em>Lens Flare</em> for NaNoWriMo a few years ago, but failed to meet the word count necessary by the end of November. From there, I put the manuscript to the side as ran into a plot challenge I couldn’t resolve. By editing what I have thus far, I reengage myself with the story and can reconnect with the plot points I’ve outlined, but have yet to draft into the manuscript.<br /><br /><em>Lens Flare</em> is a novel of political intrigue, quite a departure from my screenwriting, which tends toward comedy almost exclusively. I don’t want to give away too much of the plot, but I will say that the theme is pretty timely in today’s climate in and around the Beltway - not to mention here in the Los Angeles area. In future blog posts, I’ll be sharing excerpts from the book to give a flavor of what’s to come. As for my timeline, I’d like to get the first draft completed by the end of the year. It will take me another three solid months of editing until I’m ready to engage an editor and a final polish will follow after that. How I plan to publish remains to be seen ... I’m tending toward self-publishing on for the Kindle right now, but it depends on whether I get interest from any publishers before I decide.<br /><br /><strong>When a Title Defines the Storyline</strong><br /><br />Last week, one of my online friends expressed amusement over the title of one of my screenplays in draft called <em>Skeeter Huggins, Rodeo Clown</em>. Believe it or not, I came up with this title completely out of the blue several years ago (long before <em>Paul Blart, Mall Cop</em> hit the big screen). I don’t know where that title came from ... none of my notes from back then indicated what inspired me. Those same notes indicated some ideas for the plot, none of which survived the current storyline.<br /><br />I’ve written many loglines for this script, but here’s the current one<em>:<br /><br />Tired of failing at everything, a former high school football star becomes a rodeo clown in order to win prize money and the respect of his estranged family.<br /><br /></em>Naturally, it’s a comedy and in my mind’s eye, it’s a great vehicle for Will Ferrell.<br /><br />I have the entire scene breakdown written down, so the draft is progressing nicely. I hope to have a finished product by the end of August this year.<br /><br /><strong>Tools of the Trade</strong><br /><br />Factoid #1: I use a Mac to write. Up until a couple of years ago, I was a PC-only kind of guy, but my wife needed a replacement Mac when hers crashed, so I decided to get a Macbook Pro when she got hers. Converted! However, I still use my PC for many other things.<br /><br />Factoid #2: My favorite programs for writing are Evernotes (for capturing ideas on the go); Scrivener (for organizing and outlining everything I write); and Final Draft 8 (for the actual screenwriting itself).<br /><br /><strong>Next Time</strong><br /><br />In my next blog, I’ll discuss one or two of my others works-in-progress; I’ll share my outlining technique, including a bit on mind-mapping; and I’ll reveal the <span style="text-decoration: underline;">real</span> reason why I never finished <em>The Other Brother</em>.<br /><br />Until then, have a great week!<br /><br />MichaelMichael C. Cordellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09965617497632908328noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2783257384115495596.post-22538173174602597362011-03-26T12:32:00.000-07:002011-03-26T13:31:46.324-07:00What's New - Week of March 20, 2011I haven’t been keeping up this blog like I did when I first create it - no surprise, I’m sure there are thousands of blogs across the blogosphere that have been abandoned. With all the other writing I do, this seems to be the easiest to leave at the bottom of my to do list. Let’s see if a weekly update “takes.”<br /><br />Here are some of the projects I’m currently working on:<br /><ul style="list-style-type: disc"><li>Short story: “My Life As a Serial Hostage” (draft)</li><li>Short story: “Breathe” (editing)</li><li>Screenplay: a drama, based on one of my short stories, called <em>A Grand Delusion </em>(draft)</li><li>Screenplay: a comedy called <em>Skeeter Huggins, Rodeo Clown </em>(draft)</li><li>Novella: <em>Jenkie and Me </em>(draft)</li><li>Novel: <em>Lens Flare</em> (draft)</li></ul>This is just a subset of the projects I have in various stages of completion, mostly in draft form. As I’ve noted in previous blog posts, I like to have a lot of projects going on at the same time. But the above projects I want to finish in 2011. Stay tuned ... in future posts, I’ll be more specific about where I am in each project and what I’ve done since the previous week on any/all of them.<br /><br />Michael<br />Michael C. Cordellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09965617497632908328noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2783257384115495596.post-5585272167171960252011-02-27T22:29:00.000-08:002011-02-27T22:30:32.043-08:00Solving the Puzzle (a serialized short story): Part 7 of 7<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Author's note: I've written quite a bit lately, though I haven't shared any of it publicly. This story was written based on a single word prompt ("Solve") and it's quite different than most of the other stories I've written. I hope you enjoy it!</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;">**********<br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"> <style>@font-face { font-family: "Cambria"; }p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal { margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }div.Section1 { page: Section1; }</style> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family: Courier;">Five more months went by before I heard anything more about Sherri.<span style=""> </span>I had just arrived home from a new client’s office just when the phone rang.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family: Courier;">“Jack,” the voice said.<span style=""> </span>It was her.<span style=""> </span>I turned up the volume, straining to hear more than her voice.