There is one thing that writers hate. I am a writer and I hate it, so I think it must apply the same way for other writers. The overhaul edit. That seems an appropriate word for it. This form of edit requires the writer to go through the entire manuscript, making the same minor changes over and over, which will have a major effect on the final version. It is something akin to producing a brand new manuscript.
In my case, I am converting from first-person to third-person limited. In my literary novel, A BEAUTIFUL CHILL, I have split the story between two protagonist's point of view. His side is in normal third-person and her side, because she has a unique voice that I wanted to get into the story, is in first-person. I couched her first-person accounts as journal writing and talking with a counselor, or simply thinking her thoughts. Because the female character has certain issues that are the result of her particular experiences, experiences of a rather negative mieu, some readers have taken exception with my portrayal of her.
One comment that I read on an agent's blog--not something which was ever posted in relation to this novel--was advice not to write a female character from first-person unless you are one. The same advice did not seem to apply to female authors writing male characters from first-person; perhaps men are so transparent that anyone can effectively write the man's POV. Anyway, I decided to try writing a new first chapter, completely new in style and also in third-person. I liked it. Others thought it more powerful, more compelling. So I decided to proceed with the overhaul edit.
Half the chapters are from her POV, which meant that half the book needed to be converted. It was not simply a matter of changing pronouns. I also had to change verb forms to match the changed subjects of the sentences. And other problems quickly became apparent, too. I could not easily include her thoughts; I had to add "she thinks" a lot (I chose to keep her chapters in "present" tense, though much of the text has her recalling what has recently happened so those are in past-tense). Eventually, I found an easy way to introduce her thoughts: I let her use her word "ja" to open a passage of reflection or analysis.
Here are two passages, to show the difference . . . .
The Original Version:
I hear the branch of the big walnut tree outside my window tapping on the pane and I awaken suddenly, “with a fright” my mother used to say. The end of a week of pain has left me with a painful dream, and with a moment more to recognize where I am—still in my room, in my bed—I understand where I was—back in Iceland, on a hillside above Akureyri, in another life.
When I was nine or so, Magnús led me up through the pasture to see a newborn calf on his brother’s farm. We hiked the green slopes, dividing the sheep as we went. I wore my red boots with the silver buckles, a birthday gift Heiðr had brought from Reykjavík. My slicker was bright yellow and often hot so I hated to wear it, but since it was a cool, damp day, my father insisted. The silver pendant with runes carved around the rim and the five-pointed star at its center, usually hidden under my shirt from my Lutheran mother, bounced freely against my chest. On that day, and in my dream, Magnús wore his usual britches-and-braces, a dull orange anorak, and his blue sailor cap with the white brim. He looked ungainly on land, taking unsteady steps with his bowed legs, steps that took him increasingly farther from the fjörður and through a land thick with the spring grasses, full of blossoming wildflowers, and dwarf birches that clustered alongside a creek.
The New Version:
The branch of the walnut tree outside the window taps furiously against the pane and Íris awakens. Another bad dream.
The old house she lives in, the bike ride to campus each day, the pressure of competition, the paintings she tries to finish—or start—everything at Fairmont College is different than she expected. It is a Master’s program, she reminds herself, and with a year already completed she must push herself to create more works for the graduate exhibition, a showing that she must rely on to get more commission work or a teaching position somewhere.
After only two hours of sleep, she sits up, feeling the dream still hanging on her like a shadow. She was not in her bed, not in the long, narrow room that is hers, not in the large Victorian house she shares with six other students. She was back in Iceland, on a hillside above her hometown of Akureyri.
Magnús was leading her up through the pasture to see a newborn calf—just as he had done when she was ten. They hiked the green slopes, dividing the sheep. She wore her red boots with the silver buckles, a birthday gift Heiðr had brought back from Reykjavík. She wore the bright yellow slicker only because it was a cool, damp day and her father insisted. The silver pendant her father gave her bounced under her shirt, hidden from her Lutheran mother. Magnús wore his usual britches-and-braces, a dull orange anorak, and his blue sailor cap with the white brim. He looked ungainly on land, taking unsteady steps with his bowed legs through a land thick with the spring grasses, blossoming wildflowers, and dwarf birches that clustered alongside a creek.
To get the same information across requires some flexibility and even some subtle manipulation. Since we are outside of her head in the new version, we need to decide whether or not to include some of the information or, if it must be included, how to convey it in a believable manner. In these excerpt examples there is also the problem of verb tenses. The original version starts in the present but not in present-tense, then shifts to past tense as she recounts her dream. In the new version, because I am using present-tense instead of normal storytelling past tense, it is a little more complicated.
Also, as the opening paragraphs of the chapter, and because I wrote a new first chapter in a different time and place, I needed to add some sentences to re-introduce her in her new setting. That results in a lengthening of the text compared to the original.
