I've lived in this state my entire life, and most of the time that's fine by me. But in late fall when the sky fills with birds migrating south for the winter, traveling thousands of miles, I get homesick for places I've never been. Places like southern California. In my life I've had two friends of mine that spent a significant amount of time in Southern California. Dennis Doderer who has been one of my best friends since I met him in 2007, lived in Southern California from 1973 until 2003. After graduating from City High in Iowa City, he attended Michigan State from 1967-1971. He moved back to Iowa City for a year, working a few different jobs, one of which included laying black top roads around Sharon Center, Kalona and Hills that always make me think of him every time I take them. He decided in the spring of 1973 that he wanted to try his hand at making it as an actor and writer in Hollywood.
I live vicariously through a man who was a year and a half older than I am right now the day I was born. He tells stories of the life he lived living in various parts of Los Angeles, including South Pasadena. I'm sure he over exaggerates for dramatic effect, but I can't help but notice the glimmer in his eyes each time he reminisces about his experiences there. Getting to meet and mingle with celebrities. Getting to walk his dogs or go for a jog in the middle of February. He never woke up to eight inches of snow like what we have now. Sure the traffic sucked and the crowds could be overbearing but if excitement and adventure were what you craved, there was never a shortage.
I think to myself that maybe it's not so much the location I desire as much as it is the situation. Des Moines is a neat place. A place that does a piss poor job of advertising and promoting itself, but still a community with fun and interesting things to do, if you know who to talk to and where to look. I think if my life were to ever get to a point of financial stability that I would find myself enjoying what the state of Iowa refers to as a city. Yet I also wonder if I am to forever be one to struggle in terms of economic standing, if I'd enjoy living paycheck to paycheck in a warmer environment. The bitter cold, with it's crappy driving conditions doesn't appeal to me at all. I like the idea of being able to walk the dog or go for a jog 365 days a year. I'm sure my bicycle would rather be used all fifty two weeks, rather than getting shut up in the garage for nearly half the year.
My friend Steve, who I haven't seen in five years lived somewhere along the coast line. It wasn't a city I am familiar with and for the life of me I can't remember the name of it. Steve never had a cell phone and the last time I tried to call him, I found out that he had moved. I'm not even sure if he lives in Coralville or not. All I can remember is that he longed to one day move back to California, if the opportunity ever came up again.
He loved living there every bit as much as Dennis did, but for much different reasons. He didn't live in the hustle and bustle of L.A. He lived in a quieter area. One where he often went fishing or for a boat ride on the lake he lived near by. While not a swimmer, Steve loved the water. During spring and summer in Iowa City, he seemed to think Iowa was an okay place to be. Whether it was the Coralville reservoir or just going out and admiring the river from a bridge, he made peace with his surroundings. During the winter, when the water froze over, he'd cuss the cold with every breath. He hated heavy jackets. He hated gloves, he hated winter hats. He even seemed to hate the fact that his car had a heater. Not that he wasn't thankful for it on our joyful negative 22 degree nights, but bitter at the fact that he lived in an area where it was so desperately needed.
I have a goal to be out of Iowa and to live in a warmer climate before the clock strikes midnight on the 31st of December, 2023. I'll be an old man, nearly forty and maybe that's a blessing in disguise. I'd be lying to you if I said that I wasn't resentful, because I am. I always thought succeed, fail or something in between that I'd always make a real go for it as an actor and a writer myself. I never saw myself as a leading man or anything even remotely close to it. People hear me say that I wish I could've gone out to Hollywood at some point in my life and they get this idea in their head that I think I would have been a major star or something. I suppose I am that confident as a writer. I do think screenplays I've written are good enough to be box office hits, but I never thought of myself that way as an actor. What I pictured was sharing an itty bitty space with another dreamer, working odd jobs, having that one episode of FRIENDS where I was on screen for 15 seconds in a 23 minute long episode. Maybe I would've gotten lucky. Maybe I would've became something. I don't know. I never will. Instead of getting to go out and try, I ended up being imprisoned by student loans that kept my feet cemented within their cell here in Iowa. I think that's another reason I want to get out so much.
Anymore, California doesn't excite me as much as it used to. I still believe and for that matter still work on my end as a writer. The chances are slim, but I think it's even more ludicrous as well as ridiculous to give up than it is to keep trying. I get where the quitters are coming from. It is highly unlikely that I ever walk into a cinema to watch something that I wrote. The day I attend a play in New York City, it most likely won't be to watch characters I thought up of in my head. I'll continue to write novels and novellas, and I'll be lucky if I ever get any published, let alone see them on the top 25 best seller lists. I get that. Yet, this is what I want out of life. This is who and what I want to be. To me it is insane to give up and be content with it never happening. To have but this one life, this one and only opportunity and to not at least try? That may be something most people get and understand. I don't get it. I don't understand it. I don't want to either.
It's funny to me that in all the years of dreaming of making it as a big time writer and as an actor, that I always pictured myself in California. I guess New York has always been a bit of a turn off for me. For one, I've never had any close friends from New York. While both seem overcrowded and overwhelming, Los Angeles has always seemed more friendly and welcoming than the Big Apple. New York is also theatre, and theatre in comparison to film, seems to be more musically inclined. I can't dance. I CAN NOT sing and I sure as Hell can't write music to accompany a script. The thought of being ostracized by some little prick that can't write dialog or structure a scene to save his life, just because he can sing, has always been a major turn off to me. And frankly, why I put New York out of my head over twenty-five years ago when these dreams first began to enter my mind.
When the time comes for me to move, I'd love for the current project my friend Jason Janes and I are working on to take off. We have developed a television series entitled WE HAVE EVERYTHING. Thus far we have six screenplays intended for hour long episodes. I've written five and Jason's written one. Which is perfect because he envisions himself as a director and post production editor where anymore, my entire focus is as a writer. The episodes of WE HAVE EVERYTHING will most likely never go beyond the page. A handful of people will read them and that will be the entirety of their exposure. Nevertheless little brings me more to life than when I write an episode. We send in our ideas to various markets. We had Amazon actually give us a call back once on another idea that we worked on three years ago. Granted we only had one call back and one request to do a rewrite but it was still a call back. A call back that proves that maybe having these dreams and these lofty goals isn't as far fetched as some would like to believe.
If that were to happen, then maybe California is still on the list. As for now though, I'm beginning to long for Atlanta, Georgia. A city that from what I see is affordable and welcoming to writers, actors, directors, ect with opportunities to boot. Great weather and while nothing compared to Iowa, a decent amateur wrestling presence. High schools in the area including Marietta and Shorter college with a competitive team only an hour's drive.
Tennessee is a state that I really enjoyed visiting. Been told by others that parts of Arizona would be appealing to me as well. Really at this point with exception to Mississippi, about anywhere where it doesn't get drastically cold, icy or freezing appeals to me at this point.
Sunday, January 20, 2019
Friday, January 11, 2019
Complete The Story: 3 of 198
Regrets. We all have them. Those things in life we did that we wished we wouldn't have. Or in some cases those things in life we didn't do, that we wished we would have. Regardless of what they are, or how many we have of them, we all have them. One of mine is the way I treated a girl in school. Looking back, I was a real jerk to her. I shouldn't have been and I wish I could take it back.
It started in junior high. She said something to me in health class that really ticked me off. Rather than get her back and call it even or heaven forbid let it go, I decided to make an Everest out of a Wycheproff. I had been swatted with piece of toilet paper and decided the best way to retaliate was with an atom bomb. Being the writer I am, whit can come rather natural to me in times of need. When I want to, I can come up with the most clever of insults. I can tear someone apart with my words. My offense is vocabulary. Seeing that she wasn't as keen on using the English language as a weapon as I was, her itinerary plan was strictly physical. Punched, kicked, slapped, I think there was even a time she headbutted me.
Truth is, she was the one that tried to make peace. I can distinctly remember twice when she was the bigger person. The one who stuck out her hand and tried to end the war that she had never really wanted to start in the first place. In math class our teacher had finally had enough of our back and forth and demanded that we each say something nice about one another. To her credit, she came up to me and complimented me on the performance I had recently given in a play I had done in drama class. I responded to her that I couldn't think of anything nice to say about her but I'd appreciate it if she'd make something up and tell the math teacher that I did. The wind left my body, almost as quickly as she did, as her fist connected with my gut and she ran up to tell our math teacher that I had made out like George Thorogood, having done let the deal go down.
To be completely vulnerable I was terrified of her. Terrified of what I thought she might know and what she might do with that information. I was a depressed and unhappy teen. I'd like to at least pretend that I somewhat did a decent job of hiding it from the rest of the world. That I kept it well hidden. And maybe I did. Or maybe others just made me think that I did. Either way, she saw right through me, and it scared me to death. I hated that she knew how depressed I was. I hated it with such passion and the only way I knew how to deal with it was by being as cruel, cold and mean to her as I could be. My reasoning, although flawed was simple. She had discovered something about me that I wanted no one else to know. I figured that if I was malicious enough, I could turn her curiosity into disdain and she'd give up on her exploration.
With a tough exterior skeleton there is no way she would ever admit that anything I said ever got under her skin. I wasn't important enough to have ever had that much power.
As much of a prick as I was to her, two of my favorite high school memories involve her. There were two times during teenage years that she made me feel like a million bucks. Once, she even brought me to tears.
Creative Writing class, junior year of high school. On our last day of class we had to write a story, recapping our experience and what we got out of the class. I'll never forget what she said about me. "I can see myself one day in a Barnes and Noble, and on the shelf will be a best seller written by Stephen Stonebraker. Or maybe one day I'll go to a movie with my husband and kids, and written by Stephen Stonebraker will flash across the screen." Here was a girl, that essentially didn't even like me. Someone who on other grounds in other capacities thought of me as a loser. And yet here she was so confident in my ability and so sure of my talent that she came right out and said it. There are times when writing a novel or a screenplay, the thought of giving up often crosses my mind. I get so frustrated and angry that I haven't gotten anywhere yet. I feel like tossing my keyboard across the room, watching it smash into a thousand pieces and saying the Hell with it forever. Then I'll think of her and think to myself if she, someone who didn't even really care for me as a person had to admit how talented I was, then maybe someday someone else might too.
Monday February 16th, 2004 is a day that sticks out in my memory. On Saturday the 14th of February, 2004 I had placed third at the sectional tournament at WACO high school. In the state of Iowa, in order to qualify for districts you have to place first or second. One match. One match shy of qualifying. It was one of the worst days of my life. One of the worst feelings I've ever felt. I went into zombie mode and didn't even set my alarm clock Sunday night. For the past four years I had gotten up around 5:30 a.m. and got up to run three miles. On this particular Monday morning, I didn't even wake up until around 9:00.
When I got up, I was in no hurry to get to school. I lounged around the house and watched a little TV until the phone rang. I let it go to voicemail and listened as a school official left a message for my Dad asking where I was at. I deleted the message and went right back to watching T.V.
I don't know how my Dad found out but about an hour later, he came barging into the house yelling my name almost in a frantic scream that I can only describe as morbid. When he saw me sitting on the couch watching a rerun of The Andy Griffith Show he took a second before he said anything. What I needed at the time was a Dad to sit and talk to me about everything that I felt. To let me express myself and maybe make sense of all of the pain that made up every thought, feeling and emotion that I had. Instead, I was given a royal ass chewing, told to get in the shower and to get my ass to school.
When I got to school, I guess Randy Stonebraker wasn't the only one who thought that maybe I had decided to end it that day. There were a lot of people at school who were very careful with me that day. Treated me as if I were a fragile piece of glass, ready to break at the slightest wrong word. My English teacher even came right out and said it. Others thought it, but she was the only one to actually say to me that she worried that because I hadn't won that I might have killed myself.
I was numb. I began to wonder if losing out on this goal that I had worked so hard at for so long might have completely drained me of emotion. I had scared my Dad into leaving work, speeding home and worrying himself nearly to death that he'd find more just an open gun cabinet when he arrived home. I had sat on a couch, listening to him reprimand me. I came to school, heard my English teacher admit that she and others were worried that I had done something to myself. And I had seen my entrepreneurship teacher and my guidance counselor who had both taken me aside to let me know that they both wished things would have turned out differently for me. All of this, all of it, still left me without much feeling. It wasn't until psychology class, when I finally felt something again.
