The Ever-Evolving Film Reel...

Just a quick note for those of you who like my movies, I've been compiling my film reel and would appreciate any feed back people have on it.

SHORT STORY: INSOMNIA

Shadows played on the ceiling. Thoughts raced. But all I wanted was sleep.

I should shut off my alarm, I thought to myself. I don't need to be up for anything.

I moved to find my alarm in the dark.

No, I stopped myself, If I sleep in, it'll only make it harder to fall asleep tomorrow.

I turned back over and resumed staring at the ceiling. I should be use to the insomnia by now, but for some reason I wasn't. Still, thoughts and ideas churned through my mind preventing my from being able to drift off to sleep. Faces of people I knew, places I'd visited, even a few imagined events, all good memories. And always, there was her. Every one of my memories, she was by my side, smiling, laughing, crying. Through thick and thin.

I chuckled at the memory of the time we climbed to the top of the school's flagpole on a dare, and got stuck. The clasps that held the flag hooked around our pants and we got flipped upside down. Unfortunately, we'd climbed the pole in the middle of the night and had to hang there for hours before someone noticed.

We don't do things like that any more, I thought, sighing. We don't do much of anything these days.

Still, she slept peacefully in the bed and I couldn't complain.

At least she still keeps me around.

The room was quite different these days than before when we still spent every waking moment together. The doll house and its occupants were the first to go, replaced by the vanity and accompanying makeup. Then the clothing began to change, throwing out the little dresses and bringing in the jeans and T-shirts. Finally the general mess and clutter took over everything else.

I rolled over, careful not to disturb her slumber, and lied facing her. She looked so at peace when she slept. Unlike how she looked most days when she was awake. Sure, our carefree days of childhood were pretty much behind us. She had a job now, some would even call it a career.

When was the last time we actually talked? I asked myself.

Of course there was the general, 'how was your day?', 'how was work?', and so on, but that didn't really count. At times I wondered if perhaps she was bitter about my not being able to work. I knew she hated it whenever I came to visit her at the office and after the first couple of times, ending with her shouting at me, she's just ignored me whenever I turned up. I can't help it, though, I get so lonely sitting at home alone all day.

I could leave her, I thought, not for the first time.

The outside world held the thrills and adventures I'd been longing for ever since we'd grown up and stopped exploring. She'd probably be just fine without me, she might even be better off.

I sighed and rolled back onto my back. But how would I survive? I can't really do anything on my own. I need her like she needs air. She just doesn't need me much if at all any more.

I'm just being melodramatic, I told myself and rubbed my face with my hands, hoping to massage some sleep into my eyes. It didn't work.

Do you want me around? I thought, looking over to where she lay.

“Of course I do,” She muttered sleepily.

We never do anything together anymore, I thought.

“Having you around is nice,” She said, still slurred through half-moving lips.

I need more than that, though.

She didn't say anything more and her slow, rhythmic breathing returned to normal.

I think it would be best if I left, I thought, Regardless of the consequences.

I started to crawl out of the bed.

“Don't go,” She murmured and her hand caught hold of mine.

You don't want me, I said, Not really.

“I still need you,” She said.

I hesitated. Could I believe her? She was asleep, of that I was certain, so whatever she was saying she believed to be true. Or, at least true from the perspective of her subconscious.

I don't think you do, I told her, pulling my hand free. I'm holding you back. You need to meet other people, date more, maybe even get married, I paused, choking up and trying to hold back the tears. And you can't do any of that with me hanging around, getting in the way.

A few tears slid down her cheeks but she never woke up as I walked out of the room and down the hall.

Twenty-six is far too old, I assured myself as I got nearer the front door, For anyone to have an imaginary friend.

With that I stepped out of the apartment, relieved that I was finally taking this step, and ceased to exist.

48 Hour Film Contest...Fun and Frustration have become friends

*Note: I had some awesome pictures inserted into this post, and then the editor kept crashing and losing the post and otherwise making me pull my hair out...so, for my sanity and the continuance of this post, please refer to the facebook page for the film The Soul Virus

A few weeks back, I co-produced a short for a 48 Hour Film competition. All of the teams had to wait until the official start of the 48 hours to do ANY creative work. Though we could scout locations and assemble crew/cast. At the beginning of the 48 hours, each team would draw a genre from a hat (ours was Sci-Fi). In addition to this, everyone had to use the following three elements:
Character: Reginald/Regina Worthington - Banker
Prop: Traffic Cone
Line of Dialogue: Holy Crap! Did that really just happen?