I have continued this kind of conversion and am now close to the end. This round I am converting pronouns and verb tenses, with some minor editing of other sentences, especially to convey thoughts in third-person that used to be in first-person. I will then go through the manuscript again to smoothe the text out and make sure it flows well in its new form. As I recently told a colleague, this is the rough cutting; next is the polishing.
If you wish to compare more, here are the links:
original opening chapters
new chapter 1 in 3rd person
04 April 2011
01 April 2011
T. G. I. Friday
Judgment Day: Process essays are due!
Come on, how difficult is it to type out 5+ paragraphs on how to do something? A half-hour to draft, maybe 5 more to run spellchecker, print. This has been a 2 week project...so far, dear students of mine!
Cynically conflicted. If I get a lot of papers, there goes my weekend--but I feel validated as a writing teacher. If I don't get papers I have the week for my own writing/editing--but I'll feel depressed as a teacher.
A typical Friday conundrum.
Come on, how difficult is it to type out 5+ paragraphs on how to do something? A half-hour to draft, maybe 5 more to run spellchecker, print. This has been a 2 week project...so far, dear students of mine!
Cynically conflicted. If I get a lot of papers, there goes my weekend--but I feel validated as a writing teacher. If I don't get papers I have the week for my own writing/editing--but I'll feel depressed as a teacher.
A typical Friday conundrum.
29 March 2011
A Sample of The Dream Land II: Days of Futures Passed
Chapter 24
Interludium
A man is himself a whole troupe of fools on a stage, and the audience has long fallen asleep.
The sudden crash of an exploding shell slapped him out of his trance and he awoke in the saddle of a horse-like creature, barely able to breathe, choked by the smoke wafting around him, stomach knotted and heart beating loudly. After a few moments, he regained his awareness and knew where he was. It was somewhere in the past—or the future—too dangerous to spend time calculating which. But he knew he was in command.
The battle-stained beast he rode was exhausted so he allowed it to walk along the once-beautiful city avenue strewn with the destruction and debris of war. On either side buildings stood broken and battered, steaming, smoking, some with fires still blazing. The air was thick with acrid smoke, the skies above a hideous black and perverse pink—
A scene from Hell, he considered.
He glanced back over his shoulder at the trailing line of weary soldiers, leading their battle-scarred mounts through the debris-narrowed road, what was once a beautiful boulevard full of lush flora but now barren and burning.
How long had the war gone on? he asked himself, forgetting. It seemed ages, of course, as each year passed and each nation fell in a steady wave of conquest.
A lieutenant rode up beside him, concerned about their direction.
“We shall meet up with the fifth brigade at Debrêk,” he explained coldly.
“Debrêk, Kanê?” asked the lieutenant.
“You heard what I said!” Ah! how he loved the scent of Hell in the morning!
The lieutenant nodded, then pointed at the blood splatter on his superior’s torn sleeve, wondering if he were in need of medical attention.
“No, I carry pain everywhere I go,” he responded.
Then the lieutenant raised his cap and strands of golden hair tumbled down upon the man’s shoulders.
“What are you doing?” the lieutenant asked, the voice suddenly too feminine.
“I’m conquering!” He snorted, amused. “What does it look like?”
“Is that really necessary?” said the lieutenant who, as he regarded him, turned more and more into the face and persona of his long-lost love, Gina.
He squinted at the lieutenant, seeking recognition.
“Look at yourself now!” he/she accosted him. “You went so dutifully to the year 1574 and waited ten years for me? You got bored waiting in Aivana for me to show up so you went off to your island—where you promptly went insane. And still you waited for me? You know how it all works: you come and you go; you don’t wait. I’m here now, but this is not the end of my life; this is the middle of my life. If you look on some calendar, it seems to be a long time but it really hasn’t been. In fact, today might not even exist in another life.”
He smiled cynically, rather like a two-faced Janus mask. This messenger was not one of his staff, obviously, but a demon sent to torment him, perhaps because of the destruction his armies had wrought, laying waste whole nations on his narcissistic whim. Demons often came to debate with him and he was patient with their intrusions. It was becoming part of his life.
“This is what was required of me,” he spoke calmly, as though answering a journalist’s list of officially approved questions. “I am doing what I am supposed to do. You know that. You have read the history books. You’ve seen the martyr’s wall. You’ve spoken with the patrons of war. My task is to lay siege to the nations of Ghoupallesz. One by one. Until we are one. That is what the Council has decreed. ”
He waved his arm in the air. “Look around you—is it not glorious?”
The lieutenant who resembled Gina chuckled disdainfully.
“It’s true,” he continued, gesturing at his dirty uniform, the troops behind him, the destruction around him, and at his minor wounds in the arm and thigh. “I have a mandate to destroy all who oppose us. Hah! Did you not hear me last week when I said ‘Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds’? It was widely quoted.”
“The journals tend to be biased—”
“In fact, wasn’t it you who named me ‘Set’? More than once you called me the God of Destruction, the bull in the china shop, who always manages to create chaos, or one who is, let’s say, clumsy. Needlessly destructive. I get that. You want me to live up to my moniker. And now—now you seem to regret the seriousness of my nicknaming ceremony.”