Somehow or another we got on the subject of me and there she sat, giving her opinion. She said that her and her family had learned that I had fell one match short of qualification and they talked about it for a bit over dinner that night. She said she remembered seeing me run all over town, always saw me in the mornings lifting weights or working on moves. Said I was the one of the hardest working people she had ever known and that she felt awful that things hadn't worked out for me.
A girl made me cry that day, and probably not for the reasons she would suspect. Yeah, it felt good to know that someone cared about what I was going through, but my tears were more so out of guilt and regret than they were anything else. If anything, here was someone that should have rejoiced in my failure. Someone who had every right to dance in victory upon my defeat. And yet for a reason I'll never understand, she did just the opposite. She poured her heart out to me that day and all I could do was sit and think about how much of a jackass I had been to her for all that time. She had no reason to, in fact she had every reason not to, but for some reason she gave a damn about what I was going through.
There's nothing sexual here, nothing intimate or romantic. It's nothing like that at all. Matter of fact, there's little to no chance that we would have ever have been friends. We're two different people. She's an extrovert. Popular and preppy. The type that adheres to all of societal expectations of fitting in. I'm an introvert. A loner who couldn't care less what others think. What it comes down to is this. No, we weren't ever going to be friends but we didn't need to be enemies either and it's my fault that we were.
I've since forgiven myself and life has gone on. It's not something I hold on to or something I let eat away at me or anything like that. It's simply something I thought of upon the opening statement, and something that if I had the chance to go back and redo, I would.
It started in junior high. She said something to me in health class that really ticked me off. Rather than get her back and call it even or heaven forbid let it go, I decided to make an Everest out of a Wycheproff. I had been swatted with piece of toilet paper and decided the best way to retaliate was with an atom bomb. Being the writer I am, whit can come rather natural to me in times of need. When I want to, I can come up with the most clever of insults. I can tear someone apart with my words. My offense is vocabulary. Seeing that she wasn't as keen on using the English language as a weapon as I was, her itinerary plan was strictly physical. Punched, kicked, slapped, I think there was even a time she headbutted me.
Truth is, she was the one that tried to make peace. I can distinctly remember twice when she was the bigger person. The one who stuck out her hand and tried to end the war that she had never really wanted to start in the first place. In math class our teacher had finally had enough of our back and forth and demanded that we each say something nice about one another. To her credit, she came up to me and complimented me on the performance I had recently given in a play I had done in drama class. I responded to her that I couldn't think of anything nice to say about her but I'd appreciate it if she'd make something up and tell the math teacher that I did. The wind left my body, almost as quickly as she did, as her fist connected with my gut and she ran up to tell our math teacher that I had made out like George Thorogood, having done let the deal go down.
To be completely vulnerable I was terrified of her. Terrified of what I thought she might know and what she might do with that information. I was a depressed and unhappy teen. I'd like to at least pretend that I somewhat did a decent job of hiding it from the rest of the world. That I kept it well hidden. And maybe I did. Or maybe others just made me think that I did. Either way, she saw right through me, and it scared me to death. I hated that she knew how depressed I was. I hated it with such passion and the only way I knew how to deal with it was by being as cruel, cold and mean to her as I could be. My reasoning, although flawed was simple. She had discovered something about me that I wanted no one else to know. I figured that if I was malicious enough, I could turn her curiosity into disdain and she'd give up on her exploration.
With a tough exterior skeleton there is no way she would ever admit that anything I said ever got under her skin. I wasn't important enough to have ever had that much power.
As much of a prick as I was to her, two of my favorite high school memories involve her. There were two times during teenage years that she made me feel like a million bucks. Once, she even brought me to tears.
Creative Writing class, junior year of high school. On our last day of class we had to write a story, recapping our experience and what we got out of the class. I'll never forget what she said about me. "I can see myself one day in a Barnes and Noble, and on the shelf will be a best seller written by Stephen Stonebraker. Or maybe one day I'll go to a movie with my husband and kids, and written by Stephen Stonebraker will flash across the screen." Here was a girl, that essentially didn't even like me. Someone who on other grounds in other capacities thought of me as a loser. And yet here she was so confident in my ability and so sure of my talent that she came right out and said it. There are times when writing a novel or a screenplay, the thought of giving up often crosses my mind. I get so frustrated and angry that I haven't gotten anywhere yet. I feel like tossing my keyboard across the room, watching it smash into a thousand pieces and saying the Hell with it forever. Then I'll think of her and think to myself if she, someone who didn't even really care for me as a person had to admit how talented I was, then maybe someday someone else might too.
Monday February 16th, 2004 is a day that sticks out in my memory. On Saturday the 14th of February, 2004 I had placed third at the sectional tournament at WACO high school. In the state of Iowa, in order to qualify for districts you have to place first or second. One match. One match shy of qualifying. It was one of the worst days of my life. One of the worst feelings I've ever felt. I went into zombie mode and didn't even set my alarm clock Sunday night. For the past four years I had gotten up around 5:30 a.m. and got up to run three miles. On this particular Monday morning, I didn't even wake up until around 9:00.
When I got up, I was in no hurry to get to school. I lounged around the house and watched a little TV until the phone rang. I let it go to voicemail and listened as a school official left a message for my Dad asking where I was at. I deleted the message and went right back to watching T.V.
I don't know how my Dad found out but about an hour later, he came barging into the house yelling my name almost in a frantic scream that I can only describe as morbid. When he saw me sitting on the couch watching a rerun of The Andy Griffith Show he took a second before he said anything. What I needed at the time was a Dad to sit and talk to me about everything that I felt. To let me express myself and maybe make sense of all of the pain that made up every thought, feeling and emotion that I had. Instead, I was given a royal ass chewing, told to get in the shower and to get my ass to school.
When I got to school, I guess Randy Stonebraker wasn't the only one who thought that maybe I had decided to end it that day. There were a lot of people at school who were very careful with me that day. Treated me as if I were a fragile piece of glass, ready to break at the slightest wrong word. My English teacher even came right out and said it. Others thought it, but she was the only one to actually say to me that she worried that because I hadn't won that I might have killed myself.
I was numb. I began to wonder if losing out on this goal that I had worked so hard at for so long might have completely drained me of emotion. I had scared my Dad into leaving work, speeding home and worrying himself nearly to death that he'd find more just an open gun cabinet when he arrived home. I had sat on a couch, listening to him reprimand me. I came to school, heard my English teacher admit that she and others were worried that I had done something to myself. And I had seen my entrepreneurship teacher and my guidance counselor who had both taken me aside to let me know that they both wished things would have turned out differently for me. All of this, all of it, still left me without much feeling. It wasn't until psychology class, when I finally felt something again.
Somehow or another we got on the subject of me and there she sat, giving her opinion. She said that her and her family had learned that I had fell one match short of qualification and they talked about it for a bit over dinner that night. She said she remembered seeing me run all over town, always saw me in the mornings lifting weights or working on moves. Said I was the one of the hardest working people she had ever known and that she felt awful that things hadn't worked out for me.
A girl made me cry that day, and probably not for the reasons she would suspect. Yeah, it felt good to know that someone cared about what I was going through, but my tears were more so out of guilt and regret than they were anything else. If anything, here was someone that should have rejoiced in my failure. Someone who had every right to dance in victory upon my defeat. And yet for a reason I'll never understand, she did just the opposite. She poured her heart out to me that day and all I could do was sit and think about how much of a jackass I had been to her for all that time. She had no reason to, in fact she had every reason not to, but for some reason she gave a damn about what I was going through.
There's nothing sexual here, nothing intimate or romantic. It's nothing like that at all. Matter of fact, there's little to no chance that we would have ever have been friends. We're two different people. She's an extrovert. Popular and preppy. The type that adheres to all of societal expectations of fitting in. I'm an introvert. A loner who couldn't care less what others think. What it comes down to is this. No, we weren't ever going to be friends but we didn't need to be enemies either and it's my fault that we were.
I've since forgiven myself and life has gone on. It's not something I hold on to or something I let eat away at me or anything like that. It's simply something I thought of upon the opening statement, and something that if I had the chance to go back and redo, I would.
Complete The Story: Story 2 of 198
Perhaps it was a dream, she thought. Perhaps if she pinched herself, she would wake up. But she didn't want to wake up. She wanted to stay in this dream world where she was pretty, popular and NOT fat. Her mother, Geraldine, liked to speculate, often through verbal ridicule that her daughter often slept as much as she did due to depression. Which in partial was true. Reality for Brittany Haselrig, sucked. Actuality for her was Southeast High School, in Hartwick, Texas, where she often found herself the butt of Mary Lee Clayton's insults and painfully unnoticed by Nick Wilson, captain of the football team. If she opened her eyes, before her she'd see an old farmhouse, chipped and stained. A neglectful stepfather, who married a woman strictly for her good looks (which Brittany did not inherit by the way) not to be outdone by his trophy wife, who in turn only married him because of an inheritance that she was almost certain he would one day get. Seeing her mother usually only took notice in materialistic things, she was surprised that her mother took as much interest in Jerome Grossman as she did. It didn't make sense to her why a woman wrapped up in her own shallowness would ever want a balding, fat man, who didn't seem to have much in life. Then one day it all came together when Brittany learned that her Stepdad's father was part owner of farmland, his share worth somewhere in the neighborhood of nine million dollars. They'd have to wait until his death of course to collect, but for that type of money, her mother didn't mind being patient. Brittany on the other hand did.
Not that Brittany resembled her mother in terms of avarice. For Brittany it was more a matter of timing. She was a senior in high school, already through half the year. Only a little over three more months to go. She hated herself for hoping one day she'd hear about her stepgrandfather's death, but she forgave herself as to why. She had nothing against the man she had only met a handful of times. He seemed a nice enough. Much like Jerome himself, J.R. as they called the Grossman patriarch, preferred to be left alone. At 90 years old, Brittany often imagined she'd come home from school one day to see her Stepdad in distraught, and her mother going for the academy award to act just as upset, at the death of J.R. She imagined as Jerome would eventually be left to grieve alone, that she would listen to her mother damn Uncle Sam to Hell. Inheritance tax whatever it would be, would still leave them with more money than they ever thought they would have, but her mother wanted all of it.
And who was Brittany to judge? She liked to think of herself, at least on a moral level, to be better than her mother, but was she? That she questioned. She wanted that money. There was no attempt at false modesty here. Maybe not as much as her mother did, but she wanted it. And furthermore, she wanted it now. Maybe Mary Lee Clayton would still think she's better than her, but Brittany would have the fancier, more expensive clothes. She'd out do Mary Lee Clayton in terms of jewelry and most importantly she'd outdo Mary Lee Clayton with the most expensive car her mother would allow her to buy. It was bad enough that Brittany had to drive a Geo Metro to school. A car that Mary Lee Clayton referred to as "the turd." The teasing and bullying were about all Brittany thought she could handle, until the Geo one day blew a gasket. For two solid weeks, Brittany, a senior in high school, had to ride the bus. Humiliating enough as it was, Mary Lee Clayton made sure to remind everyone as often as she could. Oh, what Brittany would give to roll into school in a Bentley or Porsche. See what Mary Lee Clayton would have to say then.
And then, there was Nick Wilson. It was funny as much as Brittany loathed the superficiality and cursory demeanor of Mary Lee Clayton, she secretly hoped that Nick Wilson might be at least a smidgen that way. She knew that there was no way, as she was, that he would ever want to be with her. She was middle class, unpopular and unattractive. Money, she dreamed, might make the difference. Even if it would never blossom into anything other than a one time get together, she'd invite him on a limousine ride to Houston to the most elegant and sophisticated restaurant she could find. No way would he turn that down. And if he did, then she'd invite him to sit in box seats at a Houston Texans game. An offer, no Texan, other than a Dallas Cowboys fan, could ever resist.