<span style=""> </span>Any background noise would help figure out where she was calling from, but instead I only heard a slight crackle of static.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family: Courier;">“Sherri, I -- “</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family: Courier;">“I just wanted you to know I’m alright,” she interrupted.<span style=""> </span>“I’m pretty sure that everyone’s gone crazy looking for me, but I couldn’t do it.”<span style=""> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family: Courier;">“What couldn’t you do?” I asked her.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family: Courier;">“Oh, all of it.<span style=""> </span>Staying with you, moving in with Sam, the whole thing.<span style=""> </span>I was just sick of living a life that I thought I should have and I assumed you would be the one to make that for me.<span style=""> </span>But you’re too damaged to be any good for anyone.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family: Courier;">I almost objected, but I could see her point.<span style=""> </span>“What about Sam?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family: Courier;">“Oh, Sam is sweet and I know he would treat me well.<span style=""> </span>But he was only going to be my rebound from you and I didn’t think that was fair to him.<span style=""> </span>So I just took off.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family: Courier;">“You know the cops are looking for you.<span style=""> </span>Good old Sam told them I must’ve done something bad to you because you never showed up.<span style=""> </span>Does he know you’re okay?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family: Courier;">She hesitated for a moment.<span style=""> </span>“Yes, I talked to him this morning.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family: Courier;">“Where are you?” </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family: Courier;">“That doesn’t matter, Jack, it’s over.<span style=""> </span>I’m not coming back to California again, ever.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family: Courier;">I considered her words.<span style=""> </span>Sherri turned her back on a state she said was the garden paradise of the world at one time.<span style=""> </span>She must’ve been really unhappy with her life to leave it all behind like this and I was the only one to blame.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family: Courier;">“I’m painting again,” I told her, hoping that would sway her.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family: Courier;">“Good, I’m glad.<span style=""> </span>You’re a talented artist, Jack, you need to paint.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family: Courier;">“I’ve gotten my life back on track, too.<span style=""> </span>No more drinking, at least like I used to.<span style=""> </span>No more feeling sorry for myself, either.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family: Courier;">“That’s wonderful.<span style=""> </span>Sounds like my leaving helped you break through your blockage and now you can move on, too.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family: Courier;">I wanted to jump through the phone and shake her.<span style=""> </span>“No, no!” I insisted.<span style=""> </span>“Sure, I needed a wake-up call, but I didn’t need you out of my life and I still don’t.<span style=""> </span>Damnit, Sherri, I miss you! <span style=""> </span>I miss <i>us</i>.<span style=""> </span>I have no interest in meeting another woman and starting over.<span style=""> </span>You’re ‘it’ for me.<span style=""> </span>Can’t we try again?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family: Courier;">I give her credit.<span style=""> </span>She stayed silent long enough to convince me she was really thinking about it, but instead she uttered a quiet, but firm, “No, Jack” and without another word, she hung up.<span style=""> </span></span></p> <span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: Courier;">Right then, I saw the entire picture.<span style=""> </span>Just like that crossword I childishly ruined all those months ago, Sherri only wanted to come up with a solution to our future, but I blocked her at every turn.<span style=""> </span>Instead of continuing to struggle, she chose a puzzle she knew she could solve and left me to figure out my own, whether I wanted to or not.<span style=""> </span>Maybe someday I’ll do just that.</span> </div></div>Michael C. Cordellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09965617497632908328noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2783257384115495596.post-17649491630334978282011-02-26T19:45:00.000-08:002011-02-26T20:00:00.504-08:00Solving the Puzzle (a serialized short story): Part 6 of 7<style>@font-face { font-family: "Cambria"; }p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal { margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }div.Section1 { page: Section1; }</style> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%; font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Author's note: I've written quite a bit lately, though I haven't shared any of it publicly. This story was written based on a single word prompt ("Solve") and it's quite different than most of the other stories I've written. I hope you enjoy it!</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%; font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;">**********</span></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">For the next few weeks, I followed every lead I could find to locate Sherri.<span style=""> </span>I had a copy of her electronic address book on my computer from when we combined Christmas card lists, so I spent hours calling her old friends to see if they had any ideas.<span style=""> </span>Like her family, all of them had little to share with me.<span style=""> </span>For a while, I thought I could tell that they were avoiding giving me information in order to protect Sherri, but after the third or fourth call, they realized the situation was serious and I wasn’t just stalking an ex-girlfriend.