The films had to be 4-7 minutes in length and turned in on time, other wise they would not be eligible for any of the awards. Though, late films would still be screened at the theater where they were holding the awards ceremony.

So, in our team there were 4 producers:
Steve Edmiston, writer-producer of 3 feature films and numerous shorts, who also handled the writing and directing for this project
Jeff McCord, who produces games by day and films on the side, who also handled certain locations and some directing for us
Myself, who's just getting started in this business, and handled legal, created the story, and dabbled with lighting on the film
And Jake, who works for a local TV station and who also wrangled crew for us.

The story was an Adam-and-Eve-Post-Apocalyptic scenario. Disease wipes out almost all of humanity, girl meets boy, boy is a jerk, they meet an older man (Reginald), and in the end the girl picks the older guy over the younger guy.

We spent several hours, from 7 pm Friday night to 3 am Saturday morning working on the
story/script/casting, and then had call for our cast and crew at 7 am that same morning. So, with what little sleep we could muster, we began filming. And then our PA for running errands got lost. And camera batteries began dying even though they should have had a full charge. Airplanes and helicopters flew overhead ruining our audio.

Thankfully, our crew was awesome and were able to come up with some very creative ways around these problems. My personal favorite involved our boom operator lying on the ground at the feet of our actors, just barely hidden by a berm, so he could be close enough to get the sound without picking up the other ambient noise.

At last, at 11 pm Saturday night, filming was finished. Our editor had already begun her work as scenes were completed but now she had everything to work with. Our editor, use to Final Cut 7 and Adobe Premier Pro, however, was having difficulty with the Final Cut Pro X suite she had available to work with. Youtube tutorials could only do so much for her, but she makes her living as an editor for a reason and she blazed on through. Our deadline was Sunday, 7pm. At 6:30 pm we had a 7 minute cut of the film...and it was terrible. We'd made a really great 10 minute film, instead of a 4-7 minute film and those 3 minutes of additional cutting that had to happen to get us into the required time took too much out of the story.

We held an emergency teleconference with all 4 producers. After some deliberation, we all agreed that a good but late film was better than a bad film on time. We re-cut the film up to 10 minutes and got it in late.

The only other time I've been late with a film was when our gear got stolen. Every other time when things went wrong, I'd found a way around it. So this was not a pleasant experience for me, having to turn in a project late. Still, I had to agree that it was for the best.

In the end, we got to see our film up on the big screen and we're now in the process of tweaking an refining it so we can take it around to film festivals (which is why it's not going to be up on my blog for some time since most festivals don't want the films up on sites where anyone can see them).

Now what did I learn? Awesome people make awesome films, even if you don't win. And working with great people tends to teach me things I didn't know before, which is always a huge boon.

IMMOLATION: Chapter 28

“Oh, come on,” Tom urged, taking a sip from his glass.

Joan didn't look up from her plate as she cut her steak into several smaller pieces. Tom's request would be harmless were it not for the fact that they were sitting in a crowded restaurant.

“You're going to ignore me?” Tom asked, “You'll hurt my feelings.”

Joan looked him in the eye and couldn't tell if he was being honest or not. He seemed earnest and, having already upset him once, Joan knew better than trust his outer show of confidence.

“I'll get in trouble,” Joan said flatly before returning to her meal.

“Fair enough,” Tom said, “But you will have to show me one of these days.”

Joan put down her fork. “I don't see what the big deal about it is,” She said, “You've seen fire before.”

“Yeah, on a log.”

Tom's expression betrayed him and Joan knew he was only trying to rile her.

“You can't expect me to believe that you've never noticed the spot on my back.”

“Covered in hair,” Tom said offhandedly, “Doesn't count.”

Joan's eyes narrowed and she had to fight to keep her pilot light from igniting. Tom's persistence was becoming annoying.

“Well I don't like how you're turning me into something just to be looked at,” She said in a firm tone, “So let it go or this might be your last date.”

Tom slumped. “I'm sorry,” He said, “I didn't mean to come across that way.”

Again, Joan found it difficult to tell whether he was telling the truth or not.

