I finally got my NaNo novel edits in the mail yesterday! Though my finals schedule is actually not too bad, I have a ridiculous amount of work to do, so I told myself that I would not open the envelope until Tuesday. Four hours later found me reading the opening editor letter and peeking at the first few edits. Obviously, when I tell myself something, I stick to it :p
For new readers (or those who have forgotten), I sent off my novel in January to two people. One girl has apparently disappeared into thin air, but the other person, my friend Nicole, actually did what she said she would. And extremely well, too!
The first great thing about her editing job is that we edit in a very similar style, so I understand how she's working. Because of this, I understand that a comment that seems bruque is probably not meant that way because a) it's not speaking, so you can't always read tone and b) she's been editing for so long by page 43 that it's just a waste of time to write little smiley faces or whatever. Because I do the same thing, I know not to take what the comments say too hard.
The editing is quite thorough. I had especially wanted her to edit it because she is English and my book takes place in London. I did a lot of research, but with all her corrections, it looks like I did nothing. For example, I did extensive investigating on Nancy Drew books, as I wanted my MC to be into those books. But while these books were published in the US in 1930- giving my 1940's MC plenty of time to get into them- they didn't appear in the UK until 1971! Nicole also told me that there were no Episcopalians in the UK at that time, which was a problem since one of my characters stated that she and her family were "vaguely Episcopalian." Another thing I didn't know- like Americans, they measure height in feet and inches. All that metric conversion for nothing!
Though I made efforts to make the book as un-American as possible, there were a few things that slipped through the cracks. For example, I didn't know that "honey" (as a term of endearment) and "grocery shopping" were Americanisms. It's "letter box", not "mail slot", principals are "headmasters" (I was unaware this was for all schools in England), "porridge" not "oatmeal", and it's always "half past five", not "five thirty." Thanks to my editor, my novel is becoming much less American!
Nicole's comments are a great balance of encouraging and factual. Her corrections are phrased in such a way that tell me what I need to do to improve without making me want to cry or sugarcoating it to the point where I distrust her opinion. Reading her editor letter, I completely agreed with pretty much everything that was said, and over the summer, I plan to do some serious overhaul on this story, because I really do love it. Though I was eager for Nicole to send me her edits, it's a really good thing that I've been distanced from my novel since the end of January. I haven't allowed myself to reread any parts of the story since I sent it off because I want to look at it with fresh eyes now, four months later. Hopefully by next Wednesday, I'll have a little excerpt to share!
Friday, April 30, 2010
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
WIP Wednesday... Sort Of
I'm cheating this Wednesday. I had expected my novel edits to be here by now, but alas, they are not, so I really have no WIPs that are short enough for you to tolerate. SO! To my cheating.
I present to you a short story I wrote last year off of a prompt in English class. Keep in mind that I wrote this in ten minutes and haven't glanced at it since March of 2009. Enjoy.
Prompt #282: Write from the point of view of a virus about to infect an important document.
She can’t see me, lurking inside her hard drive, but she will soon be horribly aware of my presence. I have had my eye on her thesis paper since the beginning, when I was only a small glitch in her system. I have grown and accumulated power since then- if only she hadn’t ignored all of those warning pop-ups her computer gave her. Thank you, little girl, for giving me such a delicious opportunity to completely ruin your day… or, if I’m lucky, your semester.
I poise myself for attack and watch her typing merrily away, a little smile of satisfaction on her face; she knows the paper will be done soon. How I love to watch those smiles fade quickly into horror and distress. I get myself into position, and when she stops to think of a synonym for “exaltation”, I strike.
Her computer screen suddenly goes berserk, then goes black. I watch as her mouth falls open and she begins to frantically punch some keys, begging her computer to reboot. Sorry, little girl-that “save” icon is on the top of your screen for a reason (though I can even get past that sometimes.) You’ll have to start from scratch… but not before you can have it fixed by IT, and by that point, I’ll have eaten everything in your hard-drive. That short story you were particularly proud of? Gone. The pictures of Adam’s eighth birthday party? Gone.
How can I live with myself, you ask? It’s simple: I have no conscience. In fact, I do not actually have a mind. How can I tell you this then, you ask? Well, there must be only one explanation, mustn’t there: your hard drive is next.
I present to you a short story I wrote last year off of a prompt in English class. Keep in mind that I wrote this in ten minutes and haven't glanced at it since March of 2009. Enjoy.
Prompt #282: Write from the point of view of a virus about to infect an important document.
She can’t see me, lurking inside her hard drive, but she will soon be horribly aware of my presence. I have had my eye on her thesis paper since the beginning, when I was only a small glitch in her system. I have grown and accumulated power since then- if only she hadn’t ignored all of those warning pop-ups her computer gave her. Thank you, little girl, for giving me such a delicious opportunity to completely ruin your day… or, if I’m lucky, your semester.
I poise myself for attack and watch her typing merrily away, a little smile of satisfaction on her face; she knows the paper will be done soon. How I love to watch those smiles fade quickly into horror and distress. I get myself into position, and when she stops to think of a synonym for “exaltation”, I strike.
Her computer screen suddenly goes berserk, then goes black. I watch as her mouth falls open and she begins to frantically punch some keys, begging her computer to reboot. Sorry, little girl-that “save” icon is on the top of your screen for a reason (though I can even get past that sometimes.) You’ll have to start from scratch… but not before you can have it fixed by IT, and by that point, I’ll have eaten everything in your hard-drive. That short story you were particularly proud of? Gone. The pictures of Adam’s eighth birthday party? Gone.
How can I live with myself, you ask? It’s simple: I have no conscience. In fact, I do not actually have a mind. How can I tell you this then, you ask? Well, there must be only one explanation, mustn’t there: your hard drive is next.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Yesterday I had a meeting with my teacher about my adaptation, and it went amazingly well. Not only does is my professor encouraging me to continue with it, but she seems to really like the idea itself.