“There was no ceremony, Sebastian,” the woman/lieutenant spoke, “only a quickly scribbled signature on a torn, wrinkled parchment in a cold, dark hallway of an abandoned house back in the Missouri countryside, a run-down wreck of a house about to be demolished to make way for a new subdivision. Even now they’re clearing the land, burning piles of timber, filling the sky with smoke. Just look out the window. Go on, look!” She/he snickered. “And you thought it was a palace!”
“I knew it was an old abandoned house. I never called it a palace. Bunker, maybe, but never a palace. We were—”
“It was foolish!”
“You’re calling me a fool?” he grunted, riding on through the wafting smoke and bitter scents of death and cannon fodder. “What about you? You’ve been such a saint!”
“Of course not. Saint is not in my pedigree, nor in my fate.”
“Ah, then you’re no better than me!”
“I’ve merely made my way as best I could, hiding where needed, asserting myself where I could do some good.”
“And now? Are you doing good?”
“Yes.” She seemed put-off by his presumption. “I am doing good now. I’ve joined a group who call themselves the Revolutionary Council. Our purpose is—”
“Good name! Revolutions are always good things.”
“We started in Typeg and now we are set to act in Aivana. They’re ruled by foreigners and the local people demand justice.”
“But you are a foreigner!”
“But I do not seek power. I don’t want to rule anyone.”
“You just want to create chaos.”
“Chaos always settles into order.”
“Which explodes into chaos.”
“Which settles into order.”
“Which—”
He thought of pizza and felt hungry, decided it was not worth further argument. How much further they would be slow-marching to meet up with the fifth brigade? Not enough time to stop for lunch—
He could not tell what time it was with the smoke obscuring the landscape, the burning cityscape. So he imagined himself astride a large bird, soaring high into the sky, looking down upon the blackened flaming ruins of the great industrial city his army had razed—that was possible in dreams, he decided, feeling the wind in his face. He imagined himself sailing high through the clouds, into the green sky above, the wind holding him aloft, like a god, like an airborne hero!
“The foreigners who rule in Aivana are my friends,” he said, gently landing the great bird, “and they are well-intended, as most Voyagers seem to be. Aren’t you and I well-intended? We never wanted to change anything here. We just wanted to have fun. Until things turned serious. Like now. I’m trying to subdue the planet and you are threatening to hurt my friends who have no idea what we Voyagers can do.”
“I wish you would’ve told me that before,” said the woman/lieutenant. She began stuffing her golden locks up into her cap. “The plan has already commenced. It cannot be stopped. If only you had let me know.”
He let out a long sigh, shrugging his shoulders, one epaulet ripped and dangling.
“That’s why I was waiting for you in Aivana. I read a history book about your group assassinating the royal family—trying to assassinate them. Ultimately, you failed. But I knew I could find you there on a certain date. I arrived early, so I decided to wait rather than go back through the tangent and try for a closer time zone.”
“If you had told me they were from Earth, I could have stopped—”
“Everything seems to depend on timeliness, doesn’t it?”
She nodded, looked more like his lieutenant than a moment before.
“Like right now,” he spoke up. “I really have no idea why I’m on this Jêpe in the middle of this burning city. I’m guessing that this uniform means something, but in my head I’m not quite clear just what I’ve done. Or what I will do next. I think I’m in charge of all this mess. Or, I’m the cause of it. Either way, it’s like I’m dreaming all this—”
“Now don’t you forget the rules. No waiting,” said the lieutenant, voice shifting from Gina’s alto to a deeper martial baritone. “It’s still possible to meet in Aivana. Shall we say outside the upper flat, corner of G-Lane and Alley-47, up the slope past the bridge? Let’s meet there a hundred years from now—by the calendar.” She chuckled. “Of course, that could be the day after tomorrow in our actual lives.”
“Naturally.”
“Êdolex, Kanê-se?” asked the lieutenant, now a skinny man with a moustache, questioning his use of the word ‘naturally.’
He grinned, embarrassed. Gina was nowhere in sight—as it was meant to be.
“A silly expression,” he replied to himself, glancing around. “Sometimes I think I’m going mad, as though a demon were following me. Then I look around at the territory under our control and I think, Naw!”
He cleared his throat.
“What is real is real, and what I can see and smell are real,” he continued, an edgy mumbling. “Only my thoughts falter and slide into an abyss of fantasy.” He stared ahead at the burning streets. “Or into dreams.”
The wind picked up then, blew hard against him.
“How can I tell them apart?” he muttered in English.
The lieutenant did not respond, could not fathom the question, so the Berron sent him back to the line of troops.
24 March 2011
Catching Up
I understand that Spring Break has come and gone. I know by the glassy-eyed gaze of students still on vacation, though their bodies miraculously sit in class. The irony, of course, is that for most schools "spring break" occurs before spring actually arrives. The idea, therefore, seems to be to start spring early by flying off to someplace tropical, to places where it is always spring.