It was quite the fantasy. One Brittany found herself in whenever she closed her eyes and dreamt. A world where, even if it was pure imagination, she for once got to be better than Mary Lee Clayton. Make her feel small. Make her feel for once in her stuck up, better than thou art, maleficent ways inferior to someone else. Brittany felt an enormous guilt at the resentment she felt for J.R. for being as able and healthy as he was. She repressed the thoughts to the point of subconsciousness, but even at that point, she could not deny the feelings. He'd live well past her graduation date. Well past the opportunity to have those days, those moments, to where it'd finally be her turn to look down at Mary Lee Clayton. Resentment she found to be stronger than guilt or regret.
She tried her best to only dream of the future. Something that had the ability to change. The past, as much as she yearned for it, would never be again. She thought it illogical and furthermore detrimental to think of yesterday but it crept its way into fantasy anyway. In her dream Bobby Haselrig, her father was still alive. He hadn't died those years ago from mesothelioma. He wasn't buried in a cemetery in far away New Mexico. He was still alive and they still lived Aztec. She still attended Vista Nueva, where she still wasn't popular, but at least she had friends. And better yet, no enemies. No Mary Lee Clayton.
As the alarm clock rang a third time Brittany debated in her mind which fantasy she enjoyed more. The one where she had money and she could up Mary Lee Clayton or the one where she was back in Aztec, and she didn't even exist. Suppose it didn't matter which one was better, neither was the option she'd have when she opened her eyes. Instead she'd open them, shower, brush her teeth and hop in to her "turd" for another day of torment at the whits of Mary Lee Clayton at Southeast high.
"I don't get why you let that alarm clock go off so many times!" Her mother yelled unable to fathom why her daughter always seemed to stay in bed as long as she could. She didn't know why they had to go through this every morning. She knew her daughter heard her, same way she heard the alarm clock the previous two times it had gone off. Maybe only if she could see what Brittany saw, maybe then she'd understand why for as long as she could, she would keep her eyes shut.
Not that Brittany resembled her mother in terms of avarice. For Brittany it was more a matter of timing. She was a senior in high school, already through half the year. Only a little over three more months to go. She hated herself for hoping one day she'd hear about her stepgrandfather's death, but she forgave herself as to why. She had nothing against the man she had only met a handful of times. He seemed a nice enough. Much like Jerome himself, J.R. as they called the Grossman patriarch, preferred to be left alone. At 90 years old, Brittany often imagined she'd come home from school one day to see her Stepdad in distraught, and her mother going for the academy award to act just as upset, at the death of J.R. She imagined as Jerome would eventually be left to grieve alone, that she would listen to her mother damn Uncle Sam to Hell. Inheritance tax whatever it would be, would still leave them with more money than they ever thought they would have, but her mother wanted all of it.
And who was Brittany to judge? She liked to think of herself, at least on a moral level, to be better than her mother, but was she? That she questioned. She wanted that money. There was no attempt at false modesty here. Maybe not as much as her mother did, but she wanted it. And furthermore, she wanted it now. Maybe Mary Lee Clayton would still think she's better than her, but Brittany would have the fancier, more expensive clothes. She'd out do Mary Lee Clayton in terms of jewelry and most importantly she'd outdo Mary Lee Clayton with the most expensive car her mother would allow her to buy. It was bad enough that Brittany had to drive a Geo Metro to school. A car that Mary Lee Clayton referred to as "the turd." The teasing and bullying were about all Brittany thought she could handle, until the Geo one day blew a gasket. For two solid weeks, Brittany, a senior in high school, had to ride the bus. Humiliating enough as it was, Mary Lee Clayton made sure to remind everyone as often as she could. Oh, what Brittany would give to roll into school in a Bentley or Porsche. See what Mary Lee Clayton would have to say then.
And then, there was Nick Wilson. It was funny as much as Brittany loathed the superficiality and cursory demeanor of Mary Lee Clayton, she secretly hoped that Nick Wilson might be at least a smidgen that way. She knew that there was no way, as she was, that he would ever want to be with her. She was middle class, unpopular and unattractive. Money, she dreamed, might make the difference. Even if it would never blossom into anything other than a one time get together, she'd invite him on a limousine ride to Houston to the most elegant and sophisticated restaurant she could find. No way would he turn that down. And if he did, then she'd invite him to sit in box seats at a Houston Texans game. An offer, no Texan, other than a Dallas Cowboys fan, could ever resist.
It was quite the fantasy. One Brittany found herself in whenever she closed her eyes and dreamt. A world where, even if it was pure imagination, she for once got to be better than Mary Lee Clayton. Make her feel small. Make her feel for once in her stuck up, better than thou art, maleficent ways inferior to someone else. Brittany felt an enormous guilt at the resentment she felt for J.R. for being as able and healthy as he was. She repressed the thoughts to the point of subconsciousness, but even at that point, she could not deny the feelings. He'd live well past her graduation date. Well past the opportunity to have those days, those moments, to where it'd finally be her turn to look down at Mary Lee Clayton. Resentment she found to be stronger than guilt or regret.
She tried her best to only dream of the future. Something that had the ability to change. The past, as much as she yearned for it, would never be again. She thought it illogical and furthermore detrimental to think of yesterday but it crept its way into fantasy anyway. In her dream Bobby Haselrig, her father was still alive. He hadn't died those years ago from mesothelioma. He wasn't buried in a cemetery in far away New Mexico. He was still alive and they still lived Aztec. She still attended Vista Nueva, where she still wasn't popular, but at least she had friends. And better yet, no enemies. No Mary Lee Clayton.
As the alarm clock rang a third time Brittany debated in her mind which fantasy she enjoyed more. The one where she had money and she could up Mary Lee Clayton or the one where she was back in Aztec, and she didn't even exist. Suppose it didn't matter which one was better, neither was the option she'd have when she opened her eyes. Instead she'd open them, shower, brush her teeth and hop in to her "turd" for another day of torment at the whits of Mary Lee Clayton at Southeast high.
"I don't get why you let that alarm clock go off so many times!" Her mother yelled unable to fathom why her daughter always seemed to stay in bed as long as she could. She didn't know why they had to go through this every morning. She knew her daughter heard her, same way she heard the alarm clock the previous two times it had gone off. Maybe only if she could see what Brittany saw, maybe then she'd understand why for as long as she could, she would keep her eyes shut.
Monday, January 7, 2019
Complete The Story: Story 1 of 198
At first, we thought the black liquid was oil, that we'd struck it rich and that we'd be able to retire and live in leisure. We actually started writing down all the ways we'd spend the money. Our first choice was of course to make the 150 mile trip from Hannibal to the small little piece of land near Martinsburg, Iowa we simply knew as "Granddad's Farm." Pa had taken a job on a packet steamer five years prior. We came to Hannibal in 1866, the Civil War still fresh in the minds in those who had fought it. Especially those who had lost. Pa had avoided the draft, mainly due to the fact that Ma succumbed to a fever right as I was getting to know her and long before Jack was even aware of his own existence. Let alone her's. We were Yankees in a land that still thought, behaved and lived as confederates. Bitter at the loss of slaves, reluctant a word not near strong enough to describe the utter hatred at the thought, now a reality of being part of the union. We mourned the death of President Lincoln. Something as Iowans that made us normal. Something as Missourians that made us different. Drastically different.
When Pa mentioned going back to Iowa, there was only one word I didn't care to hear him use.
"Visit." He had said. Go back and "visit" Granddad. I hated the word visit. It suggested that after the three day journey to Iowa and spending sometime with Granddad that we'd eventually make our way back to Hannibal. We were rich now. Pa didn't need the Packet Steamer anymore. Why make the trips back and forth to St. Louis and Keokuk if he didn't have to? He could buy a plot of land near Granddad's, farm it and spend as much time with Jack and I as he wanted. Pa didn't see things that way though. He valued education and be it a cruel and unreasonable fate, Hannibal had built its first on the corner of north and sixth. The building stood tall, firm and beautiful. As far as Pa was concerned, especially with the money we'd now be getting from the oil he'd discovered, if I wasn't the first, I'd be one of the first girls to ever attend. I had just turned eleven. Always happy to turn a year older, the idea of fourteen, now three years away, I dreaded. I dreamed of many things I'd do when I'd get older. I dreamed of getting married. I dreamed of having children. I dreamed one day I'd travel further south and see the great ocean that Granddad had told me about. Funny enough, I even dreamed of one day being a school teacher myself. I taught Jack the alphabet and his numbers, and I read to him at night. Yet one day entering Hannibal High School as what might be the lone female freshman, was no dream of mine.
"It's a shame that the railroad isn't complete yet." I can remember Pa saying.
The railroad had came into Hannibal the same way I had came into Martinsburg, Iowa in the year of 1859. Peculiar enough the same year that oil, real oil unlike the kind we'd discovered had been found in western Pennsylvania. It'd be a long time before the rail would connect to Ottumwa. A town Granddad went to once a month, to get food and supplies. A two hour journey compared to the 18 hour journey it'd take us over the course of three days on horse and buggy. I was 45 years old in 1904, the first time I ever saw an automobile in person. Pa had shown me one in a drawing years prior and had referred to it as a horseless buggy. The man at the fair had said to all of us in the crowd that it was six times faster than any other form of transportation known to man. That anyone in their right mind would gladly trade in their horses for one. I only wish Pa could have been there to have let that man clearly know different. Neither Pepper or Salt, our two horses were thoroughbred but to Pa, Jack and I they were better than anything Karl Benz or anyone else would ever invent. We weren't going by train on a rail line yet to be laid nor were we going in an automobile yet to be built. We were going by horse and buggy, but we were going, and that's all that mattered.
Pa got me excited at the thought of getting my hair done like the fancy ladies we'd sometimes see. Jack's teeth had already began to rot at the thought of all the candy Pa told him he could now get when we visited the general store. He tickled himself something pink at the thought of dressing like one of the sophisticated gentlemen he'd tell me about when the packet steamer made its trips to St. Louis. I even caught him in the stable later on that night explaining to Salt and Pepper all of the carrots, oats and apples they were now going to get. When I teased him about it saying that the horses couldn't understand him, he begged to differ that they could.
"How bout I put some hay on one side of em and some carrots on the other." He said to me. "Then you tell me if they don't know the difference."
That night I slept better than I ever had before. Than I ever have since for that matter. The idea of being rich and being able to do what we pleased when we pleased was very appealing. I dreamed that night of seeing Granddad. Of telling him all about the oil and of how I knew that between the two of us, we'd somehow convince Pa to forget about life in Hannibal and stay in Martinsburg.
Pa had Jack and I in Church at Trinity Episcopal every Sunday and I suppose if I thought hard enough I could remember a few other sermons throughout the years. It was the one the Sunday after we found out that it wasn't oil we had discovered after all, that I'll always remember most. Reverend Stevenson, who spoke with such conviction talked to us of how the true depth of happiness could not be found in wealth. As much as I usually revered Reverend Stevenson, on that day I thought of him a dunce. I sat in the pew, my arms folded, my face frowned. Money meant getting out of Hannibal. It meant getting to see Granddad. It meant getting to eat steak at the fancy restaurant where the politicians and other important people ate. Maybe to Reverend Stevenson none of that seemed all that special, but to me, it was.
Granddad died before we ever saw him again. Pa promised that even though the oil deal hadn't worked out that we'd make it back to Granddad's again. Someday, he always claimed. Someday, a day that would never come.
With the railroad now making its way all over the country, it wasn't long before Pa left the Packet Steamer and joined the light and power plant. Of all the plans Pa had set forth the night we thought we'd discovered oil, I'll be damned if the only one that came forth was me entering Hannibal high school in the fall of 1873. I graduated in 1877 and attended Hannibal College the following year to study law. Arabella Mansfield may have been the first woman admitted to the Iowa bar, but she was also thirteen years older than me. Another one of those of many, "nothing you can do about it, out of your control" things.
The year is now 1912, I am 53 years old. Far from the 11 year old girl I was in 1870. Jack who celebrated his forty-eighth birthday in February has spent the last six years in Belfast, Ireland. He wrote to me to let me know that he'll be making his way home in April. He'll go from Belfast to Queenstown, a journey more than 100 miles than that of Hannibal to Martinsburg. Then he'll board what he says the world is calling the finest ship ever built. The Titanic they call it. Finished in May of last year. Supposed to arrive to New York on either the seventeenth or eighteenth of April. He wasn't sure of which day.