I also experienced a huge rush of relief when she said that she didn't think my play was for children- and it didn't have to be. First of all, this is incredibly generous of her, since I am doing this project for my Children's Theatre final; she has every right to force me to make it a kids' peice. I was also glad to hear this because it means I'm not just overestimating the level of emotions and the intensity of the experiences that are in my play. This is not to say that children don't experience these things as well- they certainly do- but the fact is that my play is not for kids. Perhaps ages thirteen and up, but definitely not the younger set.
The other great thing is that my professor knows that this isn't just a class project to me- it's an actual script that, one day, I hope to have produced. I feel like I have her support and that's just a great feeling :)
I also experienced a huge rush of relief when she said that she didn't think my play was for children- and it didn't have to be. First of all, this is incredibly generous of her, since I am doing this project for my Children's Theatre final; she has every right to force me to make it a kids' peice. I was also glad to hear this because it means I'm not just overestimating the level of emotions and the intensity of the experiences that are in my play. This is not to say that children don't experience these things as well- they certainly do- but the fact is that my play is not for kids. Perhaps ages thirteen and up, but definitely not the younger set.
The other great thing is that my professor knows that this isn't just a class project to me- it's an actual script that, one day, I hope to have produced. I feel like I have her support and that's just a great feeling :)
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
WIP Wednesday
Okay, this is taking me a lot to post this, as it is my most in-progress work: a segment of a scene from my adaptation. This is the scene that was performed as the first part of my project in February. My play centers around Mary (a.k.a Mrs. Darling) who, like her daughter after her, knew Peter Pan as a girl.
(YOUNG MARY sits on her floor, having a tea party with some of her dolls and stuffed animals. MARY wears a large feathered hat and holds an open parasol with one hand as she pours tea with the other.)
MARY. Another biscuit, Miss Penny? Not so much sugar in your tea, Mr. Meriwether! Miss Carroll, if you desire another cake, you may ask me to pass them to you. Ladies do not reach across the table.
(There is a knock at the door but MARY, absorbed in her play, barely acknowledges it. MRS. LIDDELL enters.)
MARY. Mother! Come have some tea. Miss Carroll is behaving rather badly this afternoon, but I’m sure she’s left some cake for you.
MRS. LIDDELL. Thank you dear, but I’ve had my tea this afternoon.
MARY. Oh, but it’s green tea. The queen herself sent it. She is terribly sorry she could not attend herself, but-
MRS. LIDDELL. Mary, perhaps the tea party could wait for a moment. (She sits on her daughter’s bed and pats the space next to her.) Come sit.
(MARY puts down the teapot and parasol and sits next to her mother.)
MARY. What’s wrong, Mother?
MRS. LIDDELL. Nothing at all. In fact, today is a day of celebration. Do you know what day it is?
MARY. (after thinking for a moment) Wednesday.
MRS. LIDDELL. (laughing) That is true, my dear, but there is something very special about this particular Wednesday. For it was on this day, thirteen short years ago, that I was blessed with the greatest gift a person could get- a little baby named Mary.
(As MRS. LIDDELL has been talking, MARY has grown noticeably downcast. She plays with the skirt of her dress and frowns.)
MRS. LIDDELL. Whatever is the matter, Mary? Aren’t you excited for your birthday?
MARY. No.
MRS. LIDDELL. But why not? You’re thirteen now- a young lady. (She reaches up and removes the hat that Mary is still wearing.) Soon you’ll have your debut and go to lots of beautiful parties, and then, one day, you’ll marry a wonderful man and be a mother just like I am. Don’t you want any of that?
MARY. (stubbornly) No, I do not.
MRS. LIDDELL. You want to stay a little girl forever? What is the fun in that?
MARY. I can have my tea parties and play with my friends. I can make up stories about whatever I like and then act them out. I can have fun.
MRS. LIDDELL. Grown-ups have fun, too, Mary. I have tea parties with real tea and cakes and I spend time with my friends. And we tell each other stories all the time.
MARY. (throwing herself face-down on the bed) It’s not the same!
MRS. LIDDELL. (beginning to lose patience with her daughter) We’ve all got to grow up sometime, Mary, whether we like it or not. You have the choice to cherish it or be miserable, and only you can make that decision.
(MARY doesn’t answer, as she has begun to cry. MRS. LIDDELL gets up, puts the hat on a nearby chair, and exits. MARY continues to cry as the lights change to show the passing of time. It is now evening and MARY is still crying quietly. Suddenly there is a tap at the window. She sits up on her bed and looks its direction, but there doesn’t seem to be anything there. Then comes another tap. MARY gets up and crosses to the window, unlatching it and leaning out to see what made the noise. She doesn’t see anything and makes to go back to her bed, but then through the window flies PETER PAN. MARY turns to see the boy hovering in her window and stares, speechless.)
PETER. Girl, why are you crying?
MARY. (wiping at her still-wet cheeks) I’m not crying.
(PETER flies closer to peer into her eyes and MARY takes a step back.)
PETER. Yes, you are. You’ve got more of those wet things in your eyes. Are you sad? Why?
MARY. (as if it’s obvious) Today is my thirteenth birthday.
PETER. (alighting on a toy chest) What is a “birth day”?
MARY. You don’t know what a birthday is?
PETER. (indignantly) I know lots of other things. I think I do know what a “birth day” is, but I just have a better name for it.
MARY. A birthday is a celebration of the day you were born. You have one every year.
PETER. I’ve never had a birthday.
MARY. Of course you have. Everyone has. How old are you? You ought to have had as many birthdays as you’ve had years of your life.
PETER. I don’t know how old I am. I climbed out of my pram when I was just one day old and ran away to live with fairies. Then I went to Neverland. No one ever told me I had a birthday of my own. I think I’d like one.
MARY. Then you may have one.
PETER. Really? Could you give it to me?
MARY. (after a pause) Only if you tell me about this “Neverland”. You lived there with the fairies?