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">I traveled by bus or train through the Bay area and even north to Oregon and Washington, then south all the way to San Diego, but turned up empty.<span style=""> </span>One of her cousins suggested I check Chicago since he recalled back when they were kids that Sherri had been drawn to the Windy City at one time.<span style=""> </span>My dwindling finances prevented air travel, so I held off on that trip for a while as well as any to Florida and New York, two more leads from her friends that came in.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">Officer McHenry contacted me often during this time, but I had no news to offer him nor did he have any for me.<span style=""> </span>One day I received an unexpected visit from a San Francisco city detective, a tall, thin-as-a-rail kind of guy with the unlikely name of Jefferson Tremaine.<span style=""> </span>He walked in like he owned the place and started poking around cabinets and drawers without so much as an explanation and certainly no search warrant.<span style=""> </span>For a moment, I wasn’t even sure he was really with the city, but he whipped out his identification when I challenged him, so I let him carry on with his unconventional investigation.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">After he left, I called McHenry to complain and asked if I shouldn’t report this to police superiors.<span style=""> </span>Much to my surprise, he almost pleaded with me to not do that.<span style=""> </span>Instead, he swore that I’d never see Tremaine again unless he had a search warrant in hand.<span style=""> </span>True to his word, there were no more visits from<span style=""> </span>the detective until the one-month anniversary of Sherri’s disappearance.<span style=""> </span>This time, Tremaine, search warrant in hand and accompanied by technicians, searched every inch of the place, dusted it for fingerprints and even used luminol to find try to find traces of blood.<span style=""> </span>They spent more than two hours performing all their cop duties, then left as silently as a mime troupe.<span style=""> </span>The detective thanked me at the door, perhaps a more little gruffly than necessary, but I didn’t challenge him about his attitude.<span style=""> </span>I was just glad to be rid of him and his crew.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">The next day, Officer McHenry called to find out if Tremaine followed protocol this time and I assured him that he did.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">“Look, Mr. Gantry, I’m sorry for all this.<span style=""> </span>You’re still a person of interest in this case, but unless there is any further evidence from yesterday’s visit, I’m pretty certain your status will change.<span style=""> </span>In truth, more missing person cases go unsolved than solved and it’s usually because the person who’s disappeared simply does not wish to be found.<span style=""> </span>Unfortunately, that means the police department and even the FBI waste a lot of manpower tracking these individual down for no reason.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">“No problem, officer, I understand.<span style=""> </span>Believe me, I’m just as anxious to find Sherri as you guys are.<span style=""> </span>I need closure at this point, if not for any other reason than peace of mind.<span style=""> </span>But I’ve run out of ideas and also out of money.<span style=""> </span>I need to get back to work.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">McHenry paused for a moment.<span style=""> </span>“I don’t see why you shouldn’t do that, Mr. Gantry.<span style=""> </span>If we need you, we can arrange something convenient with your schedule.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">“Thanks, I appreciate it.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">After I hung up with him, I sat down in front of my computer.<span style=""> </span>Too many months had passed since I last did anything creative or even looked for new clients and I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to do so in time to make a difference to my almost empty bank account.<span style=""> </span>However, Desperation is a strong taskmaster, especially accompanied by his twin sister, Hunger.<span style=""> </span>I had no choice but to beat my way back.</span></p>Michael C. Cordellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09965617497632908328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2783257384115495596.post-90473578326701816172011-02-25T22:38:00.000-08:002011-02-26T19:59:47.538-08:00Solving the Puzzle (a serialized short story): Part 5 of 7<style>@font-face { font-family: "Cambria"; }p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal { margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }div.Section1 { page: Section1; }</style> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%; font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Author's note: I've written quite a bit lately, though I haven't shared any of it publicly. This story was written based on a single word prompt ("Solve") and it's quite different than most of the other stories I've written. I hope you enjoy it!</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%; font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;">**********</span></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">I lay on the couch and slept most of the afternoon.<span style=""> </span>By the time I woke up, it was close to eight o’clock and I found myself hungry for dinner.<span style=""> </span>I looked outside and saw the afternoon clouds gave way to torrential rain, so instead of going out, I called in for pizza delivery, then turned on the TV to pass the time.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">An hour later, I heard a knock on the door and got up to answer it, my wallet already in hand.