“I just think it's cool that you can do what you do,” Tom continued, “And it's a whole lot more interesting than talking about me.”

“Well there's more to me than just fire,” Joan said, “And I think I'll be the judge about whether or not you're interesting.”

Tom smiled and nodded his head before taking another sip from his glass. “But just so you know,” He said, “I grew up here in the city, was a shy, sheltered child who got everything I ever asked for. My parents died in a car accident while I was away at college and I've been floating on the inheritance ever since.”

“Really?” Joan asked.

Tom nodded. “Yup, except for the part about my parents. They're living happily in Europe herding sheep.”

“That's not funny,” Joan said, her pilot light practically begging to be lit.

“Which part?” Tom asked, his face still set in his playful smirk.

“What part do you think?” Joan demanded as Tom's charm grew more and more upsetting.

“It was just a joke, come on,” Tom said, holding up his hands in defense. “My parents are fine, still live in the city, and I have dinner with them once a month. Honest. What about yours?”

Joan's breathing came in short bursts as her emotions swelled. Of course Tom couldn't have known about her family, but she couldn't sit there, looking at his smiling face. She stood up and began walking briskly away. If she could just get outside and down an alley she could burn without anyone seeing.

“Hey,” Tom called out in astonishment, “Joan! What's wrong?”

Joan kept walking, holding back the tears and fire as best she could.

The moment the crisp evening air hit her face, Joan broke into a run. The sun had set since they'd arrived at the restaurant and dusk had settled in full making the world gray and shadowed. An alley opened up suddenly half a block into her run and Joan turned down it, grateful for how wide it was and for its lack of windows and doors.

Fire burst into the early night and Joan cried, screaming to drown out the roar of the inferno around her. She hated herself for losing control, for how her fire still intensified her emotions, for how little control she really had. They'd lock her away, she knew it. It was only a matter of time.

Another voice reached her ears and Joan turned around. What she saw drove back her tears but fueled her fears all the more.

Tom was lying on the ground just a few feet away from her, screaming as he burned. Joan tried to pull her fire away from him but it wouldn't obey.

“Help!” Joan shouted, but where they were both deep into the alley she doubted anyone would hear.

Tom continued to writhe on the ground but most of his movements brought him closer rather than further away. Joan doubted he even knew which way was up, blinded as he might be by the fire and pain.

“Get away from me!” Joan shouted to him and Tom pushed himself in the right direction. “That's right, keep moving!”

Joan could only stand there and watch, hoping that Tom's screams were growing faint because of the distance he'd put between them. Joan tried again to extinguish her flame but with similar results as before when she was struck with an idea. She looked up, checking to make sure there was nothing above before she focused on channeling as much of her fire upward.

It worked. The fire shot upward between the buildings on either side like a tornado. The swirling flame whipped around her, smacking her hair into her face, but it was held close around her and that was what was important.

Tom, free of the fire, curled up into the fetal position. His clothes and skin were so badly burned that it was difficult at first for Joan to tell them apart.

“I'm going to get help,” Joan assured him and she ran passed, back toward the mouth of the alley.

Behind her, Tom whimpered and moaned.

Once she got back onto the main sidewalk, it didn't take very long for her to spot other people.

“Please,” She shouted to them from where she stood, knowing better than to run towards them as a burning pillar and potentially frighten them away. “Please, I need you to call an ambulance.”

A middle aged man not far from her complied and pulled out his cell phone, though shock played clearly on his face.

“My name is Joan Darcy, I'm the girl who burns and my friend's been burned,” Joan explained quickly once the man finished dialing and held the cell phone to his ear. “I didn't know he was behind me when I ignited... please,” Joan's tears returned and hissed as they were evaporated by her spiraling flame, “Please tell them to hurry.”

POETRY: A DREAM I HAD

A DREAM I HAD

Run faster little man

The world is old and ending

The car ahead, your quarry

It's speed too great for legs

*

Drop to all fours strange man

Leap and bound to catch your pray

Run like beasts from times now past

Fabled cats of monstrous size

*

You are too late old man

The car is fast and gone

What life you had is spent and o'er

Lie in dust entombed in failure

*

A train is coming sleepy man

It rumbles on its way

Too high for you to reach and ride

You sit and watch it pass

*

SHORT STORY: A LETTER HOME

A LETTER HOME

I'm sure you will not believe this, but please read it through. Perhaps, by the end of it all, you will see why I've done what I've done.