PETER. No, silly girl! I lived with the fairies before I went to Neverland.
MARY. You are quite a rude boy. If you continue in this manner, I shan’t give you your birthday. (She folds her arms and turns away from him.)
PETER. (flies over her head and landing in front of her again) I’m sorry, girl-
MARY. My name is Mary.
PETER. I’m sorry, Mary. Sometimes I can’t help myself. I’m not clever like you, so I have to pretend I am. Please let me have my birthday!
MARY. Tell me more about Neverland and I’ll think about it.
PETER. Neverland is a place where pirates and Indians fight on the open sea while mermaids swim below. Where fairies flit about in the air like dancing lights and there is never a day without adventure. It is a place where you never have to grow up.
(Now he has MARY’s attention.)
MARY. You never have to grow up?
PETER. Never.
MARY. My mother says everyone’s got to grow up.
PETER. Your mother?
MARY. Yes.
PETER. Well, what does she know?
MARY. She must know something. After all, she did it herself.
PETER. Yes, but she chose to grow up, which means she knows nothing about fun. If she did, she would have stayed a child, wouldn’t she?
MARY. (thinking) I suppose you’re right. Whenever I watch grown-ups, they never seem to be enjoying themselves. Maybe they just never knew what fun was and so weren’t sad to grow up. (Beat) But I know about fun, and I don’t want to leave it behind. (Beat) Could I go to Neverland?
PETER. Only if you give me my birthday.
MARY. All right, then. Close your eyes.
(PETER does. MARY looks around, uncertain of what could be representative of a birthday. Finding nothing, she thinks for a moment. Then she steps up to PETER, snaps her fingers twice and then makes a motion as if cracking an egg on top of his head, letting her fingers run over his hair.)
MARY. There. Now you’ve got your birthday.
PETER. (smiling brightly) It feels wonderful to have a birthday! Does this mean ours are on the same day?
MARY. (realising that this is true) I suppose so.
PETER. We will have great fun celebrating them together in Neverland. Are you ready to go?
MARY. I’m really going?
PETER. Of course. But only if you hurry. (He runs to the windowsill and jumps up) Come on!
(He holds out his hand. MARY hesitates, looking around her lavish room. She considers what she would be leaving behind by going with Peter. Then she takes PETER’s hand and steps up with him.)
MARY. Let’s go.
(YOUNG MARY sits on her floor, having a tea party with some of her dolls and stuffed animals. MARY wears a large feathered hat and holds an open parasol with one hand as she pours tea with the other.)
MARY. Another biscuit, Miss Penny? Not so much sugar in your tea, Mr. Meriwether! Miss Carroll, if you desire another cake, you may ask me to pass them to you. Ladies do not reach across the table.
(There is a knock at the door but MARY, absorbed in her play, barely acknowledges it. MRS. LIDDELL enters.)
MARY. Mother! Come have some tea. Miss Carroll is behaving rather badly this afternoon, but I’m sure she’s left some cake for you.
MRS. LIDDELL. Thank you dear, but I’ve had my tea this afternoon.
MARY. Oh, but it’s green tea. The queen herself sent it. She is terribly sorry she could not attend herself, but-
MRS. LIDDELL. Mary, perhaps the tea party could wait for a moment. (She sits on her daughter’s bed and pats the space next to her.) Come sit.
(MARY puts down the teapot and parasol and sits next to her mother.)
MARY. What’s wrong, Mother?
MRS. LIDDELL. Nothing at all. In fact, today is a day of celebration. Do you know what day it is?
MARY. (after thinking for a moment) Wednesday.
MRS. LIDDELL. (laughing) That is true, my dear, but there is something very special about this particular Wednesday. For it was on this day, thirteen short years ago, that I was blessed with the greatest gift a person could get- a little baby named Mary.
(As MRS. LIDDELL has been talking, MARY has grown noticeably downcast. She plays with the skirt of her dress and frowns.)
MRS. LIDDELL. Whatever is the matter, Mary? Aren’t you excited for your birthday?
MARY. No.
MRS. LIDDELL. But why not? You’re thirteen now- a young lady. (She reaches up and removes the hat that Mary is still wearing.) Soon you’ll have your debut and go to lots of beautiful parties, and then, one day, you’ll marry a wonderful man and be a mother just like I am. Don’t you want any of that?
MARY. (stubbornly) No, I do not.
MRS. LIDDELL. You want to stay a little girl forever? What is the fun in that?
MARY. I can have my tea parties and play with my friends. I can make up stories about whatever I like and then act them out. I can have fun.
MRS. LIDDELL. Grown-ups have fun, too, Mary. I have tea parties with real tea and cakes and I spend time with my friends. And we tell each other stories all the time.
MARY. (throwing herself face-down on the bed) It’s not the same!
MRS. LIDDELL. (beginning to lose patience with her daughter) We’ve all got to grow up sometime, Mary, whether we like it or not. You have the choice to cherish it or be miserable, and only you can make that decision.
(MARY doesn’t answer, as she has begun to cry. MRS. LIDDELL gets up, puts the hat on a nearby chair, and exits. MARY continues to cry as the lights change to show the passing of time. It is now evening and MARY is still crying quietly. Suddenly there is a tap at the window. She sits up on her bed and looks its direction, but there doesn’t seem to be anything there. Then comes another tap. MARY gets up and crosses to the window, unlatching it and leaning out to see what made the noise. She doesn’t see anything and makes to go back to her bed, but then through the window flies PETER PAN. MARY turns to see the boy hovering in her window and stares, speechless.)
PETER. Girl, why are you crying?
MARY. (wiping at her still-wet cheeks) I’m not crying.
(PETER flies closer to peer into her eyes and MARY takes a step back.)
PETER. Yes, you are. You’ve got more of those wet things in your eyes. Are you sad? Why?
MARY. (as if it’s obvious) Today is my thirteenth birthday.
