The Sky Has Limits

And they're off!

Despite some chastising words from my writing "buddy", and in the throes of a horrible bout of insomnia, I managed to finally punch out my first 3 pages for Script Frenzy.  Only 97 to go...

But I'm not afraid.  That was only the first scene, and I kept it a bit short because I'm afraid of my superfluous tongue.  I'm also certain that I'll have much more to put into it once I have a bit more of the characters' backgrounds in place.

See, my first scene is actually the last scene that occurs, chronologically.  Furthermore, my final scene will be the one just before it.  While I'm not expecting the jizz-worthy moment at the end of The Sixth Sense, my intent is that, having seen the very last moment of the play, you will understand the true impact of what is going on in the first scene.  This was done even more incredibly in Memento, but I can only dream of having that kind of power.  My humble hope is that the tragedy of Alex's life will be more tangible when you already know the ending.

As I wrote, I began feeling uncomfortably giddy at the things I knew this poor girl was about to endure.  I would clap my hands in delight as I crafted a new torture for innocent Alex.  What instrument of brutality would I next use to break her soul?  Perhaps this is the joy Satan finds at twisting our lives for the worse as he wickedly portrays them as better.

Did I just compare myself to the unholy one?  Because I think I'm going to feel like a complete douche bag by the end of this play.  I have far too much empathy for my main character, and while the same might not be said for my future adventurers, I hope I do not forget her pain... for it is mine.

On a side note, I changed the name of the play to Alex's Pearl.  The combination of immature amusement from my compatriots and the lack of eloquence that Alex's Oyster presents convinced me that a subtle shift was necessary.  I think the entendré remains, and it rolls nicely off the tongue.  Plus, I hate oysters

Isn't it Ironic?

A little too ironic...

Irony is probably second only to sarcasm in humorous use, and I see it all around me.  The most recent manifestation is my thorough enjoyment of writing a story that reflects my own despondent view of life.  Deeper still, the story could not have been born without first having utter frustration at existence, and at this particular moment, I find myself pretty damn pleased with life.

Among other ironies, I have one in particular happening with Dungeons & Dragons.  My whole life, I've found it difficult to play role-playing games, because I love being told a story and socializing with others, but I always felt like I was not playing my "role" very well, be it the character, or the player.  Participation always seemed to get in my way of enjoying what was going on around me, yet I wanted to be a part of it.  After reading the newest edition of the Dungeon Master's Guide, I realized that I have always been the "observer" or "storyteller" type of role-player, who enjoys watching things unfold and creating new tales to relate, respectively.  A light-bulb switched on over my head, and I realized that makes me the perfect candidate for a Dungeon Master, which I had simply never thought of before.

Now, to enjoy participating in the storytelling and socialization, all I needed were some friends willing to play.  Sure enough, the time was ripe, and as I mentioned it casually at dinner the other night, everyone seemed "game".  Hopefully, in a few week's time I can be up and running a campaign of my own.  Perhaps someday I'll be comfortable enough to put something together myself, as I'm bursting at the seems with ideas for neat NPCs and strange environs.

As the irony treads ever deeper, I have never been much for fantasy fiction, preferring it's smarter, older brother, science fiction.  Yet here I am, contemplating several swords and sorcery scenarios, eager to see them brought forth.

Will it ever stop?!  I love meat, in every form, barely pausing to consider the implications of veal or foie gras.  Tonight, I plan to try and ask my almost-vegan out on a second date.  While I'm not sure it would ever work out in the end, who is to say?  I find her opposites very attractive, and I intend to find out.

Perhaps I simply like melodrama, or maybe my life has become so stagnant that I court irony as if it were some fleeting romance.  I suppose only time (and my blog) will tell.

Some nuggets

Be them gold, or of a darker sort, I promised to publish the main concept for my story here, and we'll pray that my audience is either so small, or so disinterested in my work that the thing will not be stolen out from under me before I even have a chance to write it.  While my Script Frenzy page has a one-line blurb about the play, here is a much more comprehensive idea of what I'm going for:

Explanation of Alex's Oyster

Alex is a fairly typical girl who goes through a variety of situations that happen to just about everybody, but the scenes will focus on the ones that impact her most, and shape who she will become.  Sadly, most of these have the effect of causing her to loose her innocence and, eventually, her interest in life.  The scenes will each occur during one of her three most important growth phases: when she is 16 (the HIGH SCHOOL PHASE), when she is 20 (the COLLEGE PHASE), and lastly when she is 24 (the CAREER PHASE).  Each phase will have some of the more obvious situations (romance, alcohol/drugs, siblings/parents) but the things that happen will be anticipated/reflected in the other two, and not necessarily in chronological order, but with obvious logical implications.  I plan to bounce around (Lost-style) and hopefully there will be enough continuity to not confuse everyone.