Spring has always been a time of debauchery, from ancient times to today. The arrival, or anticipation of the arrival, of the planting season brings to mind countless instances of sympathetic magic: fertility rituals which may or may not have proven useful in urging the crops and animals to produce. Nevertheless, mankind seems to have enjoyed pretending that fertility rituals actually induce fertility. It's the thought that counts. More so today, where the main activity of spring break locations is to celebrate fertility, especially in the form of nubile young maidens showing off their wares--though not too many, I suspect, would actually accept sexual partners solely on behalf of a grateful Earth.
I have been opposed to spring break for as long as I can remember. Originally, in my early years of education, all we got was Easter break. Eventually, that was deemed too religious for public schools. Now they have teacher in-service days and let the students stay home to partake in religious rituals, if they or their parents so choose. In fall semesters we get half a week or more to celebrate Thanksgiving, but it occurs too close to the end of the semester and final exams time to be practical. In the spring, however, schools generally schedule the break in the middle of the semester. Without calling it Easter, what excuse do they have? And why an entire week? The Thanksgiving break need cover only 2 days, or 3 if you generously extend a travel day to students. But spring break? What's the point?
To celebrate the end of winter--actually or virtually--and in that celebration throw off the shackles of everything they have learned during the cold weeks of winter when there is nothing else to do but study, learn, focus on careers in the making, while free of the temptations, the immoral distractions, the wanton ways that undo all the good that has been done! Yes, I sound bitter. Perhaps because I never went away for spring break, never took a trip, never debauched or rampaged or drank and swore, never danced or got my t-shirt wet, nothing immoral, unethical, illegal, or unprofessional, nothing that could jeopardize my future--
Uh...wait a minute. That was a long time ago. My future is now, roughly calculated. Is it too late for me? Now were I to arrive in typical spring break venues and behave like the typical spring break participant, I would likely be labeled a "dirty old man"--and that would be fine with me. I'm sure there are plenty of other similarly labeled gentlemen participating in the same way. They seek something they never had, never were allowed: freedom, youth, fertility. And, perhaps more importantly, the means to forget it all. Such a regret!
Spring break is big business now. Like so many holidays and special occasions, whatever mankind decides to celebrate turns, ultimately, into a sordid shopping spree. It may be clothing, it may be gifts, or it may be the perfect boyfriend/girlfriend. It's still shopping. And, short of the basic necessities of life (plus some choice books), I've never been much of a shopper. Ergo: I am not spring break material. Which gives me plenty of time to complain about it.
See you next year!
PS. Time magazine had a fairly cool article on the commercial origins of spring break, at this link:
http://www.time.com/time/nation/article/0,8599,1888317,00.html
Spring has always been a time of debauchery, from ancient times to today. The arrival, or anticipation of the arrival, of the planting season brings to mind countless instances of sympathetic magic: fertility rituals which may or may not have proven useful in urging the crops and animals to produce. Nevertheless, mankind seems to have enjoyed pretending that fertility rituals actually induce fertility. It's the thought that counts. More so today, where the main activity of spring break locations is to celebrate fertility, especially in the form of nubile young maidens showing off their wares--though not too many, I suspect, would actually accept sexual partners solely on behalf of a grateful Earth.
I have been opposed to spring break for as long as I can remember. Originally, in my early years of education, all we got was Easter break. Eventually, that was deemed too religious for public schools. Now they have teacher in-service days and let the students stay home to partake in religious rituals, if they or their parents so choose. In fall semesters we get half a week or more to celebrate Thanksgiving, but it occurs too close to the end of the semester and final exams time to be practical. In the spring, however, schools generally schedule the break in the middle of the semester. Without calling it Easter, what excuse do they have? And why an entire week? The Thanksgiving break need cover only 2 days, or 3 if you generously extend a travel day to students. But spring break? What's the point?
To celebrate the end of winter--actually or virtually--and in that celebration throw off the shackles of everything they have learned during the cold weeks of winter when there is nothing else to do but study, learn, focus on careers in the making, while free of the temptations, the immoral distractions, the wanton ways that undo all the good that has been done! Yes, I sound bitter. Perhaps because I never went away for spring break, never took a trip, never debauched or rampaged or drank and swore, never danced or got my t-shirt wet, nothing immoral, unethical, illegal, or unprofessional, nothing that could jeopardize my future--
Uh...wait a minute. That was a long time ago. My future is now, roughly calculated. Is it too late for me? Now were I to arrive in typical spring break venues and behave like the typical spring break participant, I would likely be labeled a "dirty old man"--and that would be fine with me. I'm sure there are plenty of other similarly labeled gentlemen participating in the same way. They seek something they never had, never were allowed: freedom, youth, fertility. And, perhaps more importantly, the means to forget it all. Such a regret!