PETER. (alighting on a toy chest) What is a “birth day”?
MARY. You don’t know what a birthday is?
PETER. (indignantly) I know lots of other things. I think I do know what a “birth day” is, but I just have a better name for it.
MARY. A birthday is a celebration of the day you were born. You have one every year.
PETER. I’ve never had a birthday.
MARY. Of course you have. Everyone has. How old are you? You ought to have had as many birthdays as you’ve had years of your life.
PETER. I don’t know how old I am. I climbed out of my pram when I was just one day old and ran away to live with fairies. Then I went to Neverland. No one ever told me I had a birthday of my own. I think I’d like one.
MARY. Then you may have one.
PETER. Really? Could you give it to me?
MARY. (after a pause) Only if you tell me about this “Neverland”. You lived there with the fairies?
PETER. No, silly girl! I lived with the fairies before I went to Neverland.
MARY. You are quite a rude boy. If you continue in this manner, I shan’t give you your birthday. (She folds her arms and turns away from him.)
PETER. (flies over her head and landing in front of her again) I’m sorry, girl-
MARY. My name is Mary.
PETER. I’m sorry, Mary. Sometimes I can’t help myself. I’m not clever like you, so I have to pretend I am. Please let me have my birthday!
MARY. Tell me more about Neverland and I’ll think about it.
PETER. Neverland is a place where pirates and Indians fight on the open sea while mermaids swim below. Where fairies flit about in the air like dancing lights and there is never a day without adventure. It is a place where you never have to grow up.
(Now he has MARY’s attention.)
MARY. You never have to grow up?
PETER. Never.
MARY. My mother says everyone’s got to grow up.
PETER. Your mother?
MARY. Yes.
PETER. Well, what does she know?
MARY. She must know something. After all, she did it herself.
PETER. Yes, but she chose to grow up, which means she knows nothing about fun. If she did, she would have stayed a child, wouldn’t she?
MARY. (thinking) I suppose you’re right. Whenever I watch grown-ups, they never seem to be enjoying themselves. Maybe they just never knew what fun was and so weren’t sad to grow up. (Beat) But I know about fun, and I don’t want to leave it behind. (Beat) Could I go to Neverland?
PETER. Only if you give me my birthday.
MARY. All right, then. Close your eyes.
(PETER does. MARY looks around, uncertain of what could be representative of a birthday. Finding nothing, she thinks for a moment. Then she steps up to PETER, snaps her fingers twice and then makes a motion as if cracking an egg on top of his head, letting her fingers run over his hair.)
MARY. There. Now you’ve got your birthday.
PETER. (smiling brightly) It feels wonderful to have a birthday! Does this mean ours are on the same day?
MARY. (realising that this is true) I suppose so.
PETER. We will have great fun celebrating them together in Neverland. Are you ready to go?
MARY. I’m really going?
PETER. Of course. But only if you hurry. (He runs to the windowsill and jumps up) Come on!
(He holds out his hand. MARY hesitates, looking around her lavish room. She considers what she would be leaving behind by going with Peter. Then she takes PETER’s hand and steps up with him.)
MARY. Let’s go.
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Just Do It!
That's something I have trouble with in life... actually making the move to do something. I'm fine musing over all the "what-if"s, good and bad. I like to make plans. I like to talk over my options with other people. But actually embarking on a task? Not so easy for me. I am the queen of cold feet. Most of the time, I work through them and get on with whatever I need to do, but sometimes, I don't always pull through or, worse, I decide I do want to do whatever it is and realize that I waited too long and it's too late.
My proposal for the Peter Pan project is due on Monday. The form we have to turn in is actually quite simple and I could have it filled out by now, ready to hand to my teacher. But I wanted to get a better feel for what I wanted/needed first. I sat around and thought. I went to the park and thought. I went on Facebook a lot and stopped thinking for awhile and then I thought again.
Thinking is a wonderful and essential step in writing, but there is an even more important step that, had people not taken it, would have resulted in no books being written- ACTION! Though I was thinking a lot, I was too scared to put anything down in a document. I am so afraid of failure in this project that I just did a lot of staring when I brought up a blank page. I collected a good amount of research, which helped me a lot and gave me invaluable peeks into my characters, but what if I tried to apply that knowledge and it fell flat?
So I didn't actually write any more of the script until today. After slacking into the early afternoon, I finally got my stuff together and went to my school library to work. Really, I need to get out of my room sometimes to write. I just get too comfortable there, too familiar with my surroundings. I need stimulation in the form of a new location every now and then.
And I actually wrote some stuff! It's been slow going, as the lurking fear of failure pops up at me at every turn like that fuzzy orange monster in the Weight Watchers commercials. It's also a little bit harder due to the period language- finding the right word to go certain places without going modern.
But as scared as I am, I really want to write this adaptation. I want to share it with my class and my teacher. And- dare I admit it? One day, in the far future... I want to mount it on the stage. Obviously, this will take a lot of work- even just making it good enough in my eyes to show my class is going to take a lot of work. But I'm passionate enough about this project to do it.
My proposal for the Peter Pan project is due on Monday. The form we have to turn in is actually quite simple and I could have it filled out by now, ready to hand to my teacher. But I wanted to get a better feel for what I wanted/needed first. I sat around and thought. I went to the park and thought. I went on Facebook a lot and stopped thinking for awhile and then I thought again.
Thinking is a wonderful and essential step in writing, but there is an even more important step that, had people not taken it, would have resulted in no books being written- ACTION! Though I was thinking a lot, I was too scared to put anything down in a document. I am so afraid of failure in this project that I just did a lot of staring when I brought up a blank page. I collected a good amount of research, which helped me a lot and gave me invaluable peeks into my characters, but what if I tried to apply that knowledge and it fell flat?
So I didn't actually write any more of the script until today. After slacking into the early afternoon, I finally got my stuff together and went to my school library to work. Really, I need to get out of my room sometimes to write. I just get too comfortable there, too familiar with my surroundings. I need stimulation in the form of a new location every now and then.