The first time it happened, I was seven, playing with a fiend in his back yard. His house sat on the banks of the river and we were just finishing skipping rocks when our parents called for us to come in. We turned, and in that moment when I was looking straight at him, this feeling, a shuddering sensation, rolled over my body. And just like that, I knew that my friend was going to die. Not only that, I knew when: two days from that moment.

I pushed the unpleasant and unwanted knowledge from my mind, unable as I was at that time to understand, let alone believe, what had just happened. When the news of his disappearance two days later, and then the discovery of his drowned body in the river the week after, I had already forgotten my premonition and mourned with the rest of them at his funeral.

Some years later, another friend of mine and I were playing when that same shuddering sensation ran down my spine and I knew my friend would die in nine day's time. Memories long repressed about a friend and a river came back to me and I excused myself quickly, insisting I had forgotten some important chore for my mother. My friend and I never got to see one another again, following a car accident, and it was at that point that I began to wonder.

Over the next few months I mused over those two singular events in my life, and through my musing, I became aware of how frequently I was feeling those shudders. I passed by an ant hill and felt it, felt hundreds of lives that would soon be gone. I watched a dog chase a frisbee in the park and the shudder was there marking the dog for just over a week to go. The old man on the street corner, waiting for the bus had just over two weeks while the woman at the supermarket had only a day.

Those shudders were weaker, much weaker, than the ones I'd felt for my friends and I probably would have gone on not noticing them had I not been brought to think about it so much. All the same, I couldn't help but begin thinking of ways that I could use this morbid power of mine for good. I was young, still not yet even half way into my growth spurt, but I knew I would find a way to help better humanity, for that must have been the reason that I was chosen to bear this gift. Such were the ideals of youth.

I learned to focus my gift. Like radio frequencies, every living thing seemed to broadcast a sort of life force signal, and it was that signal that I could sense. And when that signal grew short enough, to within a few weeks, that was when I could pinpoint the moment. The larger the creature, the stronger the signal. The more attached I am, the more in tune to the signal and therefore the stronger reaction on my part. That was why my friends produced such strong reactions in me.

Excitement stirred within me as I continued my secret quest to find a way to use my hidden ability. I was like a super hero, passing through my very own origin story on my way to greatness. Like most super heroes, I had my awkward moments. Forgetting that grandpa wasn't dead yet; digging Snowbell, the family cat, a grave before she died and then having to explain to my mother why I thought her flower bed needed such an adition; and the unavoidable side affect of being unable to be around friends once I knew how much time they had left.

At last, I felt like I was ready. With my precognition about death, I could forewarn people about their impending doom and possibly save their lives. Sure, there were the sic and the elderly whom no amount of warning would help. But there were those people like my two childhood friends who died in accident. Surely if I knew then what I had now learned I could have saved them. I waited eagerly for my first opportunity and before long, it came.

Family reunions, at best, offer free food. At least, that's how they go in my family. As it was, I was sitting at a picnic table eating my way through a plate of assorted jello salads and melon balls when I was joined by my cousin. He had no sooner sat down opposite me than my whole body shivered and I knew he had only a day left to live. And now came the tricky part. How do I go about warning him?

He asked me about the jello salads. I asked him about his health. We both responded with positive affirmations that what the other had asked about was all in fine order. He got a plate of jello salad and I continued to think of ways he might be killed and how to warn him against them.

I asked if he were planning any trips?

No.

Did he live in a safe neighborhood?

Yes.

Working car?

Yes, brand new.

Job?

Just fine and coming up for a raise.

All throughout my interrogation he smiled and ate his jello salad, seemingly pleased just to have someone so interested in him. Such were our family reunions that most times we spent a fair amount of time staring at the walls so we wouldn't have to make eye contact with one another and then be forced to acknowledge exactly how awkward we all were at these annual get-togethers.

We were both really getting into this whole Q & A thing when my cousin suddenly doubled up and collapsed at my feet. I felt like Super Man, having just seen someone fall out of a building right in front of him and then failing to catch said person. My aunt rushed over, along with everyone else, and I tried to explain that I did my best to find out how he was going to die so I could warn him but that I was new to this sort of thing and...well you can imagine the looks they gave me. I figured every super hero has his or her weakness. Mine was interrogation and questioning techniques.

