Madness

Hi all

As I suspected, last week was a furious furore.  I don't have much time to dither over posts this week either, but in a nutshell:

Short re-write.

Feature Outline magically writes itself overnight.

Read magic Feature Outline, decipher writing, type up.

Short re-write.

Put magically written Feature Outline in drawer. Adios amigo, for a while. Dust - do your worst.

Travel to Darlington to attend The Story Engine, brilliantly organised by Ian Fenton.

Work in hotel bar, socialise with blog buds, Le Arnopp et Le Turner.

Attend first brilliant day of aforementioned festival.

Sh*t hits fan via email.

Tear apart Short film idea.

Huff. 

Drive Producer up wall.

Return to Festival seminars.

Lose all form of concentration.

Drive Producer up wall.

Return to hotel, take long shower.

Stomp around a lot like a child.

Tear apart Short film idea again.

Drive Producer up wall. Again. He's now on ceiling.

Network on a microcosmic basis with aforementioned blogbuds, joined by Chris Parr, Le Moran & Le Lemon and their prettier halves.  

Return to hotel room and work solidly until about 4am.

Breakfast before 8.15am telecon to Script Editor. Couldn't eat. Wasn't hungry anyway.

Absorb Script Editor notes.

Get ready to return to Festival & seminar I'm late for.

Decide to watch TV instead.

Kick self up arse.

Check out of room & carry on working on new beat sheet in bar (it was closed, I may add)

Make decision to quit festival whilst I'm on a roll - Simon Beaufoy will have to wait to meet me another time.

Return to festival for lunch, have quick chats & say goodbye before heading to the station home.

As leaving, start conversation with Really Interesting Bloke who agrees to be the subject matter of a long term Feature Documentary me & WorkGalBud are pulling together. F'cking A.

Leave for home with a spring in my step.

Work like a possessed demon on the train home.

Batter commuters out of way in haste to get home and charge MacBook.

Work like an even bigger demon, flat out all weekend.

New beat sheet, new character breakdowns. New, new, new everything.

Realise my rib is very sore after just being a bit sore last week, and trapped nerve in leg is getting worse.

Find out I have two ribs out of place - have them realigned. Trapped nerve eased with painkillers.

Weigh myself - have lost 7lbs in a week.  Joy.

Carry on with new new new everything.

Wait with bated breath.

Realise it's all good.

Onwards and upwards.

Laters, sweeties.

The Week That Now Was

Well hello there, you little bundles of fun.

It's been a busy week - there's no denying that.  

Having only just vaguely recovered from the brain drain exhaustion that was due to the exceptionally brilliant Digital Shorts training last week, I then launched a full attack on my project in general - resulting in a much tighter incarnation of "Perfect".  I am really very much liking this one. This one feels good and we're on target. Nice. Love it. Bloody superb.  

I have also had quite a few meetings to run through various ideas for cast, crew and general logistics. Everyone needs a wonderful Producer, I tell you. (But I have to say that, right?) Arf. ;) 

So, all in all a totally knackering week - which, of course, included a fellow scribey drinkie session. As usual, a great night had by all and it was lovely to catch up with the usual suspects Arnopp, Beckley, Barron, Campbell, Colgan, Lemon, Perry & Turner. I even met some lovely new suspects this time too, which was all very exciting as they hadn't heard any of my shit before. Fantabulous, I tell you.

Have a super weekend all. 

Shorts, Longs and In-Betweens

It's been a funny old week, as it has kind of imploded on itself.  Don't ask me to explain why - it just has.

I was glad to have made the screening of David Lemon's very funny and brilliantly crafted feature, "Faintheart", earlier in the week.  If anyone ever needs a filmic example of the Hero's Journey, then this is your DVD. 

Well, I'm totally thrilled at nailing my beat sheet at last, and was even more happy to send off my [latest and greatest?] re-write to my Script Editor and Producer.  Yes, you read that right - "Perfect" now has a Producer and he's that Dan Turner bloke. He begged me nicely, so I said he could join in. Only joking, Dan, I know you read my ramblings here and I'm very glad to have you on board... ;)  

All in all, the project feels like it's coming together now - it's starting to feel a bit more real, which is creeping over me like a strange, uneasy calm.  Although I have spent quite a bit of time sourcing possible music, design, locations etc, there's nothing I can do about any of it until I get the big thumbs up; but to me, all these areas are of huge importance and have really helped focus my mind on the end result of the script.  I also finally found the picture I have been searching for in the Tenacious East Wing loft - this is my creative reference point for half of the scenes in the film and from which I can create a solid foundation for the "look". Ooooh, lovely. Anyway, all I have to do now is make "Perfect" all so spiffingly - well...um...perfect - that Screen East and UKFC have to select it to go into production. Oh crap. April seems so near yet so very far away.

So, here I am feeling like I'm twiddling my fingers to be honest.  I have read through my rewrite and changed a couple of words, but there's no point in going to town on it until I have notes back from Script Editor and Producer who are both reading it over the weekend. They have a copy each, by the way, just in case you thought I was making them share...

I am half tempted to start outlining my new feature idea but I need to finish off my final bit of research first - that should take precedence this weekend. However, before I tally-ho off, I have was memed by Miss Read earlier in the week.  She tasked me with: If you could go back to live in any one year from your lifetime, which one would you choose?

I am an eternal optimist, thus being a firm believer that the best is still to come, although this is not to say what has passed hasn't been good.  However, if I had to choose a year then it would be 1977. Jeez, most people probably weren't even born then, but I was - but only just as I was very, very young.

I have a strong memory of this particular year because it was so damn hot and I remember spending the whole summer in shorts and t-shirts, usually running around all day playing in the searing heat with the dogs, cats and chickens and then when it became too hot, I would beg, borrow or steal a home made lemonade and head for my den.  "The River Dell", as I named it, was very special. I had to climb up a little DIY ladder hidden behind the summer house to get over the fence at the end of our the garden, and then I was in a magical world of pixies, elves, fairies and witches, all hidden under the cooling canopy of the trees. There was a trickling brook which dried up in the height of summer (especially '77), but the ground was always damp enough to make mud pies - albeit dry-ish ones.

If I wasn't in the Dell then I was up the tree at the front of our house as it was perfect for watching into the distance for Mum or Dad coming home, visitors arriving after a long journey or just the local farmer, shotgun slung over his shoulder, whistling at his sheepdog whilst walking through the late afternoon haze across the drought ridden corn fields.  I also vividly recall the smell of my Dad's aftershave and my Mum's perfume when they were getting ready to go out to do a gig or go to a party.  More than anything, I guess there were no worries, no cares, lots of barbecues, parties and laughter, and both my Mum and Dad were just a cuddle away.

This was also the summer Elvis died - a day I remember so clearly. I took ages to get dressed that morning as I had been having a shorts & t-shirt dilemma - honest! I had been given an outfit as a present which had come from America - matching pale green shorts and t-shirt  - but they had butterflies all over, which was just too girly for me. I had decided to give the outfit it's premiere and remember walking into the lounge all ready for my Mum or Dad to make comments on how lovely the butterflies were, but they didn't - they just sat at the table in the kitchen, listening to the radio, stunned. 

Mum told me what had happened and in a typical child-like fashion I replied "Oh. That's sad. Did we know him then? Did he come to one of your parties or did you go to his?"  Mum and Dad laughed so much but I didn't understand why. I think I just stole some of Dad's toast with lemon and lime marmalade on and went out to check on my sweetcorn growing in the garden. Ah, special times. 1977 - I'd see you again.

I tag: you, dear reader.