The title is a reference to the popular adage, "The world is my oyster" which comes from a Shakespearean play.  Many people take this to mean, "I have my life ahead of me, and I shall embrace it to seek my destiny/fortune."  In case my use wasn't obvious, I'm being depressingly ironic, because gradually Alex no longer cares about seeking her destiny.

Also, although there is a spot for me to list my script's soundtrack, I'm not allowed to link them, so here it is (for flavor), so far:

Mindy Smith - It's Amazing
VAST - Here
T.H.C. - Dip
T.H.C. - Need to Destroy
Britney Spears - Unusual You
Hilary Duff - Stranger
Ben Folds Five - Brick
Jonatha Brooke - Inconsolable
Linkin Park - My December
Five For Fighting - 100 Years
Jon McLaughlin - Human
Ben Folds - Still Fighting It
Avril Lavigne - My Happy Ending

You may have noticed I've created a good candidate for "Most Depressing Playlist, Ever".  I'm still searching for songs to soften things a little, but stay within the mood.  We shall see what lightning strikes me in that particular vein.

...definitely frenzied

My friend Garret, (who does some composition himself) told me last night that he is consistently meticulous in the writing of outlines for his work.  I have no such illusions of organization, but I realized that he may have had a point: it's a good idea to write some things down about where your idea is going.  As a result, I tried to harness some of the crazy ideas blasting through the station of my mind like a high-speed bullet train, and began writing down some concepts/scenarios for my Script Frenzy stage play.

After a while, I started feeling like I was cheating a little, because a one line sentence starting fleshing itself out into entire paragraphs, encompassing multiple scenes and building on other ideas I had already written down.  Not unlike the torrential spout of "verbage" I unintentionally employ in conversation, things started playing out on the page, my fingers desperately trying to keep up with my brain.  The medium is proving itself inadequate to deal with my stream of ideas!  Concepts are developing far more than I had intended before I officially "start" on April 1st.

Something like this has happened to me before, during classes for web-design that empowered me with new techniques of expression.  The tools felt mired and sluggish, while my consciousness was something akin to a Kenyan at the Olympics.  The two usually found a strange reconciliation, tempering the wild metals crackling in the stone with a steady hammering progression that forced superiority out of each idea.  I should be so lucky to discover that a similar forging will occur with my writing.

Who knew?  I'm not sure Aaron was really game for it himself when he casually dropped me an e-mail, yet I presume he finds himself caught up in the tempest of my excitement.  Never before have I been so sure I wanted to do something, with perhaps the exception of excising my virginity.  Garret upgraded tropical storm to hurricane when he told me how sure he was that I am capable of splendor.  The remark was born in a conversation about my prose, but we're both in anticipation of my current work.  There was even a whisper of publication (pending exceptional branding) that caused my heart to skip a beat.  Here is someone I respect for writing, telling me they expect great things.  While I could only dream of holding such a place of esteem for others, I hope I can pass along this confidence... (Aaron, this means you!)

Frenzy, or frantic?

The other day, Aaron invited me to participate in Script Frenzy, which is apparently what writers do in between NaNoWriMo (November) and 6 months later in May, when they encourage you to go back and edit your novel.  Script Frenzy asks you to write "100 pages of original scripted material in 30 days" which starts April 1st, and ends on the 30th.  As I have never written anything more than short stories, and they were not scripts, this scares the hell out of me.

BUT!

I happened upon my plot premise last night, while drinking a supremely made Hendrick's gin martini!  Aside from learning script format, this was my biggest hurdle, and now that I don't have to use their "plot machine" to churn out some nonsensical premise, I think I can write with much more confidence.  I'm still finalizing the idea (and the title) but as soon as I do, I'll print it here.

Meanwhile, I'm terrified that my interest in writing fiction will get in the way of writing an actual script--with actual dialogue--where the things my characters say will be the main instrument of my story expression.  My hope is that when the time comes to write a novel, I'll be one step closer to writing it, having been blooded on my vocal interaction.

To help with the formatting, Aaron suggested Celtx, which is free software for crying out loud, and even though I haven't had a chance to poke around with it, I'm sure it will be useful.  I have to read a few how-to's, but I am now registered as MalevolentDragon and if I can find and figure out a widget, I'll put a status marker in my sidebar.

Here's to finding out if what's in my head can translate to written word!