As it turned out, my cousin was allergic to something in the jello salad and I immediately bumped allergy questions to the top of my list for future reference. My cousin hung in there valiantly but when the hospital mixed up their food trays and gave him the jello salad instead of the fruit pie, well, there are only so many times a person can go into anaphylactic shock in so short a space of time.

My aunt had me thrown out of the funeral. She thought I was to blame, that I should have known about his allergies and warned him beforehand. I felt only mildly guilty when I shuddered walking passed her and didn't bother to tell her to watch her step in the next couple of weeks. I consoled myself at her funeral with the knowledge that aneurisms are out of my jurisdiction.

I continued my quest to find and help people, warning them as best I could. However, three arguments, five slaps to the face, a black eye, and a half dozen restraining orders later, I had to admit that I wasn't doing a very good job at helping save people's lives.

And that was when the idea for my business was born. People weren't interested in me coming to them, they had proven that. But what if there were people out there who were interested in coming to me, just to see if their time was coming up? Not a terribly altruistic method, I know, but if I could develop a positive track record, then maybe people would be more willing to listen to me when I come to them.

It didn't take much to get started and, sure enough, there were plenty people willing to pay just to have me look at them and then let them know if they were going to die any time soon. Surprisingly, a fair number of them were indeed close to reaching their final destinations. It seemed to me at the time, and I still believe this, that people can sense when their own time is coming to an end and that was why my clients were so often near their ends. The only downside to it was, I was right every time. No matter what people tried to avoid death it always found them. Perhaps it is as the saying goes that a person often meets their destiny on the very road they took to avoid it. Regardless, I did gain the attention of others but not in the way I wanted.

Police stations are like hospitals, I've discovered. Cold, unwelcoming, and ridiculously high on the security spectrum. They couldn't believe that someone was capable of predicting deaths and so they therefore determined that I was in fact murdering my clients. It took some doing, but eventually, when the last of my clients passed while I was still very much in custody and they couldn't find a single shred of evidence against me, they let me go. Though they warned me against making any such 'predictions' in the future.

So, I changed my name, moved towns, got a desk job, and watched idly as the people around me died. They didn't go any faster than normal. I don't want you to think I was in any way the source or cause for people dying. I was just more aware of it. I'm sure anyone else with my ability would be amazed at how many people they come in contact with on any given day who will be dead within a month.

But that isn't why I'm writing this down. I need you to understand where I'm coming from, where I've come from. I know this isn't the way you'd have preferred to hear from me. You see, I've kept tabs on my family and friends from before, you know, just to see how they're doing, and the other day I was in town and I saw you on the bus. There's no real nice way to say this, but you have until Thursday. I know I probably should have told you this in person, but, well I didn't want to make a scene. And besides, as I've mentioned before, there probably isn't anything you can do.

I love you Mom,

Your affectionate, if estranged, Son

IMMOLATION: Chapter 27

Joan burned. Fire licked across her body and she relished the calming sensation that accompanied it. Matt had attached a few instruments to Joan before she started to burn but the majority of them surrounded her inside the kiln and she couldn't help but be amazed at how well they stood up to her heat. She'd removed a single brick at eye level in the kiln's outer wall so she could look out and speak to Matt while he gathered more data.

The kiln itself sat in an open courtyard behind the small brick building that was the Potter Barn. A few other kilns sat in the courtyard along with cooling racks and stacks of spare bricks and Matt used one such collection of bricks for his chair.

“So what can you tell me about my fire?” Joan asked as soon as Matt looked back up from his laptop.

“Well,” Matt scratched his head, “as far as I can tell, it's normal fire everywhere except for the first quarter of an inch above your skin and around your clothes.”

“What do you mean, 'normal fire'?” Joan asked, “How is any of this normal?”

Matt rested his laptop on a pile of bricks beside him and got up to pace.

“Fire follows some very specific rules,” He explained, “It radiates energy in a predictable fashion and can be, more or less, mapped out based on it's source. I've spent the past couple of weeks going over the data I collected last time and I was able write a program that could map our your fire. It's running right now and it's working pretty good.”

“So what's wrong with the quarter inch above my skin?” Joan asked.