Spring break is big business now. Like so many holidays and special occasions, whatever mankind decides to celebrate turns, ultimately, into a sordid shopping spree. It may be clothing, it may be gifts, or it may be the perfect boyfriend/girlfriend. It's still shopping. And, short of the basic necessities of life (plus some choice books), I've never been much of a shopper. Ergo: I am not spring break material. Which gives me plenty of time to complain about it.
See you next year!
PS. Time magazine had a fairly cool article on the commercial origins of spring break, at this link:
http://www.time.com/time/nation/article/0,8599,1888317,00.html
06 March 2011
A new Dream Land "pitch"
How far would you go to save the love of your life? Through a portal to another world?
Sebastian and Gina, high school sweethearts, discover a doorway in an abandoned quarry and step through it to a world of magical beauty and terrible violence. She decides to stay while he, fearing the loss of his true home, chooses to return to Earth. Nevertheless, he finds himself drawn back time and time again, sometimes for his own nefarious adventures, other times to rescue Gina from her sordid relationships—and in half of those episodes she ends up saving him!
Passing his days as a night-shift worker at the local I.R.S. service center, Sebastian (a.k.a. the Professor) once again feels the pull of Gina in trouble. It’s been a while so he is hesitant to step through the doorway, remembering all the horrors he experienced during previous journeys: a tragic romance with one of the people of the world of Ghoupallesz and then being caught in a massive invasion force as a regimental commander. So he enlists the aid of two co-workers who also need a place to escape, unfortunately, no thanks to the elixir of love they drank.
But he must go, must save Gina—this time, like every time. However, he eventually finds that there are questions to be answered. Is his adventure to the other side real, or is it just the dreams of a psychotic serial killer? That’s what the police want to know when he returns without his co-workers.
05 March 2011
04 March 2011
Weekend Warrior
There is something miraculous about the invention of the weekend.
Once upon a time people fell down in the fields exhausted. When they awoke, finally rested, it was Monday again and they started working again. Little by little the rest period became a time of celebration, even hedonistic revelry and for some winsome sloth. Then, gradually over recent decades, there was a reversal of weekend activity: some people chose to work! Much of that work was self-inflicted, often called "hobby" yet involving just as much effort and pain as the work done between the weekends.
Now it is my turn. Here is my weekend plan:
Saturday
Up early, coffee, writing on The Dream Land III - scene of the evil empress's funeral (murdered at the end of DL2) and speculation on why the body of the evil emperor was never found (hint: he slipped away to Earth).
Brunch, errands, B&N for grading student essays
Movie - The Adjustment Bureau
Dinner at home, followed by hockey via internet broadcast, then email/Facebook until sleep overcomes me.
Sunday
Up early, writing on DL3, if finished with funeral scene work on the wiseman/madman in the dungeon (tip: actually our protagonist but he doesn't know he is yet).
Brunch, then back to the B&N for paper grading until they're done.
Grocery shopping, miscellaneous preparation for the coming week's activities, and slipping gently into the night.
What's your weekend writing plan?
Once upon a time people fell down in the fields exhausted. When they awoke, finally rested, it was Monday again and they started working again. Little by little the rest period became a time of celebration, even hedonistic revelry and for some winsome sloth. Then, gradually over recent decades, there was a reversal of weekend activity: some people chose to work! Much of that work was self-inflicted, often called "hobby" yet involving just as much effort and pain as the work done between the weekends.
Now it is my turn. Here is my weekend plan:
Saturday
Up early, coffee, writing on The Dream Land III - scene of the evil empress's funeral (murdered at the end of DL2) and speculation on why the body of the evil emperor was never found (hint: he slipped away to Earth).
Brunch, errands, B&N for grading student essays
Movie - The Adjustment Bureau
Dinner at home, followed by hockey via internet broadcast, then email/Facebook until sleep overcomes me.
Sunday
Up early, writing on DL3, if finished with funeral scene work on the wiseman/madman in the dungeon (tip: actually our protagonist but he doesn't know he is yet).
Brunch, then back to the B&N for paper grading until they're done.
Grocery shopping, miscellaneous preparation for the coming week's activities, and slipping gently into the night.
What's your weekend writing plan?
02 March 2011
The Dream Land summary
Here is a quick summary I wrote for a Facebook message and thought I'd share it.
In my trilogy, a "real" couple discover a portal to another world (yeah, typical) and learn to live there, but when "he" fears being trapped there and wants to return, "she" decides to stay. Over the years she needs his help and he must return again and again. She also rescues him sometimes as they hop around the time zones, affecting history in good and bad ways.
The side story is the possibility that this sci-fi world does not exist except in his mind--that he is going insane; when he takes others to this new world and they also refuse to return (life is better there than at their dull jobs on Earth), police believe he murdered them and hid their bodies. Over the course of the trilogy he is always escaping from the police or a mental hospital to return to the parallel world...where he has become a cavalry captain, then a king, later a wiseman.