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">“Mr. Gantry?” a uniformed policeman said when I opened the door.<span style=""> </span>His partner stood next to him, a grim look on her face.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">“Yeah, I’m Jack Gantry.<span style=""> </span>Is there something wrong?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">“Sir, we have a report of a missing person, a Ms. Sherri, um … “ he paused, looking down at his notes. “Sherri Gibbons.<span style=""> </span>Did you know her?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">“Yes, she is, I mean, was my girlfriend.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">The cop peered inside my apartment, but couldn’t see past me.<span style=""> </span>Instead of blocking his view, I swung the door open and welcomed the two of them in with a sweeping motion of my hand.<span style=""> </span>They hesitated.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">“Look, sir, by inviting us in, you’re giving us the right to investigate.<span style=""> </span>You don’t have to do that, at least until we provide you a search warrant.<span style=""> </span>Also, you may want to consult a lawyer.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">I smiled and waved them in again.<span style=""> </span>“Please, officers, I have nothing to hide.<span style=""> </span>Come on in and investigate as much as you want.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">The male cop looked over at his partner, then led the way in.<span style=""> </span>I waited until both were inside before closing the door.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">“I hope you don’t mind, the place isn’t tidied up at all,” I told them.<span style=""> </span>“Sherri did the housekeeping around here.<span style=""> </span>Please have a seat.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">I led them to the sofa and sat down in my easy chair.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">“Fire away, Officer, um … ” I said.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">The cops sat down, facing me.<span style=""> </span>“I’m sorry, I’m Officer McHenry and this is my partner, Officer Lauder,” the male cop said.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">“Go ahead, Officer McHenry.<span style=""> </span>I’m all ears.<span style=""> </span>By the way, I have a pizza coming, so I may have to get up to answer the door.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">McHenry nodded and took out a pen.<span style=""> </span>“I promise this won’t be long, Mr. Gantry.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">“Call me Jack, if you would.<span style=""> </span>Mr. Gantry is my father’s name.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">“I prefer ‘Mr. Gantry,’ sir,” McHenry said.<span style=""> </span>“Now when was the last time you saw Ms. Gibbons.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">“Last night.<span style=""> </span>She packed her bags and moved out.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">McHenry scribbled notes on his pad.<span style=""> </span>“Did she say where she was going?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">“No, but I overheard her on the phone with some guy named Sam.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">The female office cleared her throat.<span style=""> </span>“Excuse me, why did she leave, sir?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">I looked over at her and blinked a couple of times.<span style=""> </span>She wanted me to show some emotion, but I had most of that drained out of me at the bookstore.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">“She was tired of living with me, I guess.<span style=""> </span>I’m a disappointment in her eyes and she had enough.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">Officer Lauder nodded and withdrew to let her partner continue.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">“Do you know who ‘Sam’ is, Mr. Gantry?” he continued.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">“No, I only met him today.<span style=""> </span>A couple of hours ago, he was camped out in front of my apartment door, waiting for me to come home.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">“Where were you before that?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">I smiled.<span style=""> </span>“Looking for Sherri.<span style=""> </span>Sam called me early this morning looking for her, though he never said who he was.<span style=""> </span>She apparently never arrived at his house as scheduled.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">“I see,” McHenry said, then looked back at his partner and mumbled something I couldn’t hear.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">“Mr. Gantry, may I take a look around while my partner continues to question you?” Lauder asked, standing up.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">“Sure thing, help yourself,” I told her.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">Just then, there was a knock on the door and I got up to answer it.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">“It’s the pizza.<span style=""> </span>May I?” I asked McHenry.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">“Sure, go ahead.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">I paid off the delivery boy and put the pizza box on the counter, then returned to the living room.<span style=""> </span>Lauder hadn’t returned from her inspection of the apartment, so I took my seat and waited for more questions.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">“The pizza smells good,” McHenry said, looking up from his pad again.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">I laughed.<span style=""> </span>“I’d offer you a slice, but I’m guessing that’s against regulations.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">“Yeah, you’re right,” he said, looking somewhat depressed about that.<span style=""> </span>I felt bad for him for a moment, then I remembered that he suspected I did something to Sherri.