In all of these years, I've still never seen the ocean. I would have seen Jack off when he left six years ago, but I was busy with a case in St. Louis. Even though I told him that I'd be waiting for him right here when I arrived, I think I will travel to New York and meet him at the port. The last I saw him his hair had started to grey. He reminded me so much of Granddad. I can only imagine he looks more like him now than he did then. After all this time, I still like to close my eyes and imagine what Granddad's face would have looked like had the oil been real and we'd have gotten to pay him a surprise visit. I'll know what his face would have looked like when I see the surprise on Jack's face when he sees me this April in New York.
We have all sorts of plans. Visiting Pa's grave, visiting Ma's and visiting Granddad's. I want to show him the courthouse I practice in here in St. Louis. Take him around this great city, I have come to call home. I suppose he'll probably want to venture back to Hannibal. He always liked it more than I ever did.
Friday, November 30, 2018
Analyzing PET SEMATARY to death
PET SEMATARY is making its way back to the big screen in a little less than half a year. The reimagining, as they call them now will be making its way to theaters across the country this April. Believe it or not, it's a film I have to prepare for. It's not one that I can simply go to and watch. I have to mentally as well as emotionally prepare myself to watch it.
You see the 1989 film is what I consider to be the scariest film I have ever seen. Terrifying and above all disturbing. Like the wendigo within the story, it "f's" with me all it wants to, in jumbling emotions in my head. The tragic shock of Gage's death, into the aching pain of grief, that manifest its way into bone chilling fear. Like the ground turned sour, the terror built up within my body is frozen, stony and solid.
As I watched the film though, I found myself being rather critical of it. I suppose it is my way of getting my mind off of the depression and gut wrenching horror of the core of the story. If I can remove myself as simply a viewer, and look at the film as a fellow writer, I can remind myself as I need to, that this is simply a story. None of this is real. None of this really happened. It's nothing more than the imagination of Stephen King.
The first thing I have to say is that while Stephen King is damn near impeccable as a novelist, he's a shadow of himself as a screenwriter. Whereas he leaves nothing out in his novel, even at times seeming too detailed, he omits way too much information, valuable information in his screenplay.
As I read the novel, most of what didn't make sense in the film, came together. Most of the questions I had, were answered. Let me address them now.
The Character of Victor Pascow seems pointless or even detrimental
In the film, Victor Pascow seems pretty pointless. It seems at first that he is like a warning telling the Titanic it is headed into a field of ice, but then seems to steer the ship straight towards the burg. Why didn't he warn Jud of Gage's presence? Why if his intention of trying to get Rachel back home, so she could prevent Louis from burying Gage in the Micmac burial ground, did he seemingly lead her to her death? If you watch the film, it's hard to conclude otherwise. He lures her back to Ludlow, essentially leading her to Jud's home and ultimately to her death. It's almost as if he knew that were to happen and as if he wanted it.
In the novel, he's not as much of a presence. Yet his purpose still seems a bit questionable. He says, "I'm only allowed to warn, I'm not allowed to interfere" in both adaptations of the story. Why? For story's convenience is why, but it would be interesting to see if King has an actual answer to this question. Is the Wendigo too powerful for Pascow to face? Is it God preventing Pascow from interfering. Although King never comes out and outright says this, it's almost a play on the Biblical belief of free will. As if Louis Creed has to make his own choice. He has to make the decision in what to do or not to do, and upon that decision should he face the consequences of his action.
Why the ground turned sour.
In the film, all we know is that the Micmac burial ground turned sour years ago and has demonic, magical power. We don't know how or when it became that way, but we know it is that way. In the novel, it is explained in detail that during a winter famine, the Micmacs dug up bodies buried their and ate them to avoid starvation. A Wendigo came in, cursing the ground and turning it sour.
Jud having Louis bury Church
In the film, Jud dragging Louis up to the Micmac burial ground to bury Church seems to be rather idiotic. Knowing what we know, it not only seems to go against Jud's better judgment but it outright makes Jud look like an imbecile. In the film when he buries his dog Spot, the dog comes back rabid, mad and vicious. He makes it clear upon Spot's second death, that this time he let a dead dog lie. With that prior information, why would he have Louis bury Church? I already know an answer you might give me. Because Ellie wasn't ready to deal with his death yet, and in response to that answer, I'll say that the novel made more sense. A lot more sense.
First and foremost the novel includes the character of Jud's wife, Norma who is essential to the plot of Jud's decision. During the events of the book, Norma suffers a heart attack and Louis saves her life. In a debt of gratitude for saving Norma, Jud feels compelled to repay Louis for his good act. Therefore when Church dies, it makes sense when Jud takes Louis to the Micmac burial ground to bury Church. A life for a life if you will.
Secondly, in the film, when Spot comes back from the burial ground, he's rabid, mad and aggressive. Viscous and growling. In the book, he comes back rather docile. A once lively and happy dog, now lethargic and mundane. Lifeless, but not threatening. Jud describes giving him a bath like washing a piece of meat. In the book Jud's experience with his dog was depressing, but he never felt in danger because of the dog. He never feared the dog. It made more sense why he was trusting of the Micmac burial ground to bring Church back, than what it did in the film.
Louis isn't as Stupid as He Appears in Regards to Burying Gage
In the film, the only thing that makes sense about Louis burying Gage in the Micmac burial ground is that what grieving father wouldn't? In the novel is makes a bit more sense. For one, Louis reasons that like Spot and Church, Gage might come back lifeless and mundane, but not threatening. He concludes that it might be like raising an autistic son or one with a severe mental disability. He outright ask Rachel how she would have felt about Gage if he had been born retarded.
Secondly, after hearing Jud talk about Timmy Baterman, Louis figures that the experience might be similar. That if Gage comes back, Louis can observe him for a while and then make the diagnosis on whether to keep him or send him back to the grave. Bill, Timmy's father had to make that decision forty three years earlier, and Louis decided if need be, he could to.
Which then leads to another important question....
Why Gage Kills
From a structural standpoint Louis's decision had to have dire consequences. If something like someone else dying wasn't at stake, then it cheats the audience of the inevitable payoff that has been setup through prior action. However, within the confines of the story, one has to question why Gage kills Jud as quickly as he does.
Here's why the question must be asked.
Timmy Baterman was back for approximately four days to a week. Within that time, he caused the people of Ludlow a lot of psychological torment but he never killed anyone. In the book he never even physically harms anyone. Even in the film, his only physical harm of anyone is with his father as he tries to keep him in the burning house.
So why, if Timmy Baterman doesn't kill anyone in the four to six days or so he was back, does Gage kill two people in the small amount of time he was back? Exact time he was back, estimated to be about five to eight hours. First off let's look at Jud.
The Wendigo could have wanted revenge on Jud for leading the brigade to end the abomination that was the resurrected Timmy Baterman. In the film, Forty three years earlier, Jud Crandall was responsible for sending Baterman back to the grave. Angered and vengeful, it would make sense that now through Gage, the Wendigo sought out revenge by killing Jud.
It could also be because maybe the Micmac burial ground is haunted by an assortment of different daemons. Perhaps the daemon that possessed Timmy Baterman wasn't as homicidal as the daemon that possessed Gage Creed.
Which then leads to Rachel's death. Obviously for the sake of a doom and gloom ambiguous ending, Louis needed someone to bury. Within the confines of the story this makes sense to. At least to a degree. The Wendigo understood that a crazed and grieving Louis would return to the Micmac burial ground to bury Rachel. Therefore that is why Rachel was killed and why Louis's life was sparred.
Why Louis is able to Kill Gage
In the novel, Louis has a fairly simple time killing Gage. There is a struggle but it is fairly brief and Louis comes out unscathed. He simply holds Gage's hand down with Gage screaming, "No! No! No!" in a tantrum as he shoved two syringes, one into the small of his back and the other into his arm, full of morphine. In the film the struggle is far greater. Gage slices Louis up pretty good, wounding him with several lacerations in the upper torso and once across the left eyebrow. It takes all of Louis's strength to get Gage off of him. What's strange, is that when Gage collects himself and comes back after Louis, with relative ease Louis holds him gently as he slowly puts the morphine laced syringe into his neck.
Logically Gage didn't fight this because of two reasons. The Wendigo knew how heartbreaking and difficult it was for Louis to kill his son. Even though Louis knew that it wasn't really Gage, the disappointment that things hadn't worked out like he had wanted was enough to drive Louis mad. He wanted nothing more than for his son to be back with him. And the Wendigo knew that it could cause Louis no pain greater than the pain of having to send Gage back to the grave. Add in that the Wendigo also knew that Louis would bury Rachel in the Micmac burial ground, and I believe that gives us answer as to why he was able to kill Gage.
The "Waited to Long" reasoning of Louis Creed
In both the novel and the film, Louis concludes that the reason Gage came back demonic and evil was because he waited too long before burying him. That if he had buried him sooner, that he might have came back his old self or in the least, not demonic. After watching the film and reading the novel, I may have missed something because I cannot make sense of his reasoning. There is nothing to indicate that burying in the Micmac burial ground is time sensitive. That time passed will have any effect whatsoever on whatever is buried their. How and why Louis comes to this conclusion is pure lunacy and maybe that's what King was going for. Obviously Louis by this point was bat shit crazy, and by having him rant about waiting too long, simply illustrated how far gone he was. I don't know.
Why is there such a long wait?
It seems odd that in eighty-four years of living in Ludlow, that Jud has had so few experiences with the Micmac burial ground. Even more bizarre that the only experience with a human being buried was when he was in his early forties. He even says at eighty-three years old that he hadn't been up to the burial gounds in twelve years. So before taking Louis up their to bury Church, he hadn't been up there since he was 71. Before that, it seemed he hasn't been up there himself in fifty plus years since burying spot. Speaking of how the burial ground had an effect on him, and how it made you tell others of its presence and of its power, it makes me wonder why there was such a long wait. Surely Jud would have shared the secrets with others long before he ever met Louis.
And maybe he did....
Then again, maybe he didn't.
And maybe that's why he did share it with Louis. Maybe he had fought the urge to tell others about the Micmac burial ground for such a long time and now his time was up. He was nearing the end of his life and the power of the Wendigo, refusing to let him die without sharing the secret, is what made Jud finally share it with Louis.
In Regards to the New Film
This is such a frightening story. The concept alone is enough to make the hair on your arms rise and the heart in your chest beat a little faster. I hope to God that this film doesn't have any jump scares or sudden startles. It doesn't need any. If anything jump scares will diminish the actual horror of the story. Zelda and Gage don't need any cheap thrills to send urine down the pant legs of audience members. They can do that on their own.
I am excited to see this new rendition of PET SEMATARY and I'm anxious to see how they address the issues that I bring up in this blog. I don't see anyone cast as Norma Crandall, so I'm taking it that she'll once again be omitted from the story. I also don't see anyone cast as Timmy Baterman and I hope that he's simply not mentioned in the cast. I think it's a mistake to not have the reenactment of his resurrection. It adds so much depth to the story.
You see the 1989 film is what I consider to be the scariest film I have ever seen. Terrifying and above all disturbing. Like the wendigo within the story, it "f's" with me all it wants to, in jumbling emotions in my head. The tragic shock of Gage's death, into the aching pain of grief, that manifest its way into bone chilling fear. Like the ground turned sour, the terror built up within my body is frozen, stony and solid.
As I watched the film though, I found myself being rather critical of it. I suppose it is my way of getting my mind off of the depression and gut wrenching horror of the core of the story. If I can remove myself as simply a viewer, and look at the film as a fellow writer, I can remind myself as I need to, that this is simply a story. None of this is real. None of this really happened. It's nothing more than the imagination of Stephen King.
The first thing I have to say is that while Stephen King is damn near impeccable as a novelist, he's a shadow of himself as a screenwriter. Whereas he leaves nothing out in his novel, even at times seeming too detailed, he omits way too much information, valuable information in his screenplay.
As I read the novel, most of what didn't make sense in the film, came together. Most of the questions I had, were answered. Let me address them now.