27 February 2011
Oscar predictions...a form of entertainment for the winter weary
Off-topic (until my sci-fi series is published and movies are made based on them...)
Best Picture
'Black Swan'
'The Fighter'
'Inception'
'The Kids Are All Right'
'The King’s Speech' --winner, hands down
'127 Hours'
'The Social Network'
'Toy Story 3'
'True Grit'
'Winter's Bone' --deserves some kind of honorable mention; gritty, realistic portrayal on low budget; totally engaging!
Best Director
Darren Aronofsky 'Black Swan'
David O. Russell 'The Fighter'
Tom Hooper 'The King's Speech'
David Fincher 'The Social Network' --they can't give 2 best picture so they give the statue to David
Joel and Ethan Coen 'True Grit'
Best Actress
Annette Bening 'The Kids Are All Right'
Nicole Kidman 'Rabbit Hole'
Jennifer Lawrence 'Winter's Bone'
Natalie Portman 'Black Swan' --this should wipe the Star Wars off of her!
Michelle Williams 'Blue Valentine'
Best Actor
Javier Bardem 'Biutiful'
Jeff Bridges 'True Grit'
Jesse Eisenberg 'The Social Network' --yes, he made the movie, but FB still has enemies
Colin Firth 'The King's Speech' --yup, da winner!
James Franco '127 Hours'
Best Supporting Actress
Amy Adams 'The Fighter'
Helena Bonham Carter 'The King's Speech'
Melissa Leo 'The Fighter'
Hailee Steinfeld 'True Grit' --perhaps this will be an upset?
Jacki Weaver 'Animal Kingdom'
Best Supporting Actor
Christian Bale 'The Fighter' --winner #1A
John Hawkes 'Winter's Bone'
Jeremy Renner 'The Town'
Mark Ruffalo 'The Kids Are All Right'
Geoffrey Rush 'The King's Speech' --winner #1B (my choice)
Best Animated Feature Film
'How to Train Your Dragon'
'Illusionist'
'Toy Story 3' -lots of buzz, winner
Best Foreign Language Film -I haven't got a clue!
'Biutiful' Mexico
'Dogtooth' Greece
'In a Better World' Denmark
'Incendies' Canada (Is that really a foreign language place?)
'Outside the law' Algeria
SCREENWRITERS NEVER GET ENOUGH CREDIT - IT'S EASY TO LOOK AT A PAGE AND THINK THEY GET PAID SO MUCH FOR THIS??? BUT TIMING IS EVERYTHING IN WRITING A SCRIPT, SO MUCH TO SAY IN SO FEW WORDS PER PAGE.
Best Original Screenplay
Mike Leigh 'Another Year'
Scott Silver and Paul Tamasy & Eric Johnson 'The Fighter'
Christopher Nolan 'Inception' --I'll it was just as hard to write as to follow the plot in the theater! winner
Lisa Cholodenko & Stuart Blumberg 'The Kids Are All Right'
David Seidler 'The King's Speech' --could upset Inception
Best Adapted Screenplay
Danny Boyle & Simon Beaufoy '127 Hours'
Aaron Sorkin 'The Social Network' --here's your winner: complex flashback plotting keeps it real & engaging.
John Lasseter, Andrew Stanton & Lee Unkrich 'Toy Story 3'
Joel Coen & Ethan Coen 'True Grit'
Debra Granik & Anne Rosellini 'Winter's Bone'
Best Original Score - I'm a sucker for a good [orchestral] score in a movie and I buy a lot of film CDs just for the music
'How to Train Your Dragon' John Powell
'Inception' Hans Zimmer
'The King's Speech' Alexandre Desplat --he also did the Twilight scores, which I like; winner!
'127 Hours' A.R. Rahman
'The Social Network' Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross --good score for the movie but not one I'd listen to without the movie
Best Film Editing
'Black Swan' Andrew Weisblum
'The Fighter' Pamela Martin
'The King's Speech' Tariq Anwar
'127 Hours' Jon Harris
'The Social Network' Angus Wall & Kirk Baxter -winner by default (Inception wasn't nominated)
Best Visual Effects
'Alice in Wonderland' Ken Ralston, David Schaub, Carey Villegas & Sean Phillips
'Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 1' Tim Burke, John Richardson, Christian Manz & Nicolas Aithadi
'Hereafter' Michael Owens, Bryan Grill, Stephan Trojanski & Joe Farrell
'Inception' Paul Franklin, Chris Corbould, Andrew Lockley & Peter Bebb ---winner, hands down!
'Iron Man 2' Janek Sirrs, Ben Snow, Ged Wright & Daniel Sudick
Best Cinematography
'Black Swan' Matthew Libatique
'Inception' Wally Pfister --too much CGI, so no)
'The King's Speech' Danny Cohen
'The Social Network' Jeff Cronenweth --(too much indoors, so no)
'True Grit' Roger Deakins --vast vistas is a sure thing; winner!