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">“Any more questions?” I asked.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">“Yes,” he said, looking back at his pad.<span style=""> </span>“How long have you been living with Ms. Gibbons?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">“At least five years,” I said.<span style=""> </span>“We’ve known each other since college, even dated then.<span style=""> </span>But it wasn’t until she moved to San Francisco and looked me up that we really got serious.<span style=""> </span>Shortly thereafter, she moved in.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">“When did things start going sour in your relationship, Mr. Gantry?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">I sighed.<span style=""> </span>Everyone’s a couples counselor these days.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">“About a year now, I guess.<span style=""> </span>I’m a freelance artist and I hadn’t been getting many commissions, so I started getting depressed, then started drinking a bit too heavily.<span style=""> </span>The more I drank, the less motivated I was to look for new clients or even paint anything on my own.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">McHenry looked around and took note of the bare walls.<span style=""> </span>“Where’s all your work?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">“Sold or given away,” I said.<span style=""> </span>“Or thrown out.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">“You throw out your work?<span style=""> </span>Why is that, Mr. Gantry?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">I shrugged.<span style=""> </span>“I was disgusted by some of the pieces I painted.<span style=""> </span>It was either throw them out or gouge my eyes out.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">McHenry made sure he wrote that in his notes.<span style=""> </span>Obviously, I was a dangerous character if I’m talking about maiming myself.<span style=""> </span>Could harming another person be the next logical step?</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">Just then, Officer Lauder returned from her tour of my newly created bachelor pad.<span style=""> </span>I waited for her to make some sort of cop-like pronouncement, but she just shook her head.<span style=""> </span>Her partner nodded and stood up.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">“Well, Mr. Gantry, that’s all we need right now.<span style=""> </span>We don’t see any signs of violence right now, but until we find Ms. Gibbons, we won’t be able to rule out bringing in detective to do a thorough investigation of this place,” McHenry said.<span style=""> </span>He reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card.<span style=""> </span>“Please contact us if you hear from Ms. Gibbons or learn of her whereabouts?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">I took the card from him.<span style=""> </span>“Sure thing, officer, I’ll contact you right away.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">The two cops walked to the door and I let them out.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">“Thank you,” I told them and watched them walk down the hall to the stairwell, then closed the door.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">Later that night, I tossed and turned in bed again, occupied with concern for Sherri’s welfare.<span style=""> </span>At one point, it struck me as bittersweet that here I was, caring about her when I couldn’t give a damn about her when we lived under the same roof.<span style=""> </span>If God provided wake-up calls, this was mine.<span style=""> </span>I had to get my life back on track, but I didn’t know if I could until I knew where Sherri was.<span style=""> </span>I just had no idea where to continue looking.</span></p>Michael C. Cordellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09965617497632908328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2783257384115495596.post-58723653797600212852011-02-24T21:24:00.000-08:002011-02-26T19:59:34.945-08:00Solving the Puzzle (a serialized short story): Part 4 of 7<style>@font-face { font-family: "Cambria"; }p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal { margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }div.Section1 { page: Section1; }</style> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%; font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Author's note: I've written quite a bit lately, though I haven't shared any of it publicly. This story was written based on a single word prompt ("Solve") and it's quite different than most of the other stories I've written. I hope you enjoy it!</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%; font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;">**********</span></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">I wandered around the neighborhood for a few more hours, my mood as sullen as the overcast sky above me.<span style=""> </span>Fresh out of ideas, I made my way back to the apartment, still scanning the streets for Sherri’s car.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">I climbed the stairs to my landing and saw a man pacing in front of our apartment door, stopping once to try to see through the peephole, the resuming his march down the hallway.<span style=""> </span>No doubt this was Sam, but I wasn’t convinced I was ready for the encounter and for a moment I debated going the other way.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">“Are you Jack?” I heard him call out to me.<span style=""> </span>Damn my indecision!</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">“Yeah,” I said, striding down the hall to my apartment, keys in hand.<span style=""> </span>“Do I even bother asking the obvious at this point?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">He looked confused for a second, then stood straighter, almost defiant, and looked me right in the eye.<span style=""> </span>“I’m Sam.