The Character of Victor Pascow seems pointless or even detrimental
In the film, Victor Pascow seems pretty pointless. It seems at first that he is like a warning telling the Titanic it is headed into a field of ice, but then seems to steer the ship straight towards the burg. Why didn't he warn Jud of Gage's presence? Why if his intention of trying to get Rachel back home, so she could prevent Louis from burying Gage in the Micmac burial ground, did he seemingly lead her to her death? If you watch the film, it's hard to conclude otherwise. He lures her back to Ludlow, essentially leading her to Jud's home and ultimately to her death. It's almost as if he knew that were to happen and as if he wanted it.
In the novel, he's not as much of a presence. Yet his purpose still seems a bit questionable. He says, "I'm only allowed to warn, I'm not allowed to interfere" in both adaptations of the story. Why? For story's convenience is why, but it would be interesting to see if King has an actual answer to this question. Is the Wendigo too powerful for Pascow to face? Is it God preventing Pascow from interfering. Although King never comes out and outright says this, it's almost a play on the Biblical belief of free will. As if Louis Creed has to make his own choice. He has to make the decision in what to do or not to do, and upon that decision should he face the consequences of his action.
Why the ground turned sour.
In the film, all we know is that the Micmac burial ground turned sour years ago and has demonic, magical power. We don't know how or when it became that way, but we know it is that way. In the novel, it is explained in detail that during a winter famine, the Micmacs dug up bodies buried their and ate them to avoid starvation. A Wendigo came in, cursing the ground and turning it sour.
Jud having Louis bury Church
In the film, Jud dragging Louis up to the Micmac burial ground to bury Church seems to be rather idiotic. Knowing what we know, it not only seems to go against Jud's better judgment but it outright makes Jud look like an imbecile. In the film when he buries his dog Spot, the dog comes back rabid, mad and vicious. He makes it clear upon Spot's second death, that this time he let a dead dog lie. With that prior information, why would he have Louis bury Church? I already know an answer you might give me. Because Ellie wasn't ready to deal with his death yet, and in response to that answer, I'll say that the novel made more sense. A lot more sense.
First and foremost the novel includes the character of Jud's wife, Norma who is essential to the plot of Jud's decision. During the events of the book, Norma suffers a heart attack and Louis saves her life. In a debt of gratitude for saving Norma, Jud feels compelled to repay Louis for his good act. Therefore when Church dies, it makes sense when Jud takes Louis to the Micmac burial ground to bury Church. A life for a life if you will.
Secondly, in the film, when Spot comes back from the burial ground, he's rabid, mad and aggressive. Viscous and growling. In the book, he comes back rather docile. A once lively and happy dog, now lethargic and mundane. Lifeless, but not threatening. Jud describes giving him a bath like washing a piece of meat. In the book Jud's experience with his dog was depressing, but he never felt in danger because of the dog. He never feared the dog. It made more sense why he was trusting of the Micmac burial ground to bring Church back, than what it did in the film.
Louis isn't as Stupid as He Appears in Regards to Burying Gage
In the film, the only thing that makes sense about Louis burying Gage in the Micmac burial ground is that what grieving father wouldn't? In the novel is makes a bit more sense. For one, Louis reasons that like Spot and Church, Gage might come back lifeless and mundane, but not threatening. He concludes that it might be like raising an autistic son or one with a severe mental disability. He outright ask Rachel how she would have felt about Gage if he had been born retarded.
Secondly, after hearing Jud talk about Timmy Baterman, Louis figures that the experience might be similar. That if Gage comes back, Louis can observe him for a while and then make the diagnosis on whether to keep him or send him back to the grave. Bill, Timmy's father had to make that decision forty three years earlier, and Louis decided if need be, he could to.
Which then leads to another important question....
Why Gage Kills
From a structural standpoint Louis's decision had to have dire consequences. If something like someone else dying wasn't at stake, then it cheats the audience of the inevitable payoff that has been setup through prior action. However, within the confines of the story, one has to question why Gage kills Jud as quickly as he does.
Here's why the question must be asked.
Timmy Baterman was back for approximately four days to a week. Within that time, he caused the people of Ludlow a lot of psychological torment but he never killed anyone. In the book he never even physically harms anyone. Even in the film, his only physical harm of anyone is with his father as he tries to keep him in the burning house.
So why, if Timmy Baterman doesn't kill anyone in the four to six days or so he was back, does Gage kill two people in the small amount of time he was back? Exact time he was back, estimated to be about five to eight hours. First off let's look at Jud.
The Wendigo could have wanted revenge on Jud for leading the brigade to end the abomination that was the resurrected Timmy Baterman. In the film, Forty three years earlier, Jud Crandall was responsible for sending Baterman back to the grave. Angered and vengeful, it would make sense that now through Gage, the Wendigo sought out revenge by killing Jud.
It could also be because maybe the Micmac burial ground is haunted by an assortment of different daemons. Perhaps the daemon that possessed Timmy Baterman wasn't as homicidal as the daemon that possessed Gage Creed.
Which then leads to Rachel's death. Obviously for the sake of a doom and gloom ambiguous ending, Louis needed someone to bury. Within the confines of the story this makes sense to. At least to a degree. The Wendigo understood that a crazed and grieving Louis would return to the Micmac burial ground to bury Rachel. Therefore that is why Rachel was killed and why Louis's life was sparred.
Why Louis is able to Kill Gage
In the novel, Louis has a fairly simple time killing Gage. There is a struggle but it is fairly brief and Louis comes out unscathed. He simply holds Gage's hand down with Gage screaming, "No! No! No!" in a tantrum as he shoved two syringes, one into the small of his back and the other into his arm, full of morphine. In the film the struggle is far greater. Gage slices Louis up pretty good, wounding him with several lacerations in the upper torso and once across the left eyebrow. It takes all of Louis's strength to get Gage off of him. What's strange, is that when Gage collects himself and comes back after Louis, with relative ease Louis holds him gently as he slowly puts the morphine laced syringe into his neck.
Logically Gage didn't fight this because of two reasons. The Wendigo knew how heartbreaking and difficult it was for Louis to kill his son. Even though Louis knew that it wasn't really Gage, the disappointment that things hadn't worked out like he had wanted was enough to drive Louis mad. He wanted nothing more than for his son to be back with him. And the Wendigo knew that it could cause Louis no pain greater than the pain of having to send Gage back to the grave. Add in that the Wendigo also knew that Louis would bury Rachel in the Micmac burial ground, and I believe that gives us answer as to why he was able to kill Gage.
The "Waited to Long" reasoning of Louis Creed
In both the novel and the film, Louis concludes that the reason Gage came back demonic and evil was because he waited too long before burying him. That if he had buried him sooner, that he might have came back his old self or in the least, not demonic. After watching the film and reading the novel, I may have missed something because I cannot make sense of his reasoning. There is nothing to indicate that burying in the Micmac burial ground is time sensitive. That time passed will have any effect whatsoever on whatever is buried their. How and why Louis comes to this conclusion is pure lunacy and maybe that's what King was going for. Obviously Louis by this point was bat shit crazy, and by having him rant about waiting too long, simply illustrated how far gone he was. I don't know.
Why is there such a long wait?
It seems odd that in eighty-four years of living in Ludlow, that Jud has had so few experiences with the Micmac burial ground. Even more bizarre that the only experience with a human being buried was when he was in his early forties. He even says at eighty-three years old that he hadn't been up to the burial gounds in twelve years. So before taking Louis up their to bury Church, he hadn't been up there since he was 71. Before that, it seemed he hasn't been up there himself in fifty plus years since burying spot. Speaking of how the burial ground had an effect on him, and how it made you tell others of its presence and of its power, it makes me wonder why there was such a long wait. Surely Jud would have shared the secrets with others long before he ever met Louis.
And maybe he did....
Then again, maybe he didn't.
And maybe that's why he did share it with Louis. Maybe he had fought the urge to tell others about the Micmac burial ground for such a long time and now his time was up. He was nearing the end of his life and the power of the Wendigo, refusing to let him die without sharing the secret, is what made Jud finally share it with Louis.
In Regards to the New Film
This is such a frightening story. The concept alone is enough to make the hair on your arms rise and the heart in your chest beat a little faster. I hope to God that this film doesn't have any jump scares or sudden startles. It doesn't need any. If anything jump scares will diminish the actual horror of the story. Zelda and Gage don't need any cheap thrills to send urine down the pant legs of audience members. They can do that on their own.
I am excited to see this new rendition of PET SEMATARY and I'm anxious to see how they address the issues that I bring up in this blog. I don't see anyone cast as Norma Crandall, so I'm taking it that she'll once again be omitted from the story. I also don't see anyone cast as Timmy Baterman and I hope that he's simply not mentioned in the cast. I think it's a mistake to not have the reenactment of his resurrection. It adds so much depth to the story.
Tuesday, November 6, 2018
Stephen Stonebraker Writing Projects
TITLE: Wrestling With Reasons
TYPE: Novel
PAGES: 241
WORDS: 72,182
STATUS: The Publishing Mill got the best of me on this one. I was a young and impatient writer, too eager for my own good. After a year of sending out query letters and either getting no response or negative responses, I was coaxed into Publishing through PUBLISH AMERICA (Now America Star Books.) One of my biggest regrets as a writer and something I wish I never would have done. I can only hope that it doesn't damage or blackball my career. It was completed on June 30th, 2011.
PLOT: Del Martin is a forty year old man who lives a mundane and boring existence. In the realms of a midlife crisis, he comes to the conclusion that he has nothing more to look forward to and that life is as good as it will ever get. Thinking of all of the failed dreams he had in life, he decides to commit suicide by jumping off of a bridge. When he goes to jump off the bridge, an Indian comes out of nowhere to save him. As he's trying to figure out who this Indian is and where he came from, a man in a jeep drives by and ask him if he's ok and if he needs a ride. Del looks back for the Indian who is now gone, and noticing that his vehicle is also missing, decides to take the ride. As they ride back into town, the man who appears to only be in his thirties keeps calling Del kid. Del gets a kick out of this until he sees his reflection in the mirror. He's no longer his forty year old self. He's 15. What is going on here? Who was that Indian? Why is he 15 year again? Is he getting a second chance in life?
BACKSTORY: My sister Sydney Rochelle Lee died on March 3rd, 1998. I had a Hell of a time dealing with her death. It haunted me for years and it is still something that to this day I think about on a daily basis. I tried a number of ways to deal with it. Professional therapy and counseling. Masking the pain with pills. You name it, I tried it. I found that writing about it was the best therapy that I could give myself. Only when I tried to write about it outright, I discovered that it was too difficult to put into words. I began writing a nonfiction account entitled NOTHING BUT HEART in the winter of 2004. I got no where with it. Kept on getting between 75 to 90 pages and then axing the entire thing. I did this about ten to fifteen times over the course of the next three years. Then in late 2007, I threw my hands up in the air and said the Hell with it. I didn't write anything for the next three years.
The story lingered in me but I didn't know how to get it out of me. It's like the emotions and the feeling were all there but no matter how hard I tried I couldn't put them into words. Then one weekend I was visiting my cousin Cody Tompkins up in Waterloo. On the way back home to Iowa City, I missed my turn off and damn near ended up in Dubuque. As I turned around, I noticed a sign for Dyersville, Iowa, where the film FIELD OF DREAMS had been shot. I decided that since I was so close and since I had never been there, that now was as good of a time as any.
I remember looking around at the farmhouse and the baseball field and feeling a sense of magic. The second, and I do mean the very second my right foot touched the baseball diamond, I suddenly had the entire plot of WRESTLING WITH REASONS in my head. I went home and wrote the rough draft in three months. Didn't quite have the experience with it that I wanted, but it was great therapy for me. It is what allowed me to finally get over my sister's death.
TITLE: What Really Happened to Aric?
TYPE: Novella
PAGES: 103
WORDS: 31,733
STATUS: Finished in May of 2012, I let about a dozen friends read it. They all came to the same conclusion. Loved the story. Loved the characters, the build up and the suspense but HATED, and I mean H-A-T-E-D the ending. Everyone hated the ending. It was too unrealistic, too graphic and too nonsensical. As a result I must have rewritten the ending thirty times or more and still, no matter what I did, it didn't work. So I shelved it and on the shelf is where it has remained for nearly seven years.