And I actually wrote some stuff! It's been slow going, as the lurking fear of failure pops up at me at every turn like that fuzzy orange monster in the Weight Watchers commercials. It's also a little bit harder due to the period language- finding the right word to go certain places without going modern.
But as scared as I am, I really want to write this adaptation. I want to share it with my class and my teacher. And- dare I admit it? One day, in the far future... I want to mount it on the stage. Obviously, this will take a lot of work- even just making it good enough in my eyes to show my class is going to take a lot of work. But I'm passionate enough about this project to do it.
Friday, April 16, 2010
However Many You Discover, There is Always One More.
This will be a short post, as I'm in the throes of writing, but since I have lamented much about this project, I'll give you an update:
The adaptation decision actually made itself. Though, because I'm me, I'm still constantly worried it's the wrong one, the signs were there. The Sleeping Beauty one is still something I want to work on over the summer, but whenever I went to work on either of the adaptations, I always opened up Peter Pan. As I've said, I really love my premise and it keeps drawing me in.
So I've been taking a lot of notes in my new found free time (I was cast in another student film, this time at my own school, and was supposed to be filming now, but some location scouting was not well planned out and so I have the afternoon off. First shots tonight!) I've been using both Barrie's play and his novel, and though I've read both in full, recently, I am finding some true gold in these rereadings, wonderful stuff I overlooked before this plot was created. I'll leave you with a few that are really feeding my inspiration:
"He got all of her, except the innermost box and the kiss." (If I had to choose a tagline for this project at the moment, it would be this.)
"Her romantic mind was like the tiny boxes, one within the other, that come from the puzzling East, however many you discover, there is always one more."
"Children have the strangest adventures without being troubled by them."
The adaptation decision actually made itself. Though, because I'm me, I'm still constantly worried it's the wrong one, the signs were there. The Sleeping Beauty one is still something I want to work on over the summer, but whenever I went to work on either of the adaptations, I always opened up Peter Pan. As I've said, I really love my premise and it keeps drawing me in.
So I've been taking a lot of notes in my new found free time (I was cast in another student film, this time at my own school, and was supposed to be filming now, but some location scouting was not well planned out and so I have the afternoon off. First shots tonight!) I've been using both Barrie's play and his novel, and though I've read both in full, recently, I am finding some true gold in these rereadings, wonderful stuff I overlooked before this plot was created. I'll leave you with a few that are really feeding my inspiration:
"He got all of her, except the innermost box and the kiss." (If I had to choose a tagline for this project at the moment, it would be this.)
"Her romantic mind was like the tiny boxes, one within the other, that come from the puzzling East, however many you discover, there is always one more."
"Children have the strangest adventures without being troubled by them."
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
WIP Wednesday
An excerpt from somethinig I haven't shared anything from yet: Q/Quarantined.
To give you a little bit of an overview, my MC is a fifteen year old girl named Eliza who has been quarantined due to contracting a rare and serious illness when she was twelve. The doctors have been searching for a cure, but have yet to find one. Untreated, the disease kills anyone infected within three years. And that's where I'll leave the synopsis for now, though there's much more!
Eliza’s parents left around six o’clock that night. She tried to distract herself with a book, but soon closed it. At 7:02, she would have her final birthday. The idea didn’t astonish her as much as it did when she was first admitted. However, she couldn’t help thinking that spending her last three years stuck in a single room was not exactly living life to the fullest.
Impulsively, she crossed to the refrigerator and took out the box containing the second cupcake her parents had left for her. Placing it on her desk, she opened the package. Inside, she found not only the cake, but another candle and match. Was it cheating if she made another wish?
No, she decided. It was her birthday. Her last birthday. And if she wanted to make two wishes, who was going to stop her?
Placing the candle in the middle of the cupcake, she lit the wick and blew out the match. She watched the unmoving flame as it glowed. What did she want this time? She really only wanted one thing. Could you wish for the same thing twice?
Well, she was already cheating by making two wishes, so she might as well go for broke. She kept her eyes open this time as she thought, ‘I want my life back.’ Eliza blew out the candle.And as the flame went out, so did everything else. The room was suddenly plunged into darkness.
In her nearly three years at St. Claire’s, she had never experienced a power outage. What might happen to her - to everyone here - if they didn’t get everything up and working again?
“Sorry, my bad.”
When the voice spoke from the darkness, Eliza screamed and flattened herself against the wall.
“Wh-who’s in here?” she stammered.
“Hang on… crap, I can’t find the switch.” The voice was young and male and anomalously casual, given the situation.
“What are you doing here?” Eliza asked, wishing the fear would leave her voice. How did someone even get into her room?
“Wait - okay, found it.” The lights suddenly came back on, leaving Eliza squinting.
Across the room stood a tall, skinny, dark-haired boy of about sixteen. He leaned casually against the doorframe as though he broke into terminally ill girls’ rooms all the time.
“Who are you?” Eliza asked. “And how did you get in here? Where’s Darren? You should leave - you could get sick.”
After a moment, the boy spoke. “I guess I’ll take those one at a time. My name is Jonah Teagan. I came through the door. Darren is busy trying to figure out of the storeroom he’s locked in. And chill - I can’t catch AV from you. Or from anyone, for that matter. Which means you don’t have to stick yourself to that wall if you don’t want to.”
Eliza stepped away from the wall, but didn’t approach him. “I don’t understand- what do you mean you can’t catch AV? No one but me has been in this room for almost three years because they said I’m highly contagious.”
“Oh, don’t worry, you are. Just not to me.”
“What does that mean?” Eliza inquired disbelievingly. In her opinion, this Jonah guy was at this very moment taking his final uninfected breath, especially if he kept coming closer.
Jonah took a few more steps toward her so that he was almost an arm’s length away. “It means,” he said, looking her directly in the eye. “That I have an offer to make you. Care to listen?”