Best Sound Mixing
'Inception' Lora Hirschberg, Gary A. Rizzo & Ed Novick
'The King's Speech' Paul Hamblin, Martin Jensen & John Midgley --the whole film's about sound, how could this not win?
'Salt' Jeffrey J. Haboush, Greg P. Russell, Scott Millan & William Sarokin
'The Social Network' Ren Klyce, David Parker, Michael Semanick & Mark Weingarten --might upset
'True Grit' Skip Lievsay, Craig Berkey, Greg Orloff & Peter F. Kurland
Best Sound Editing --doesn't sound mixing and editing ususally come from the same film?
'Inception' Richard King
'Toy Story 3' Tom Myers & Michael Silvers
'Tron: Legacy' Gwendolyn Yates Whittle & Addison Teague
'True Grit' Skip Lievsay & Craig Berkey
'Unstoppable' Mark P. Stoeckinger -winner, gut instinct (because 'King's Speech' wasn't nominated)
Best Costume Design
'Alice in Wonderland' Colleen Atwood
'I Am Love' Antonella Cannarozzi
'The King's Speech' Jenny Beavan --winner again
'The Tempest' Sandy Powell
'True Grit' Mary Zophres
Best Art Direction
'Alice in Wonderland' Production Design: Robert Stromberg; Set Decoration: Karen O'Hara
'Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part I' Production Design: Stuart Craig; Set Decoration: Stephenie McMillan
'Inception' Production Design: Guy Hendrix Dyas; Set Decoration: Larry Dias and Doug Mowat
'The King's Speech' Production Design: Eve Stewart; Set Decoration: Judy Farr --winner
'True Grit' Production Design: Jess Gonchor; Set Decoration: Nancy Haigh
Best Makeup
'Barney's Version' Adrien Morot
'The Way Back' Edouard F. Henriques, Gregory Funk & Yolanda Toussieng
'The Wolfman' Rick Baker & Dave Elsey --winner, duh! totally believable transmogrification
All others I don't know about, don't care about, or the Academy will deal with them off-camera.
26 February 2011
Query Test for A Beautiful Chill
How does this query sound?
* * *
On a stormy December night, Eric Schaeffer, the new professor at a small college in the Midwest, thinks he is doing a good deed when he picks up a rain-soaked young woman as he is leaving campus. The woman is Íris Magúsdóttir, a graduate art student from Iceland. That rainy night turns into a snowy weekend and the castaways, two of life's losers, together rediscover warmth. Eric, raised to be a gentleman and shackled by his sense of propriety, has twice before given his heart to a woman only to be betrayed. Fate seems to be giving him one more chance, so he tries to win this strange yet beautiful woman. Íris, as Eric gradually learns, has a twisted past born of childhood abuse and the sex clubs of Toronto, Canada. She is trying to create a new life yet her past continues to haunt her and joining the Wiccan sisters on campus doesn't help.
But the weekend must come to an end. Eric goes back to classes, committees, helping his colleague who has been accused of sexual harassment, and dealing with the surly visiting writer. Íris continues the struggle to paint and market her art while fighting off the advances of her professor, competitive art students, and her own cruel memories. Eric can't forget her, searches for her, becomes obsessed, then accepts that it was nothing more than a one-weekend stand. Íris quickly forgets him only to soon discover she is pregnant. Her friends on campus and online convince her to tell the father--now awkward because she has started attending Eric's class.
But the weekend must come to an end. Eric goes back to classes, committees, helping his colleague who has been accused of sexual harassment, and dealing with the surly visiting writer. Íris continues the struggle to paint and market her art while fighting off the advances of her professor, competitive art students, and her own cruel memories. Eric can't forget her, searches for her, becomes obsessed, then accepts that it was nothing more than a one-weekend stand. Íris quickly forgets him only to soon discover she is pregnant. Her friends on campus and online convince her to tell the father--now awkward because she has started attending Eric's class.
Íris doesn’t want this man, her professor, in her life, but when she tells Eric, rather than being relieved he is ecstatic and believes his mundane life has finally been rewarded. He wants to help her and persuades Íris that they should try to be a family for the sake of the baby. However, with her acceptance of his assistance, rules necessarily come into play. Thus begins the battle of wits between a wild girl wanting to be proper and a sullen gentleman who desperately wishes to be outrageous. Neither will give in without a fight, of course, not until their mind games bring them to a devastating climax where only one can win, yet both might lose!
A BEAUTIFUL CHILL, a literary novel complete at 140,000 words, is far from being just another tale of a teacher-student affair. This realistic portrayal of what happens when opposites attract goes against stereotypes at every turn and mocks every cliché. With flashes of life in Iceland and Viking lore, a campus mine field of gender politics and academic in-fighting, cut-throat art exhibits and skirmishes between Christian and Pagan students, A BEAUTIFUL CHILL’s short, alternating chapters tell each character’s side of the development then disintegration of their unlikely relationship.
22 February 2011
The spark that lit the Muse of fire...