PLOT: Larry and Aric are best friends, have been since elementary. Attending Indian Hills Community College in Ottumwa, Iowa the two attend a party one night. As they go to leave, they say they'll see one another back at the dorms. Only when Larry wakes up the next morning, he notices that Aric never made it back. As the day goes on, Aric still hasn't made it back. The day turns into days and Larry realizes that something is wrong. An investigation is done and it is discovered that Aric's truck ran off the road and into a lake. Supposedly his body is in too bad of shape for an Open casket funeral. Upon speaking to Pastor Stribbly, he tells Larry that he's almost positive that it isn't Aric in the casket. He asked to see the coroner's report and they denied him access. Larry knows something isn't right. He's being lied to and he doesn't know why. What really happened to Aric?
BACKSTORY: I drove a cab for three and a half years in Iowa City. One night I gave a handicapped man a ride from the University of Iowa hospital to the small community of Clarence, Iowa. He had an old Victorian home. It was intimidating from the outside and rather frightening on the inside. When I wheeled him from the cab into the house, I looked around and noticed the many doors leading to many rooms. I couldn't help but think of people being locked away in the rooms as I helped the man get situated as best I could. As I drove back to Iowa City, the story unfolded to me.
TITLE: The Weird Stories of Seventh Grader Smith Jones
TYPE: Novel
PAGES: 225
WORDS: 70, 988
STATUS: Finished it in 2014. Still in the revision process I guess. Originally wrote it as a reflective piece. An older man looking back on the seventh grade. Was told by a numerous amount of individuals that past tense novels are a difficult sell. It was hard to tell who my demographic was. Was I wanting to target middle school readers or was I wanting to target adults who long for their past? Some of the subject matter was too heavy and intense for the twelve to fourteen year olds who might pick up the book. Some of it too juvenile and trivial for the adults who might be interested in such a book. Got sick of revising it after a while and moved on to something else.
PLOT: New building, new classes, new teachers, a chance to try new sports, and above all else, girls!!! Seventh grade is an exciting and yet terrifying new world! Can Smith Jones handle it? So many changes and so many new experiences. It's overwhelming. It's challenging. Follow Smith as he does his best to make it through the seventh grade.
BACKSTORY: Seventh grade was a rather monumental year in my life. The transition from being a child into man I believe began at this time for me. A lot of who I am, in my beliefs and core values began to take shape around this time. I figured it might be the way for others as well. So I sat down one day and began writing about a kid entering the seventh grade. Before I knew it, I had a full length novel.
The name Smith Jones came about in a funny way. I don't particular care for common or popular names. I enjoy giving my characters names you don't hear every day. A friend of mine, who is a successful, published author was giving me a lot of shit one day about how I refused to use popular names like Josh and Matt. Realizing that Smith and Jones were the two most common last names in the United States, I decided to rebel in the most pompous way possible by naming my main character Smith Jones.
TITLE: The 0 and All Harris Bulldogs
TYPE: Novel
PAGES: 155
WORDS: 43,107
STATUS: Finished on June 16th, 2017. This particular novel I wrote in the spirit of THE GREAT GATSBY, where my main character was more of an observer than he was a participator in the story. This of course, when talking to potential agents and publishers once again presented a huge problem. "Characters do things. They don't observe" I was told. "Y.A. novels are not written like that." I have to admit that I got lazy and discouraged, so I moved on to something else. It's still technically in the revising process.
PLOT: Tim Straube blew it. He had his chance to be the hero and he blew it. The Harris Bulldogs have never beaten the Roberts Academy Friars in anything and if he hadn't missed that extra point earlier in the game, they would have finally beaten them in football. He could have been a hero, remembered forever as the guy who scored the final point in Harris's first victory over Roberts Academy. Instead, he'll forever be remembered as the guy who missed the extra point. This is Tim's fate, he has came to accept it. Or so he thinks, until he comes across an article in the local paper that might save him after all. Roberts Academy is going to be the first high school in DeSoto county to field a varsity wrestling program. This is it! This is Tim's chance to redeem himself. If he can convince Harris to field a wrestling program, this might be the one sport that they can finally beat Roberts Academy in!
BACKSTORY: I attended a writing seminar where a woman stood up and talked about how writing stories for young people was so much more than the story itself. How you had to go beyond your story and realize that writing was so much more than just writing. I thought ok. What are some issues that I care a lot about? How could I use my writing to better the world around me?
Two issues came to mind. First off the state of Mississippi is the most illiterate state in the country. There are more non-readers in Mississippi per capita than there is in any other state. I figured if I set the story in Mississippi, that it might interest young people in reading it.
Secondly, the state of Mississippi is the only state to not have varsity high school wrestling. The wrestling community has worked vigorously over the years to sanction wrestling, but it still isn't in Mississippi high schools yet. A few have club teams, but to this day there is still no varsity wrestling in Mississippi. My thinking was if I could get this novel to sell, I might be able to use its popularity in helping to get wrestling into Mississippi high schools.
TITLE: The Gifted Greg Franklin
TYPE Novel
PAGES: 122
WORDS: 63,431
STATUS: I finished this in September of 2017. Literally right after I finished THE 0 AND ALL HARRIS BULLDOGS in June, I began writing THE GIFTED GREG FRANKLIN and had the rough draft complete in a little less than three months. The problem again with this novel was that the ending again didn't satisfy. That and some of the transitions were rather rocky. I've brainstormed quite a bit and I'm at a point now where I think I know how to revise it. I don't know for sure. A mixture of frustration and fear has kept me from going back to the story.
PLOT: Things are going pretty good for Greg Franklin. He's going to have a blast with his friends in his final summer in Ottumwa and then he's going to have one Hell of a senior year, graduating with his friends in the spring. Then his dad loses his job and announces the family is moving to Moline, Illinois. He doesn't want to move to Moline. He wants to stay in Ottumwa. There has to be a way. There is. He can move in with his uncle Eddie. Uncle Eddie the estranged member of the Franklin family, that his father can't stand. Eddie is a whacko, he makes a living as a masked professional wrestler. After a long fight, Greg's parents agree to allow him to stay with Eddie so he can stay in Ottumwa.
Things are going great. Greg's having a blast living with Eddie, but then disaster strikes. Eddie breaks his wrist during a match. This means that Greg may have to move to Moline with the rest of his family after all. What can he do? Messing around with his friend Tony one day he puts on Eddie's mask. The two of them realize that with the mask on, he looks just like Eddie. Suddenly Tony gets an idea. What if Greg were to replace Eddie in the ring?
BACKSTORY: I did professional wrestling for six years between 2006 and 2012. I worked on the independent circuit mainly for Iowa based promotions, although I did work in North Dakota, South Dakota, Kansas, Illinois and Texas. A friend of mine who is a successful published author, making aa decent paycheck and traveling all over the United States and Canada to do signings, talks and seminars believes that my background as a professional wrestler could be my ticket to finally making it as a writer.
TITLE: The Profile
TYPE: Screenplay
PAGES: 63
STATUS: I wrote the fourth and final draft of THE PROFILE on December 12th of last year. One of my best friends, Jason Janes who teaches Screenplay writing in Orlando, Florida read it over and we both believe it is submission ready. We just need to submit it. I think it'd work great as a LIFETIME movie,but we'll see what happens.
PLOT: One day at the public library in Ottumwa, Scott meets a friendly middle aged man named Russ. Russ is having a Hell of a time making a profile for a dating website and ask Scott for his help. This begins a friendship between the two that last until Scott makes a horrible discovery. There's a man in the area that has been meeting women online and then sexually assaulting them. Scott discovers that it is Russ and that Russ has been using the profile that Scott helped him make. What is Scott to do? Russ has given him money to help him from being kicked out of his apartment. Russ paid for his schooling so he could get a trucking license and get out of his dead end job of delivering pizzas. Yet he knows what Russ is doing is not only wrong, its horrible. What is Scott to do?
BACKSTORY: I got to a point to where I was completely burnt out of trying to write novels and novellas. I had been at this for a long time and I had nothing to show for it. I'm still a nobody. Nobody knows my name. Nobody knows the stories I've written. I got to a point to where I was so angry and so depressed that I literally got sick whenever I thought about writing again.
My friend Dennis Woods Doderer, who struck gold in 1998 and wrote an episode of NYPD BLUE (Weaver's Tale) suggested to me to try my hand at writing a screenplay. I've always wanted to write screenplays. It's been my number one dream since I was twelve years old, but I've always hesitated to write one because I know how difficult it is to break into the business. My screenplay writing professor in college, Jamie Durham (who write reenactments for UNSOLVED MYSTERIES) once told me that I had a 1 in 1,000,000 chance of ever making it. Nothing against me personally but that's just how cutnut the business is.
Yet I was bored and I figured, why not? So I thought about an experience I once had many years ago. Of how I helped a man in his mid forties to make a dating profile on plentyoffish.com. We became friends and hung out quite a bit for a period of about five months. Then one day, out of nowhere he disappeared. His phone number lead to nowhere and his facebook profile suddenly disappeared. I went to his house to visit him a few times and everything was dark. A few weeks later all of his stuff was gone and there was a for sale sign in the yard. Years went by and I never knew what happened to him until I heard someone mention his name one day. I asked the someone if they knew what happened to him. They looked at me funny and asked, "You honestly don't know?" I said that I didn't. He then showed me a newspaper clipping. My friend had been sent to prison for the next twenty some years because he had been using the dating profile to lure women on dates and then he was slipping roofies into their drinks and date raping them. It was a surreal moment. I felt betrayed and guilty at the same time. Even though there was nothing I could do about it and there was no way I could have known that was his intention when I helped him make the profile I still felt very weird about it. I still feel weird about it.
TITLE: Suddenly Incredulous
TYPE: Screenplay
PAGES: 63
STATUS: I finished Suddenly Incredulous in May of last year. I want to find filmmakers here in Iowa and see if I can't develop a relationship with a director. I think I have a good script here if I can simply find a crew to make it into a film. Iowa has a film festival every year but it is very secretive and closed doors. I want to try and become a part of it.
PLOT: Matt Medeiros is the biggest swimming and diving fan on the planet. When it comes to collegiate and Olympic swimming and diving, you won't find anyone that knows more about the subject than Matt. A walking encyclopedia, Matt dreams of one day being able to cover the sport he loves and is so passionate about for a living. Hank Anthony, who runs a website and a radio show sees this passion in Matt and decides to use him exploit him for his own gain. Matt is so clouded by his love for Swimming and Diving that he isn't able to see that he's being used before it's too late.
BACK STORY: This happened to be as an amateur wrestling writer/journalist. I was working for a website and I was being abused and mistreated by a guy who used me as a tool to benefit himself without any regard for my feelings or the negative effect it might have on my life. When I finally saw the light and realized that I had been lied to and that he never had any intentions of ever coming through on the promises he made me, I went home and wrote this screenplay in a day. I was so filled with anger that I literally wrote 63 pages in a single setting.
TITLE: Pilot - Episode One-We Have Everything
TYPE: Screenplay
PAGES: 34
STATUS: Finished in May of last year as well. Waiting on pilot season of 2019 to send it, along with the rest of the episodes of season one of WE HAVE EVERYTHING to various studios including NETFLIX, HULU, AMAZON PRIME and other markets where we might stand a chance of getting it somewhere.
PLOT: Marty is a down on his luck young man who just can't seem to get a break in life. He could use a little good luck in his life and right when he's about to give up for good, it appears.
BACK STORY: Jason Janes and I are both writers. He writes his own stuff that I read and critique and I write my own stuff that he reads and critiques. We decided, why not put our heads together and do a co-project? He came up with an idea for a television series called WE HAVE EVERYTHING. A show in the same realm as QUANTUM LEAP where a man with a magical store travels throughout the world in search of people who are in need of the stores goods and services.
TITLE: The Dog - Episode Two - We Have Everything
TYPE: Screenplay
PAGES: 51
STATUS: Also finished this in May! Ha May was a good month for me last year I guess. Same status as the other episodes of WE HAVE EVERYTHING.