As always, comments/constructive critisism is welcome :)
To give you a little bit of an overview, my MC is a fifteen year old girl named Eliza who has been quarantined due to contracting a rare and serious illness when she was twelve. The doctors have been searching for a cure, but have yet to find one. Untreated, the disease kills anyone infected within three years. And that's where I'll leave the synopsis for now, though there's much more!
Eliza’s parents left around six o’clock that night. She tried to distract herself with a book, but soon closed it. At 7:02, she would have her final birthday. The idea didn’t astonish her as much as it did when she was first admitted. However, she couldn’t help thinking that spending her last three years stuck in a single room was not exactly living life to the fullest.
Impulsively, she crossed to the refrigerator and took out the box containing the second cupcake her parents had left for her. Placing it on her desk, she opened the package. Inside, she found not only the cake, but another candle and match. Was it cheating if she made another wish?
No, she decided. It was her birthday. Her last birthday. And if she wanted to make two wishes, who was going to stop her?
Placing the candle in the middle of the cupcake, she lit the wick and blew out the match. She watched the unmoving flame as it glowed. What did she want this time? She really only wanted one thing. Could you wish for the same thing twice?
Well, she was already cheating by making two wishes, so she might as well go for broke. She kept her eyes open this time as she thought, ‘I want my life back.’ Eliza blew out the candle.And as the flame went out, so did everything else. The room was suddenly plunged into darkness.
In her nearly three years at St. Claire’s, she had never experienced a power outage. What might happen to her - to everyone here - if they didn’t get everything up and working again?
“Sorry, my bad.”
When the voice spoke from the darkness, Eliza screamed and flattened herself against the wall.
“Wh-who’s in here?” she stammered.
“Hang on… crap, I can’t find the switch.” The voice was young and male and anomalously casual, given the situation.
“What are you doing here?” Eliza asked, wishing the fear would leave her voice. How did someone even get into her room?
“Wait - okay, found it.” The lights suddenly came back on, leaving Eliza squinting.
Across the room stood a tall, skinny, dark-haired boy of about sixteen. He leaned casually against the doorframe as though he broke into terminally ill girls’ rooms all the time.
“Who are you?” Eliza asked. “And how did you get in here? Where’s Darren? You should leave - you could get sick.”
After a moment, the boy spoke. “I guess I’ll take those one at a time. My name is Jonah Teagan. I came through the door. Darren is busy trying to figure out of the storeroom he’s locked in. And chill - I can’t catch AV from you. Or from anyone, for that matter. Which means you don’t have to stick yourself to that wall if you don’t want to.”
Eliza stepped away from the wall, but didn’t approach him. “I don’t understand- what do you mean you can’t catch AV? No one but me has been in this room for almost three years because they said I’m highly contagious.”
“Oh, don’t worry, you are. Just not to me.”
“What does that mean?” Eliza inquired disbelievingly. In her opinion, this Jonah guy was at this very moment taking his final uninfected breath, especially if he kept coming closer.
Jonah took a few more steps toward her so that he was almost an arm’s length away. “It means,” he said, looking her directly in the eye. “That I have an offer to make you. Care to listen?”
As always, comments/constructive critisism is welcome :)
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Making Choices
You know that artist (and by "artist" I mean writer/actor/painter/director/any other art form) phrase "kill your babies"? If you don't, it basically means that though a person loves an idea or a creation or what have you, sometimes you just have to leave it behind, nix it from the program, or realise that it's just not realistic.
I've killed a few of my babies (God, that sounds so morbid) in years past, and I find myself in a similar situation right now. I don't really have to kill my baby, but I do have to choose one over the other and I have to do it, like, yesterday.
My final is coming up in Children's Theatre, and instead of choosing a normal project like profiling a children's playhouse or chronicling the history of a popular show, I've decided to be crazy and either continue with one adaptation or write a completely new one... all for my final presentation in a month. A month seems like a long time, but I need to choose my project by this weekend because we have conferences about the project in two weeks and I need to have something to show.
So, my two choices:
1) Create an new adaptation premise for a fairy tale and present the story, visuals, and script excerpt.
or
2) Continue with my Peter Pan adaptation and, since I've already done the above for this project, write enough of the script to fill a ten to fifteen minute time slot, in which I will do a sort of staged reading.
There are pros and cons to each of these choices, and I'm having a really hard time figuring out which I should do. So, because you totally care (and I need to hash it out for myself), here are the pros and cons to each:
NEW FAIRY TALE (Sleeping Beauty):
PROS
-Because it's a well-known fairy tale, I have a strong foundation plot.
-Have a nice skeleton of a new version of the plot already, as it's based on an improv I did when I was being a camp counselor last summer.
-I'm finding it quite easy to set it in modern times.
-I could probably pull off a pretty good presentation.
-It's looking like it'll be a comedy, and I enjoy writing comedy.
-I like the plot enough that I may continue with it afterwards.
CONS
-I want to do a script excerpt and I have no idea which scene is stand-alone enough to present.
-Obviously, nothing but the plot is written yet, as I just started tonight.
-I'm not sure if it'll turn out to be for young kids, which might be a problem if I find this out two weeks before the project is due.
PETER PAN ADAPTATION:
PROS
-I really like my premise and I'm going to write this play, whether I do it it for class or not.
-I have the skeleton of a plot.
-The class has already seen my presentation of the basic plot, so I can just expand.
-I get to write more of the script.
-I had a nice talk with my teacher and basically asked her if she thought the plot was even worth developing. She said yes and gave me a lot of great suggestions.
-With her guidance, I have ideas of how to make it more of a children's piece than the more high-school-kids-and-up way it was going before.
-Though it's not modern day, I know the era I'm setting it in (Victorian) very well, and definitely well enough to set a play there.
-It's a drama and I like writing drama.
-I lurve staged readings and would looooove to stage one myself.