Every time I get a new follower I feel the need to post something! So here is something I thought of posting a while ago but did not. I try to answer the question of How did I get started with this madness?
I read a lot of sci-fi as a teenager and eventually I wanted to tell my own stories, so I did. I tried to emulate my favorite authors, including plots, character quirks, snatches of favorite dialog, and so on. Eventually I was putting enough of my own spin on the stories to begin calling them original creations.
The technology limited me at first: the manual typewriter (later electric) were my prized possessions. I planned out novels but my actual writing was limited to short stories. In high school I wrote a "1984" ripoff that was 66 pages single-spaced, including 10 chapters--the longest thing I'd written to that date. I wrote screenplays as a way to get the whole story out without having to fill in the details in novel form. Finally, I got a computer (Tandy 1000, monochrome monitor, no hard drive, dot-matrix printer) and, being able to save my work and edit later, the manuscripts expanded quickly.
Gradually, my reading expanded into mainstream and literary fiction, including the literary canon, and so did my writing. My sci-fi transitioned into magical realism, then contemporary fiction. I let myself be inspired by my surroundings. When I lived in Japan, I wrote a Japanese novel: a modernization and role reversal of the Madame Butterfly story. I set aside my sci-fi completely when I entered graduate school, taking creative writing classes. In an MFA program such dalliances were verboten so I wrote a serious literary fiction novel as my thesis--which is now my ABNA (Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award) entry: A BEAUTIFUL CHILL, a "ribald tale of the girl who got away."
Now I'm back with my sci-fi series, expanding the first novel into a trilogy (second novel completed, third begun). I can return to it after years in literary fiction because I finally recognized that at the heart of a tale of interdimensional intrigue is a romance. The two protagonists, beginnning as high school sweathearts, take turns saving each other from the hazards of life on another world. They eventually figure out that, despite their many lovers and spouses, they remain each other's soul mate, something that transcends social coupling or physical desires.
That's where I am now.
Oh, and the MFA thing... I'm not sure how much credential it carries these days but I do know that an MFA and five bucks will get you a cup of coffee at a rather upscale, pricey coffee shop!
What got you started? I'll bet you've forgotten.
I read a lot of sci-fi as a teenager and eventually I wanted to tell my own stories, so I did. I tried to emulate my favorite authors, including plots, character quirks, snatches of favorite dialog, and so on. Eventually I was putting enough of my own spin on the stories to begin calling them original creations.
The technology limited me at first: the manual typewriter (later electric) were my prized possessions. I planned out novels but my actual writing was limited to short stories. In high school I wrote a "1984" ripoff that was 66 pages single-spaced, including 10 chapters--the longest thing I'd written to that date. I wrote screenplays as a way to get the whole story out without having to fill in the details in novel form. Finally, I got a computer (Tandy 1000, monochrome monitor, no hard drive, dot-matrix printer) and, being able to save my work and edit later, the manuscripts expanded quickly.
Gradually, my reading expanded into mainstream and literary fiction, including the literary canon, and so did my writing. My sci-fi transitioned into magical realism, then contemporary fiction. I let myself be inspired by my surroundings. When I lived in Japan, I wrote a Japanese novel: a modernization and role reversal of the Madame Butterfly story. I set aside my sci-fi completely when I entered graduate school, taking creative writing classes. In an MFA program such dalliances were verboten so I wrote a serious literary fiction novel as my thesis--which is now my ABNA (Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award) entry: A BEAUTIFUL CHILL, a "ribald tale of the girl who got away."
Now I'm back with my sci-fi series, expanding the first novel into a trilogy (second novel completed, third begun). I can return to it after years in literary fiction because I finally recognized that at the heart of a tale of interdimensional intrigue is a romance. The two protagonists, beginnning as high school sweathearts, take turns saving each other from the hazards of life on another world. They eventually figure out that, despite their many lovers and spouses, they remain each other's soul mate, something that transcends social coupling or physical desires.
That's where I am now.
Oh, and the MFA thing... I'm not sure how much credential it carries these days but I do know that an MFA and five bucks will get you a cup of coffee at a rather upscale, pricey coffee shop!
What got you started? I'll bet you've forgotten.
12 February 2011
Online Charity (Please give generously!)
What a wonderful opportunity for a charitable act of giving!
If you can take a few minutes from your mundane daily routine, please slip over to a special page and read a sample of a new literary fiction novel of two opposites attracting, more like a train wreck, but you decide.
Here's the link:
https://www.createspace.com/Preview/1077650
(It's possible you may need to login at Amazon.com before you can access that page, Sorry for the inconvenience but many thanks for trying!)
If you can take a few minutes from your mundane daily routine, please slip over to a special page and read a sample of a new literary fiction novel of two opposites attracting, more like a train wreck, but you decide.
Here's the link:
https://www.createspace.com/Preview/1077650
(It's possible you may need to login at Amazon.com before you can access that page, Sorry for the inconvenience but many thanks for trying!)
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