PLOT: Steve has been having these terrible visions and nightmares of something that happened when he was really little. Only he isn't sure if it is something that really happened or if its simply a horrific dream. He thinks when he was four or five, he might have accidentally killed the neighbor's dog. With the help of Mr. Green and the We Have Everything Store, Steve discovers the truth.
BACKSTORY: This happened to me. I used to have these nightmares about killing the neighbors dog. I was horrified that it might actually be true. For years I didn't say anything to anyone. Then I asked my mom, my older sister, my Dad and everything I could think of to ask. Everyone says it never happened. Nevertheless I made a screenplay out of it.
TITLE: Perry Fee Fie Foe - Episode Three - We Have Everything
TYPE: Screenplay
PAGES: 51
STATUS: Finished up the final version of this bad boy on September 11th, 2018. Feels longer ago than that, but that's when it was.
PLOT: Working for Meals on Wheels, Randy delivers two meals per day to an old alcoholic named Perry that does nothing but sit out on his porch and drink beer all day long. One night, Randy finally gets Perry to talk to him, as he gives Randy advice on how to build his biceps at the gym. Looking into Perry's past, Randy discovers that at one time Perry was a champion body builder and he trained an assortment of celebrities including Hollywood actors and musicians. Wondering what happened to Perry, Mr. Green and the We Have Everything Store gives Randy all of the answers he needs.
BACKSTORY: In the early 1990's, it was alleged that there were individuals in the World Wrestling Federation that were committing acts of pedophilia against young boys between the ages of 12-19. Someone to speak up and bring this to the attention of the media and authorities was professional wrestler Barry Orton. Upon bringing this to the media's attention, Orton was blackballed from professional wrestling for good. His career was over. The individuals who were accused of the abuse against the children were never brought to justice and got to keep their jobs. Orton slipped into a huge state of depression to which he never quite recovered. He essentially did the right thing, and had to pay a huge price for it. I've always found the story very fascinating. The character of Perry is based on Barry Orton.
And there you have it! Those are all of the major writing projects I've worked on thus far in my writing career.
As you can tell my greatest weakness is revision. It's not so much that I hate to revise as much as it is, I don't know how to do it. I go over my stories again and again, until I think they're perfect. I don't know what else to do with them. I've edited them to death, I've gone over the story a thousand times. I'm at a loss. I don't know what else to do with it and I'm often treated when I submit the fiftieth draft, like it's the first draft I ever wrote. It drives me nuts. It's very depressing and discouraging. I want to be a writer so bad that if I were a religious man (which I'm not) I'd have sold my soul to the devil by now.
I also blog all the freaking time too for whatever that's worth.
StephenStonebraker.blogspot.com - I blog whatever's on my mind
Johnnythompsonnum1.blogspot.com - If you're an amateur wrestling fan, you'd enjoy this.
Stonebrakermoviereview.blogspot.com - I review all films I see for the first time
Stonebrakerbookreview.blogspot.com - I review all books I read too. Obviously seeing that the last one was in July, I don't read nearly as much as I should.
TYPE: Novel
PAGES: 241
WORDS: 72,182
STATUS: The Publishing Mill got the best of me on this one. I was a young and impatient writer, too eager for my own good. After a year of sending out query letters and either getting no response or negative responses, I was coaxed into Publishing through PUBLISH AMERICA (Now America Star Books.) One of my biggest regrets as a writer and something I wish I never would have done. I can only hope that it doesn't damage or blackball my career. It was completed on June 30th, 2011.
PLOT: Del Martin is a forty year old man who lives a mundane and boring existence. In the realms of a midlife crisis, he comes to the conclusion that he has nothing more to look forward to and that life is as good as it will ever get. Thinking of all of the failed dreams he had in life, he decides to commit suicide by jumping off of a bridge. When he goes to jump off the bridge, an Indian comes out of nowhere to save him. As he's trying to figure out who this Indian is and where he came from, a man in a jeep drives by and ask him if he's ok and if he needs a ride. Del looks back for the Indian who is now gone, and noticing that his vehicle is also missing, decides to take the ride. As they ride back into town, the man who appears to only be in his thirties keeps calling Del kid. Del gets a kick out of this until he sees his reflection in the mirror. He's no longer his forty year old self. He's 15. What is going on here? Who was that Indian? Why is he 15 year again? Is he getting a second chance in life?
BACKSTORY: My sister Sydney Rochelle Lee died on March 3rd, 1998. I had a Hell of a time dealing with her death. It haunted me for years and it is still something that to this day I think about on a daily basis. I tried a number of ways to deal with it. Professional therapy and counseling. Masking the pain with pills. You name it, I tried it. I found that writing about it was the best therapy that I could give myself. Only when I tried to write about it outright, I discovered that it was too difficult to put into words. I began writing a nonfiction account entitled NOTHING BUT HEART in the winter of 2004. I got no where with it. Kept on getting between 75 to 90 pages and then axing the entire thing. I did this about ten to fifteen times over the course of the next three years. Then in late 2007, I threw my hands up in the air and said the Hell with it. I didn't write anything for the next three years.
The story lingered in me but I didn't know how to get it out of me. It's like the emotions and the feeling were all there but no matter how hard I tried I couldn't put them into words. Then one weekend I was visiting my cousin Cody Tompkins up in Waterloo. On the way back home to Iowa City, I missed my turn off and damn near ended up in Dubuque. As I turned around, I noticed a sign for Dyersville, Iowa, where the film FIELD OF DREAMS had been shot. I decided that since I was so close and since I had never been there, that now was as good of a time as any.
I remember looking around at the farmhouse and the baseball field and feeling a sense of magic. The second, and I do mean the very second my right foot touched the baseball diamond, I suddenly had the entire plot of WRESTLING WITH REASONS in my head. I went home and wrote the rough draft in three months. Didn't quite have the experience with it that I wanted, but it was great therapy for me. It is what allowed me to finally get over my sister's death.
TITLE: What Really Happened to Aric?
TYPE: Novella
PAGES: 103
WORDS: 31,733
STATUS: Finished in May of 2012, I let about a dozen friends read it. They all came to the same conclusion. Loved the story. Loved the characters, the build up and the suspense but HATED, and I mean H-A-T-E-D the ending. Everyone hated the ending. It was too unrealistic, too graphic and too nonsensical. As a result I must have rewritten the ending thirty times or more and still, no matter what I did, it didn't work. So I shelved it and on the shelf is where it has remained for nearly seven years.
PLOT: Larry and Aric are best friends, have been since elementary. Attending Indian Hills Community College in Ottumwa, Iowa the two attend a party one night. As they go to leave, they say they'll see one another back at the dorms. Only when Larry wakes up the next morning, he notices that Aric never made it back. As the day goes on, Aric still hasn't made it back. The day turns into days and Larry realizes that something is wrong. An investigation is done and it is discovered that Aric's truck ran off the road and into a lake. Supposedly his body is in too bad of shape for an Open casket funeral. Upon speaking to Pastor Stribbly, he tells Larry that he's almost positive that it isn't Aric in the casket. He asked to see the coroner's report and they denied him access. Larry knows something isn't right. He's being lied to and he doesn't know why. What really happened to Aric?
BACKSTORY: I drove a cab for three and a half years in Iowa City. One night I gave a handicapped man a ride from the University of Iowa hospital to the small community of Clarence, Iowa. He had an old Victorian home. It was intimidating from the outside and rather frightening on the inside. When I wheeled him from the cab into the house, I looked around and noticed the many doors leading to many rooms. I couldn't help but think of people being locked away in the rooms as I helped the man get situated as best I could. As I drove back to Iowa City, the story unfolded to me.
TITLE: The Weird Stories of Seventh Grader Smith Jones
TYPE: Novel
PAGES: 225
WORDS: 70, 988
STATUS: Finished it in 2014. Still in the revision process I guess. Originally wrote it as a reflective piece. An older man looking back on the seventh grade. Was told by a numerous amount of individuals that past tense novels are a difficult sell. It was hard to tell who my demographic was. Was I wanting to target middle school readers or was I wanting to target adults who long for their past? Some of the subject matter was too heavy and intense for the twelve to fourteen year olds who might pick up the book. Some of it too juvenile and trivial for the adults who might be interested in such a book. Got sick of revising it after a while and moved on to something else.
PLOT: New building, new classes, new teachers, a chance to try new sports, and above all else, girls!!! Seventh grade is an exciting and yet terrifying new world! Can Smith Jones handle it? So many changes and so many new experiences. It's overwhelming. It's challenging. Follow Smith as he does his best to make it through the seventh grade.
BACKSTORY: Seventh grade was a rather monumental year in my life. The transition from being a child into man I believe began at this time for me. A lot of who I am, in my beliefs and core values began to take shape around this time. I figured it might be the way for others as well. So I sat down one day and began writing about a kid entering the seventh grade. Before I knew it, I had a full length novel.
The name Smith Jones came about in a funny way. I don't particular care for common or popular names. I enjoy giving my characters names you don't hear every day. A friend of mine, who is a successful, published author was giving me a lot of shit one day about how I refused to use popular names like Josh and Matt. Realizing that Smith and Jones were the two most common last names in the United States, I decided to rebel in the most pompous way possible by naming my main character Smith Jones.
TITLE: The 0 and All Harris Bulldogs
TYPE: Novel
PAGES: 155
WORDS: 43,107
STATUS: Finished on June 16th, 2017. This particular novel I wrote in the spirit of THE GREAT GATSBY, where my main character was more of an observer than he was a participator in the story. This of course, when talking to potential agents and publishers once again presented a huge problem. "Characters do things. They don't observe" I was told. "Y.A. novels are not written like that." I have to admit that I got lazy and discouraged, so I moved on to something else. It's still technically in the revising process.
PLOT: Tim Straube blew it. He had his chance to be the hero and he blew it. The Harris Bulldogs have never beaten the Roberts Academy Friars in anything and if he hadn't missed that extra point earlier in the game, they would have finally beaten them in football. He could have been a hero, remembered forever as the guy who scored the final point in Harris's first victory over Roberts Academy. Instead, he'll forever be remembered as the guy who missed the extra point. This is Tim's fate, he has came to accept it. Or so he thinks, until he comes across an article in the local paper that might save him after all. Roberts Academy is going to be the first high school in DeSoto county to field a varsity wrestling program. This is it! This is Tim's chance to redeem himself. If he can convince Harris to field a wrestling program, this might be the one sport that they can finally beat Roberts Academy in!
BACKSTORY: I attended a writing seminar where a woman stood up and talked about how writing stories for young people was so much more than the story itself. How you had to go beyond your story and realize that writing was so much more than just writing. I thought ok. What are some issues that I care a lot about? How could I use my writing to better the world around me?
Two issues came to mind. First off the state of Mississippi is the most illiterate state in the country. There are more non-readers in Mississippi per capita than there is in any other state. I figured if I set the story in Mississippi, that it might interest young people in reading it.
Secondly, the state of Mississippi is the only state to not have varsity high school wrestling. The wrestling community has worked vigorously over the years to sanction wrestling, but it still isn't in Mississippi high schools yet. A few have club teams, but to this day there is still no varsity wrestling in Mississippi. My thinking was if I could get this novel to sell, I might be able to use its popularity in helping to get wrestling into Mississippi high schools.
TITLE: The Gifted Greg Franklin
TYPE Novel
PAGES: 122
WORDS: 63,431
STATUS: I finished this in September of 2017. Literally right after I finished THE 0 AND ALL HARRIS BULLDOGS in June, I began writing THE GIFTED GREG FRANKLIN and had the rough draft complete in a little less than three months. The problem again with this novel was that the ending again didn't satisfy. That and some of the transitions were rather rocky. I've brainstormed quite a bit and I'm at a point now where I think I know how to revise it. I don't know for sure. A mixture of frustration and fear has kept me from going back to the story.