CONS
-I don't want to bore the class with the same play they already know.
-I'm worried I won't be able to come up with good enough new material to show them.
-It's really, really, REALLY dramatic.
-I care so much about this project that failure might be devastating.
Augh, I don't know! Anyone out there have any opinions?!
I've killed a few of my babies (God, that sounds so morbid) in years past, and I find myself in a similar situation right now. I don't really have to kill my baby, but I do have to choose one over the other and I have to do it, like, yesterday.
My final is coming up in Children's Theatre, and instead of choosing a normal project like profiling a children's playhouse or chronicling the history of a popular show, I've decided to be crazy and either continue with one adaptation or write a completely new one... all for my final presentation in a month. A month seems like a long time, but I need to choose my project by this weekend because we have conferences about the project in two weeks and I need to have something to show.
So, my two choices:
1) Create an new adaptation premise for a fairy tale and present the story, visuals, and script excerpt.
or
2) Continue with my Peter Pan adaptation and, since I've already done the above for this project, write enough of the script to fill a ten to fifteen minute time slot, in which I will do a sort of staged reading.
There are pros and cons to each of these choices, and I'm having a really hard time figuring out which I should do. So, because you totally care (and I need to hash it out for myself), here are the pros and cons to each:
NEW FAIRY TALE (Sleeping Beauty):
PROS
-Because it's a well-known fairy tale, I have a strong foundation plot.
-Have a nice skeleton of a new version of the plot already, as it's based on an improv I did when I was being a camp counselor last summer.
-I'm finding it quite easy to set it in modern times.
-I could probably pull off a pretty good presentation.
-It's looking like it'll be a comedy, and I enjoy writing comedy.
-I like the plot enough that I may continue with it afterwards.
CONS
-I want to do a script excerpt and I have no idea which scene is stand-alone enough to present.
-Obviously, nothing but the plot is written yet, as I just started tonight.
-I'm not sure if it'll turn out to be for young kids, which might be a problem if I find this out two weeks before the project is due.
PETER PAN ADAPTATION:
PROS
-I really like my premise and I'm going to write this play, whether I do it it for class or not.
-I have the skeleton of a plot.
-The class has already seen my presentation of the basic plot, so I can just expand.
-I get to write more of the script.
-I had a nice talk with my teacher and basically asked her if she thought the plot was even worth developing. She said yes and gave me a lot of great suggestions.
-With her guidance, I have ideas of how to make it more of a children's piece than the more high-school-kids-and-up way it was going before.
-Though it's not modern day, I know the era I'm setting it in (Victorian) very well, and definitely well enough to set a play there.
-It's a drama and I like writing drama.
-I lurve staged readings and would looooove to stage one myself.
CONS
-I don't want to bore the class with the same play they already know.
-I'm worried I won't be able to come up with good enough new material to show them.
-It's really, really, REALLY dramatic.
-I care so much about this project that failure might be devastating.
Augh, I don't know! Anyone out there have any opinions?!
WIP Wednesday!
Today you get a taste of something very different- a comedic screenplay!
Unfortunately, this script will probably not be produced in any way because there's not enough conflict in the story. However, I really enjoyed writing it and if I have time over the summer, I'll tweak it to see if it might work another way. For now, though, here's a snippet of a story of two men who own a successful dry cleaning business:
RICK and DAVE sit down at a table with their drinks.
DAVE
Nice crowd so far today, huh?
RICK
Yeah, I could hardly keep up.
DAVE
Sometimes I’m still shocked at how well the business is doing. I mean, who would’ve thought that dry cleaning, of all things, would make us a small fortune? (Laughs) And my mother wanted me to be a doctor.
RICK
I know, right? And I’m having an even better time with it than I thought I would.
DAVE
Me, too.
RICK
Truly amazing.
DAVE
It was a great idea.
RICK
Genius.
DAVE
Inspired.
RICK
And our success-
DAVE
Something most people only dream about.
RICK
Definitely.
DAVE
We hit the jackpot.
RICK
We really did.
DAVE
I hate it.
RICK
So do I.
A moment passes as they look at each other in amazement… and some relief.
DAVE
You, too?
RICK
Oh, God, yeah. Every day is like ten hours of slow, painful torture.
DAVE
The sounds the machine makes when it’s agitating the clothing… I hear them in my sleep.
RICK
The smell of the solvent… it’s everywhere, even when I leave the store.
DAVE
And the people-
RICK
There are so many of them.
DAVE
I mean, they’re all great, really nice people.
RICK
But there are so many of them. All the time. And for each one of them, we have to check at least two pockets per item of clothing that they give us. Do you realize how many pens we have in the back? Can’t people take them out of their own pockets? (Beat)I have a dream, Dave. A dream that one day, I will find a pen in a pocket and I will leave it there. And then I will put the coat or the shirt or whatever it is in the machine and I will close the door and I will press the start button, and through the tiny window, I will watch the ink from the pen destroy the garment beyond recovery. And I will enjoy it.
DAVE
Unfortunately, this script will probably not be produced in any way because there's not enough conflict in the story. However, I really enjoyed writing it and if I have time over the summer, I'll tweak it to see if it might work another way. For now, though, here's a snippet of a story of two men who own a successful dry cleaning business:
INT. COFFEE SHOP
RICK and DAVE sit down at a table with their drinks.
DAVE
Nice crowd so far today, huh?
RICK
Yeah, I could hardly keep up.
DAVE
Sometimes I’m still shocked at how well the business is doing. I mean, who would’ve thought that dry cleaning, of all things, would make us a small fortune? (Laughs) And my mother wanted me to be a doctor.
RICK
I know, right? And I’m having an even better time with it than I thought I would.
DAVE
Me, too.
RICK
Truly amazing.
DAVE
It was a great idea.
RICK
Genius.
DAVE
Inspired.
RICK
And our success-
DAVE
Something most people only dream about.
RICK
Definitely.