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">“Sure you are,” I said, amused.<span style=""> </span>I opened the door and looked behind me.<span style=""> </span>“Come on in.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">He followed me and stood in the foyer, waiting for further instructions.<span style=""> </span>Good, an obedient one.<span style=""> </span>No wonder Sherri was attracted to him.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">“I’ve been waiting for a couple hours for you to get back,” he finally said, fidgeting in place.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">“Come in and sit down,” I told him, pointing to the sofa.<span style=""> </span>“Want a beer?<span style=""> </span>I’m getting one for myself.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">“Sure,” he said, planting himself as I suggested.<span style=""> </span>Good boy.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">I brought out the two open bottles from the kitchen and handed one to him.<span style=""> </span>Raising it in salute, I tipped it back and took two huge gulps.<span style=""> </span>He only sipped his, an obvious neophyte to imbibing.<span style=""> </span>Another plus in his column, I guessed.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">“You’re Sam, right?” I finally asked, sitting opposite him in my easy chair.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">“Yeah.<span style=""> </span>I haven’t hear from Sherri since last night.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">“Same here.<span style=""> </span>She left with her bags to go to your place and I passed out in front of the TV.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">Sam considered what I told him and didn’t respond right away, instead seemed intent in trying to peel off the label from the green bottle.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">“Don’t worry, I heard her whole conversation with you last night.<span style=""> </span>Anyway, I just got back from looking for her.<span style=""> </span>No one has seen her recently.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">“Where did you go?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">“All around the immediate neighborhood here.<span style=""> </span>I stopped at her usual haunts, but most of them are closed today.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">Sam got up, walked over to the other side of the room and stood in front of me.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">“I don’t believe you,” he said, looking down at me.<span style=""> </span>If he was trying to appear threatening, he wasn’t doing the best job.<span style=""> </span>I had to stop myself from laughing, though I couldn’t suppress the smirk on my face.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">“I said I don’t believe you!” he shouted this time, a glimmer of emotion finally flashing in his eyes.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">“What part don’t you believe, Sam, that I spent the morning trying to find her, because I did.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">He shook his head, his unkempt long hair flopping in his face, sticking to his unshaven chin.<span style=""> </span>“No, <i>asshole</i>, I don’t believe that at all.<span style=""> </span>I don’t believe you don’t know where she is, either.<span style=""> </span>What I <i>do</i> believe is you hurt her or worse.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">I stood up and brought my face close to his.<span style=""> </span>“Prove it, <i>asshole</i>,” I said, walking away from him.<span style=""> </span>“Look around, see if you see any evidence of foul play.<span style=""> </span>Have at it, I won’t stop you.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">For a moment, I thought he was going to comply, as compliance seemed to be something he was good at.<span style=""> </span>Then he tilted his head and looked at me, again defiant and proud.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">“Sure, so I can spoil a possible crime scene?” he intoned, standing even straighter than before.<span style=""> </span>Intimidating, he was not.<span style=""> </span>More like comical.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">“So you’re calling the cops then?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">He handed me his barely touched beer.<span style=""> </span>“I already have.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">I shrugged and watched him head to the front door.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">“Hey, Sam?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">He stopped and looked at me, his hand on the doorknob.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">“Look, I didn’t hurt her, okay?<span style=""> </span>I would never lay a hand on Sherri.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">“That’s not what she told me,” he said.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">I shrugged again. “Then she lied to you, man.<span style=""> </span>I’ve never hurt another human being in my life, especially a woman, at least physically.<span style=""> </span>And most especially Sherri.<span style=""> </span>Despite everything she told you, I really do love her.<span style=""> </span>I just could never be who she wanted me to be, but she apparently found that in you.<span style=""> </span>And now she’s gone.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">He seemed as surprised to see tears rolling down my cheeks as I was feeling them.<span style=""> </span>I really did love her, but not enough to want to change for her.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 8pt; text-indent: 28pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="font-family:Courier;">“I hope you find her,” I said to him and turned back to the living room.<span style=""> </span>I heard the front door close behind me.</span></p>Michael C. Cordellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09965617497632908328noreply@blogger.com0