PLOT: Things are going pretty good for Greg Franklin. He's going to have a blast with his friends in his final summer in Ottumwa and then he's going to have one Hell of a senior year, graduating with his friends in the spring. Then his dad loses his job and announces the family is moving to Moline, Illinois. He doesn't want to move to Moline. He wants to stay in Ottumwa. There has to be a way. There is. He can move in with his uncle Eddie. Uncle Eddie the estranged member of the Franklin family, that his father can't stand. Eddie is a whacko, he makes a living as a masked professional wrestler. After a long fight, Greg's parents agree to allow him to stay with Eddie so he can stay in Ottumwa.
Things are going great. Greg's having a blast living with Eddie, but then disaster strikes. Eddie breaks his wrist during a match. This means that Greg may have to move to Moline with the rest of his family after all. What can he do? Messing around with his friend Tony one day he puts on Eddie's mask. The two of them realize that with the mask on, he looks just like Eddie. Suddenly Tony gets an idea. What if Greg were to replace Eddie in the ring?
BACKSTORY: I did professional wrestling for six years between 2006 and 2012. I worked on the independent circuit mainly for Iowa based promotions, although I did work in North Dakota, South Dakota, Kansas, Illinois and Texas. A friend of mine who is a successful published author, making aa decent paycheck and traveling all over the United States and Canada to do signings, talks and seminars believes that my background as a professional wrestler could be my ticket to finally making it as a writer.
TITLE: The Profile
TYPE: Screenplay
PAGES: 63
STATUS: I wrote the fourth and final draft of THE PROFILE on December 12th of last year. One of my best friends, Jason Janes who teaches Screenplay writing in Orlando, Florida read it over and we both believe it is submission ready. We just need to submit it. I think it'd work great as a LIFETIME movie,but we'll see what happens.
PLOT: One day at the public library in Ottumwa, Scott meets a friendly middle aged man named Russ. Russ is having a Hell of a time making a profile for a dating website and ask Scott for his help. This begins a friendship between the two that last until Scott makes a horrible discovery. There's a man in the area that has been meeting women online and then sexually assaulting them. Scott discovers that it is Russ and that Russ has been using the profile that Scott helped him make. What is Scott to do? Russ has given him money to help him from being kicked out of his apartment. Russ paid for his schooling so he could get a trucking license and get out of his dead end job of delivering pizzas. Yet he knows what Russ is doing is not only wrong, its horrible. What is Scott to do?
BACKSTORY: I got to a point to where I was completely burnt out of trying to write novels and novellas. I had been at this for a long time and I had nothing to show for it. I'm still a nobody. Nobody knows my name. Nobody knows the stories I've written. I got to a point to where I was so angry and so depressed that I literally got sick whenever I thought about writing again.
My friend Dennis Woods Doderer, who struck gold in 1998 and wrote an episode of NYPD BLUE (Weaver's Tale) suggested to me to try my hand at writing a screenplay. I've always wanted to write screenplays. It's been my number one dream since I was twelve years old, but I've always hesitated to write one because I know how difficult it is to break into the business. My screenplay writing professor in college, Jamie Durham (who write reenactments for UNSOLVED MYSTERIES) once told me that I had a 1 in 1,000,000 chance of ever making it. Nothing against me personally but that's just how cutnut the business is.
Yet I was bored and I figured, why not? So I thought about an experience I once had many years ago. Of how I helped a man in his mid forties to make a dating profile on plentyoffish.com. We became friends and hung out quite a bit for a period of about five months. Then one day, out of nowhere he disappeared. His phone number lead to nowhere and his facebook profile suddenly disappeared. I went to his house to visit him a few times and everything was dark. A few weeks later all of his stuff was gone and there was a for sale sign in the yard. Years went by and I never knew what happened to him until I heard someone mention his name one day. I asked the someone if they knew what happened to him. They looked at me funny and asked, "You honestly don't know?" I said that I didn't. He then showed me a newspaper clipping. My friend had been sent to prison for the next twenty some years because he had been using the dating profile to lure women on dates and then he was slipping roofies into their drinks and date raping them. It was a surreal moment. I felt betrayed and guilty at the same time. Even though there was nothing I could do about it and there was no way I could have known that was his intention when I helped him make the profile I still felt very weird about it. I still feel weird about it.
TITLE: Suddenly Incredulous
TYPE: Screenplay
PAGES: 63
STATUS: I finished Suddenly Incredulous in May of last year. I want to find filmmakers here in Iowa and see if I can't develop a relationship with a director. I think I have a good script here if I can simply find a crew to make it into a film. Iowa has a film festival every year but it is very secretive and closed doors. I want to try and become a part of it.
PLOT: Matt Medeiros is the biggest swimming and diving fan on the planet. When it comes to collegiate and Olympic swimming and diving, you won't find anyone that knows more about the subject than Matt. A walking encyclopedia, Matt dreams of one day being able to cover the sport he loves and is so passionate about for a living. Hank Anthony, who runs a website and a radio show sees this passion in Matt and decides to use him exploit him for his own gain. Matt is so clouded by his love for Swimming and Diving that he isn't able to see that he's being used before it's too late.
BACK STORY: This happened to be as an amateur wrestling writer/journalist. I was working for a website and I was being abused and mistreated by a guy who used me as a tool to benefit himself without any regard for my feelings or the negative effect it might have on my life. When I finally saw the light and realized that I had been lied to and that he never had any intentions of ever coming through on the promises he made me, I went home and wrote this screenplay in a day. I was so filled with anger that I literally wrote 63 pages in a single setting.
TITLE: Pilot - Episode One-We Have Everything
TYPE: Screenplay
PAGES: 34
STATUS: Finished in May of last year as well. Waiting on pilot season of 2019 to send it, along with the rest of the episodes of season one of WE HAVE EVERYTHING to various studios including NETFLIX, HULU, AMAZON PRIME and other markets where we might stand a chance of getting it somewhere.
PLOT: Marty is a down on his luck young man who just can't seem to get a break in life. He could use a little good luck in his life and right when he's about to give up for good, it appears.
BACK STORY: Jason Janes and I are both writers. He writes his own stuff that I read and critique and I write my own stuff that he reads and critiques. We decided, why not put our heads together and do a co-project? He came up with an idea for a television series called WE HAVE EVERYTHING. A show in the same realm as QUANTUM LEAP where a man with a magical store travels throughout the world in search of people who are in need of the stores goods and services.
TITLE: The Dog - Episode Two - We Have Everything
TYPE: Screenplay
PAGES: 51
STATUS: Also finished this in May! Ha May was a good month for me last year I guess. Same status as the other episodes of WE HAVE EVERYTHING.
PLOT: Steve has been having these terrible visions and nightmares of something that happened when he was really little. Only he isn't sure if it is something that really happened or if its simply a horrific dream. He thinks when he was four or five, he might have accidentally killed the neighbor's dog. With the help of Mr. Green and the We Have Everything Store, Steve discovers the truth.
BACKSTORY: This happened to me. I used to have these nightmares about killing the neighbors dog. I was horrified that it might actually be true. For years I didn't say anything to anyone. Then I asked my mom, my older sister, my Dad and everything I could think of to ask. Everyone says it never happened. Nevertheless I made a screenplay out of it.
TITLE: Perry Fee Fie Foe - Episode Three - We Have Everything
TYPE: Screenplay
PAGES: 51
STATUS: Finished up the final version of this bad boy on September 11th, 2018. Feels longer ago than that, but that's when it was.
PLOT: Working for Meals on Wheels, Randy delivers two meals per day to an old alcoholic named Perry that does nothing but sit out on his porch and drink beer all day long. One night, Randy finally gets Perry to talk to him, as he gives Randy advice on how to build his biceps at the gym. Looking into Perry's past, Randy discovers that at one time Perry was a champion body builder and he trained an assortment of celebrities including Hollywood actors and musicians. Wondering what happened to Perry, Mr. Green and the We Have Everything Store gives Randy all of the answers he needs.
BACKSTORY: In the early 1990's, it was alleged that there were individuals in the World Wrestling Federation that were committing acts of pedophilia against young boys between the ages of 12-19. Someone to speak up and bring this to the attention of the media and authorities was professional wrestler Barry Orton. Upon bringing this to the media's attention, Orton was blackballed from professional wrestling for good. His career was over. The individuals who were accused of the abuse against the children were never brought to justice and got to keep their jobs. Orton slipped into a huge state of depression to which he never quite recovered. He essentially did the right thing, and had to pay a huge price for it. I've always found the story very fascinating. The character of Perry is based on Barry Orton.
And there you have it! Those are all of the major writing projects I've worked on thus far in my writing career.
As you can tell my greatest weakness is revision. It's not so much that I hate to revise as much as it is, I don't know how to do it. I go over my stories again and again, until I think they're perfect. I don't know what else to do with them. I've edited them to death, I've gone over the story a thousand times. I'm at a loss. I don't know what else to do with it and I'm often treated when I submit the fiftieth draft, like it's the first draft I ever wrote. It drives me nuts. It's very depressing and discouraging. I want to be a writer so bad that if I were a religious man (which I'm not) I'd have sold my soul to the devil by now.
I also blog all the freaking time too for whatever that's worth.
StephenStonebraker.blogspot.com - I blog whatever's on my mind
Johnnythompsonnum1.blogspot.com - If you're an amateur wrestling fan, you'd enjoy this.
Stonebrakermoviereview.blogspot.com - I review all films I see for the first time
Stonebrakerbookreview.blogspot.com - I review all books I read too. Obviously seeing that the last one was in July, I don't read nearly as much as I should.
Tuesday, October 23, 2018
Feminism is best portrayed in Horror
I argue that horror does a better job than action.
Action often has heroines out of obligation and necessity. A female character is written into a screenplay because a studio feels compelled to add in a character because of an outcry from society that it wants to see more female characters. These characters are rarely leaders. Most of the time they aren't even notable sidekicks. Instead they are often forced, third wheels that seem to get in the way of the main protagonists. They feel unneeded and as if they were added to the script last second.
Other times even when they are a leader, the fact that they are female seems to be the general focus. Not that they're heroic. Not their intelligence or their bravery or their strength, but the fact that they're female. If anything it almost seems counter intuitive to the idea of feminism in the first place. If the idea is equality, to showcase that a woman can be every bit as good as a man, then it would seem that the focus should be on her characteristics and her qualities, not her sex.
I argue that horror does a better job than drama.
Women unfortunately face a lot of stereotypes in society. Drama often depicts these stereotypes. That women are supposed to be wives and mothers, the caregivers of their husbands and their children. That they have their place in our world, and they should adhere to it. Drama if anything doesn't defy these stereotypes, it defines it. Women in drama, while admirable, respectable and yes, even heroic are still often portrayed by social norms and social expectations. They're the woman that stands beside the man. The woman that stands beside her children.
Horror is where you see women shine. Horror is where you see women take on the role of heroine. Horror is where feminism is best portrayed.
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And she wasn't the only strong female role in the HALLOWEEN franchise.
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Want other examples? Because I have them. I have lots of them.
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I feel almost as if I'm being too modern and I sure as Hell don't have to be. There's nothing new in what I'm saying. It wasn't as if this resurgence of feminism suddenly got horror to wake up and jump on the bad wagon. It was driving the band wagon, full speed ahead before anyone made the suggestion.
Let's go back to the 80's.
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And I'm still not done quite yet.
How about also looking at it from a production point of view? In my opinion the most horrifying and terrifying film I have ever seen is Pet Sematary. I don't know if I'll ever watch a film that scares and disturbs me more than it did. Do you know who directed the film?
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When asked about her vision for horror and why she was able to convey it on the screen in such an effective manner she replied that she felt it had everything to do with her being a woman. She said in partial it reminded her of being pregnant. Pregnancy for her was an unknown, and the unknown can be quite intimidating. For nine months you have to care for something you cannot see. Numerous amounts of hopes and fears accumulate about what the future will hold. I found it a rather odd response, and I'm not 100% sure if I got it or how I could connect it to the intensely frightening parts of PET SEMATARY. Yet, I don't question it because obviously it worked. I can't even think about that film without the hair on my neck and arms standing up. I'm not even comfortable typing about it right now.
So with that said, I wrap up my thesis that Feminism is best portrayed in horror. From the late 1970's up and through today, horror continues to produce the strongest, smartest and cleverest heroines of all the genres.
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