DAVE
We hit the jackpot.
RICK
We really did.
DAVE
I hate it.
RICK
So do I.
A moment passes as they look at each other in amazement… and some relief.
DAVE
You, too?
RICK
Oh, God, yeah. Every day is like ten hours of slow, painful torture.
DAVE
The sounds the machine makes when it’s agitating the clothing… I hear them in my sleep.
RICK
The smell of the solvent… it’s everywhere, even when I leave the store.
DAVE
And the people-
RICK
There are so many of them.
DAVE
I mean, they’re all great, really nice people.
RICK
But there are so many of them. All the time. And for each one of them, we have to check at least two pockets per item of clothing that they give us. Do you realize how many pens we have in the back? Can’t people take them out of their own pockets? (Beat)I have a dream, Dave. A dream that one day, I will find a pen in a pocket and I will leave it there. And then I will put the coat or the shirt or whatever it is in the machine and I will close the door and I will press the start button, and through the tiny window, I will watch the ink from the pen destroy the garment beyond recovery. And I will enjoy it.
DAVE
Wow. And I thought I was far gone.
Monday, April 5, 2010
Do What You Like
My big present this Christmas was something my mother and I had been investigating for about four months before the holiday- an e-Reader. I ended up getting a Nook, and I love it to pieces. One of the big reasons for my choosing it over the Kindle, the Sony Reader, or any of the other readers out there is because it had a highlight/note capability that let you spotlight any phrase or word you want and jot down your thoughts about it. This is a huge thing I love to do with my tangible books- all of my favorites have tabs sticking out of them and notes in the margins. When I got my Nook, I couldn't wait to "mark up" the electronic pages with my thoughts and save all of my favorite places.
But when I began to do this, I balked before my finger could hit the "bookmark" button. Nook has a capability that lets you lend out your e-books, and I suddenly got worried. What if I bookmarked a page, lent my book out, and my friend thought I was weird. Would they sit there and wonder why I had entire paragraphs highlighted? And the subjects of those highlighted paragraphs and bookmarked pages were not thing normal people would think to save.
I had this scared attitude towards marking anything in my new books until I decided to read one of my favorite books yesterday: The Dogs of Babel. This book is so poignant and well-written and hits on a lot of personal levels for me. The book entered my life five years ago by chance, at a time when I had just gone through what the main character goes through, and it really spoke to me. If you haven't read it, you should.
Anyway, so I'm devouring this book and it's making me sob and audibly gasp and at one point, shocked by what I read, I had to put the book aside and breathe. And this is a book I've read many times. As I had these reactions, I kept thinking, "That page says exactly what I thought when I was going through this. I'd really like to mark it..." but I stopped myself because if I lent out my book, I didn't want my friend seeing that I had marked that page. However, I eventually came to a realisation- this is my book. I can do whatever I want with it. And sure, maybe one day I'll show it to someone and they'll think that things I've spotlighted are weird. But does it matter if it means something to me? Why should I sacrifice saving something that speaks to me because someone else might not like it?
I say all this because it's the kind of attitude I need to adopt toward my writing. I spend a lot of time when I write thinking about what I CAN'T write because Person A or B might not like it or think it's weird or it will reveal something of myself that I don't want them to know about. It's why I like to be provided with plots that I can just develop and stem off of. But the writing I do is mine. No matter what I do, that is me on the page, in one way or another. I'm not one to base characters off of myself, but I'm there, whether it be in the dialogue, a character trait, or just simply my writing style. I want to have the courage to show this version of me to people because for better or for worse, that's what it is.
My NaNo novel, especially, delves into some dark places that I've never explored before. They're fictional dark places, but they came from my mind. My friend wants to read my novel and I really want to show it to him once it's edited, but at the same time, I'm really freaked out to let him see where my mind can go. This is not going to be an easy thing to do for me.
But when I began to do this, I balked before my finger could hit the "bookmark" button. Nook has a capability that lets you lend out your e-books, and I suddenly got worried. What if I bookmarked a page, lent my book out, and my friend thought I was weird. Would they sit there and wonder why I had entire paragraphs highlighted? And the subjects of those highlighted paragraphs and bookmarked pages were not thing normal people would think to save.
I had this scared attitude towards marking anything in my new books until I decided to read one of my favorite books yesterday: The Dogs of Babel. This book is so poignant and well-written and hits on a lot of personal levels for me. The book entered my life five years ago by chance, at a time when I had just gone through what the main character goes through, and it really spoke to me. If you haven't read it, you should.
Anyway, so I'm devouring this book and it's making me sob and audibly gasp and at one point, shocked by what I read, I had to put the book aside and breathe. And this is a book I've read many times. As I had these reactions, I kept thinking, "That page says exactly what I thought when I was going through this. I'd really like to mark it..." but I stopped myself because if I lent out my book, I didn't want my friend seeing that I had marked that page. However, I eventually came to a realisation- this is my book. I can do whatever I want with it. And sure, maybe one day I'll show it to someone and they'll think that things I've spotlighted are weird. But does it matter if it means something to me? Why should I sacrifice saving something that speaks to me because someone else might not like it?
I say all this because it's the kind of attitude I need to adopt toward my writing. I spend a lot of time when I write thinking about what I CAN'T write because Person A or B might not like it or think it's weird or it will reveal something of myself that I don't want them to know about. It's why I like to be provided with plots that I can just develop and stem off of. But the writing I do is mine. No matter what I do, that is me on the page, in one way or another. I'm not one to base characters off of myself, but I'm there, whether it be in the dialogue, a character trait, or just simply my writing style. I want to have the courage to show this version of me to people because for better or for worse, that's what it is.
My NaNo novel, especially, delves into some dark places that I've never explored before. They're fictional dark places, but they came from my mind. My friend wants to read my novel and I really want to show it to him once it's edited, but at the same time, I'm really freaked out to let him see where my mind can go. This is not going to be an easy thing to do for me.
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