“Not too much,” Matt said, “Other than the fact that it breaks the laws of thermodynamics.”

“Thermo-what?”

“Thermodynamics,” Matt stated, “The laws that govern heat transfer, among other things, but let's stick with the basics.”

“Sounds good,” Joan agreed, remembering back to how much she loathed science class. “So what rules am I breaking?”

“So, under normal situations, heat propagates through either physical contact, like when you touch a hot skillet, or through radiation, like the sun warming the Earth. Now, radiant heat spreads out equally in every direction, and since hot air rises, it's assumed that heat will propagate upward faster and farther than any other direction. Follow me?”

Joan's fire turned from calming into frustrating. “No,” She admitted.

“Sorry,” Matt said, “Let me try again.”

Matt picked up his notepad and quickly scribbled something down.

“Here, look at this,” He said and held the paper up for Joan to see.

The picture depicted a burning log, showing the majority of the heat rising upward and a little less going to the sides and even less going down. To top off the sketch, a stick figure was touching the log with a fair amount of heat going into it's hand.

“You should have been an artist,” Joan teased. “I particularly like the expression on the unfortunate stick man.”

Matt shrugged. “But you get the idea?” He asked.

“I guess,” Joan said.

“So where your fire differs, is that quarter inch just around you and your clothes.”

“Different how?” Joan asked.

“Different in that instead of the heat radiating in every direction, it all radiates away from you or your clothes in a straight line.”

“But isn't that how a flame thrower works?” Joan asked, still trying to wrap her mind around it all.

“A flame thrower shoots a flammable gas or liquid across a small pilot light,” Matt said, “The fuel ignites and continues forward. But the heat still propagates like usual.”

“Oh,” Joan nodded, though she wasn't sure she quite understood the problem yet. “So what's your best guess?”

“Psychic projection,” Matt replied without missing a beat. “Though I'd have to consult a neurologist to figure out a way to test my theory.”

Joan snickered as her fire turned away from frustrating and became amused.

“I'm psychic, am I?” She asked.

“A heliopath, to be specific,” Matt said and picked up his laptop once more and began looking over the data. “And before you ask, a heliopath is a person who creates fire. And no, you can't move objects with your mind or see into the future or commune with spirits.”

Joan shut her open mouth and her fire sulked mildly.

“Whoa,” Matt said at once, staring at his laptop “What did you just do?”

“What? Nothing,” Joan stated.

“Well something happened,” Matt said, typing away on his laptop. “Your fire's not as hot any more, and it's...slower, for lack of a better word.”

“Maybe It's just going out?” Joan ventured.

“No, I've seen that before,” Matt said, “This is something different. It happened all at once, too, across all of your fire. That shouldn't happen. It should have begun at the source and then spread out like normal.”

Matt continued to work on his laptop and, regardless of what Matt said, she felt her fire diminishing.

“I'm going out,” Joan announced.

Matt paused briefly in his typing, “What's his name?” He asked before resuming his work.

“What? No, I mean my fire is going out,” Joan snickered again and her fire shifted one last time before going out.

“There!” Matt exclaimed, “Right before your fire went out it changed again.”

Joan didn't know what to say so she said nothing and began pulling off the sensors Matt had attached to her before. In less than a minute she stepped out of the kiln and handed Matt his instruments.

“Let me know what you find,” She said.

“Yeah, of course,” Matt said as he began packing away his things.

Joan began to make her way towards the gate that led out of the courtyard.

“Um, Joan?” Matt called after her.

She turned back, confused by Matt's uncomfortable expression.

“I've got a new job, working at the University, doing research and such, and I was wondering if you'd be interested in helping me with my new project?” Matt said all in one breath.

Joan wavered. “I'm not much of a scientist,” She said.

“No, I know that, it's just that my project is a heat machine, it turns heat into electricity,” Matt explained, “And I was thinking that it would be interesting to see how much energy you can produce.”

The idea of standing inside of some cramped compartment, probably made of metal, with a large locking door, seemed too much like her old cell and she immediately broke out in a cold sweat.

“I'd really rather not,” She said, “Sorry.”

Matt diminished but didn't try to argue with her. Instead he said, “Okay, see you in a couple weeks when I've finished going over the data?”

“Sure,” Joan replied and left Matt to finish packing up.