Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Sailing for my Birthday
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Sketch 1: Character in a Distraught State of Mind
He had not drawn or written anything in two or three weeks. The longer he abstained from any creative endeavor, the more depressed he got. He did not know why. He just thought he was going...
Monday, June 13, 2011
PART 1: THE THING IN MY EYE
The following is and excerpt of a story called THE THINGS IN MY EYES
“God damn it. I’m losing my vision.” I said out loud as I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. The street was lined with big wooden framed homes closely standing next to each other. As far as I knew I was the only one on the street. I lived in a red house that was only couple of doors away. Even though I was close to home, I stopped anyway. I couldn’t help it. I didn’t care that strangers stared at me from curtain-lined windows around me. It was okay.
Look at me. Look at me like there’s something wrong with me. There is.
“Why my vision? Why take my sight?” I said, as I rubbed my eyes with the meat of my finger tips.
I stopped talking out loud and used my inner voice. Who was I talking to. I didn’t even believe in God. What do I know? It didn’t matter. In times like these, we all have to imagine something greater than ourselves to arouse those feelings that we know as hope.
My name is John Goode and I felt so frustrated at everything. At this place in my life that I am in now. The sensation that overtook my body from one-second to the next felt unbearable at that moment I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk.
It pervaded my whole being. My jeans felt tight. My shirt felt two size too big. My hair. Oh, my hair. In the past, when I felt this way. Not even the skin covering my felt like mine. Mind you, I’ve had this feeling before. Usually, the sensation came over me because I didn’t take care of myself. For instance, my black hair would become a flop and unbalanced. It made the proportions of my face a-skewed. In the past, that feeling was easy to get rid of. Usually, I would head over to that barbershop by the train station. The barber was a balding over weight man named George, who spoke with a thick Albanian accent. He smelled a little. Actually he smelled a lot. But he was an artist with those clippers and scissors, working diligently around my skull. Afterward, everything felt better.
This time however, it wasn’t my hair. A hair cut wouldn’t do it. I was sure of it.
And this thought in itself was dreadful enough.
“God damn it. I’m losing my vision.” I said out loud as I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. The street was lined with big wooden framed homes closely standing next to each other. As far as I knew I was the only one on the street. I lived in a red house that was only couple of doors away. Even though I was close to home, I stopped anyway. I couldn’t help it. I didn’t care that strangers stared at me from curtain-lined windows around me. It was okay.
Look at me. Look at me like there’s something wrong with me. There is.
“Why my vision? Why take my sight?” I said, as I rubbed my eyes with the meat of my finger tips.
I stopped talking out loud and used my inner voice. Who was I talking to. I didn’t even believe in God. What do I know? It didn’t matter. In times like these, we all have to imagine something greater than ourselves to arouse those feelings that we know as hope.
My name is John Goode and I felt so frustrated at everything. At this place in my life that I am in now. The sensation that overtook my body from one-second to the next felt unbearable at that moment I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk.
It pervaded my whole being. My jeans felt tight. My shirt felt two size too big. My hair. Oh, my hair. In the past, when I felt this way. Not even the skin covering my felt like mine. Mind you, I’ve had this feeling before. Usually, the sensation came over me because I didn’t take care of myself. For instance, my black hair would become a flop and unbalanced. It made the proportions of my face a-skewed. In the past, that feeling was easy to get rid of. Usually, I would head over to that barbershop by the train station. The barber was a balding over weight man named George, who spoke with a thick Albanian accent. He smelled a little. Actually he smelled a lot. But he was an artist with those clippers and scissors, working diligently around my skull. Afterward, everything felt better.
This time however, it wasn’t my hair. A hair cut wouldn’t do it. I was sure of it.
And this thought in itself was dreadful enough.
Friday, June 10, 2011
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Second Draft of PURGE
This is my first draft of Purge.
It was read by a meetup.com group of filmmakers and that was pretty exciting. After the table read, I got some good comments on how to improve it. So, I worked on it some more and made some changes. There were some things to consider that I did not think about before. And the main point is to get the screenplay in a shape where it is doable with resources that the group has at the time.
Changes are as follows:
1. Cast 5 to 3 to focus more on the development on the main three characters
2. No running barefoot because of the risk of stepping on glass.
3. Scenes now outside of cemetery because of the getting permission would be more of a challenge.
4. YOUNG MAN is now THE HOODED MAN
5. thriller to horror thriller
6. character's scene goals are clearer.
7. Starbucks local was substituted with a mom and pop shop which would be more accessible.
This is the second draft of Purge.
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
City Year Chicago
Spent one year of my life volunteering with City Year Chicago. As you can tell from the drawing I did below, I was very proud of being a part of that organization. That tattoo on this fellows back is the City Year Logo.
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Attended Meetup.com group for filmmakers
I went to a meet up group event set up by these folks http://www.meetup.com/NYC-Filmmakers-and-Actors-Meetup-Group/. These are a great group of people who are ready to dig into all aspects of the film-making process. At the first meeting, we read through 3 scripts. I submitted one called PURGE. It was a good experience to write a screenplay. I like screenplay writing because it is more social form of writing. It requires continuous input from all members for a film to be made. I had a good time.
Monday, June 6, 2011
Thursday, June 2, 2011
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