This semester has brought on one particularly fun writing venture: Scriptwriting. I've never really tried my hand at it before three weeks ago, but the taste I've gotten of it has been exhilarating, and while it's a challenge to me, I've been doing my best to rise to it. Here's my latest; feel free (and encouraged) to give me feedback! Obviously the formatting doesn't translate perfectly to blog, but hopefully you get the general idea. Enjoy!
“FACE YOUR CONSEQUENCES”
FADE IN:
INT. MUSIC VENUE- NIGHT
The scene focuses on Claire, hardly twenty, with her eyes fixed on the stage as the next act sets up. Her clothing is dark, but hard to miss amongst the crowd of sweaty teens decked out in neon colors. Her face remains still and unenthused; her disinterest is apparent.
Onstage, four men are almost finished setting up equipment. One man, Jason, 31 with the smirk of a singer that’s made it big, obviously directs the process. Upon finishing, he steps up to the microphone.
JASON
Well hey everyone, we’re Show Your Colors, and we’re ready to rock this shit out! Now let me see your colors- hell yeah! Let’s do this!
The crowd cheers, and Jason’s band plays their first song. After it ends, Jason speaks to the crowd once again.
JASON
So we all know what it’s like to mess up big time; I’ll be the first to say I’ve made my fair share. People try to tell us to learn from them, to learn “lessons” and try harder next time. You know what I say to that? Fuck it, I’m gonna do it again and again until it kills me! So to the lesson learners of the world… Have a drink, take a drag, and join the party, because it’s a hell of a lot more fun to keep fuckin’ up! This is “Nothing To Change.”
The song begins. Claire, still watching disinterestedly, is noticeably distraught and pushes through the crowd to the back door.
EXT. APARTMENT BUILDING- NIGHT
Claire sits in the driver’s seat of a worn out Dodge Neon with death grip on the wheel, her facial features tight. A car parks a few spaces down, and she runs her hand through the glove box and comes out with a gun. She tucks it in her purse and opens the door with urgency.
CLAIRE
(yelling)
Hey, rock star!
Jason turns around, and seeing a good-looking girl walking towards him, he gives her the once over and smiles.
JASON
Can… I help you with something?
Claire runs her hand down his chest, biting her lip, and then abruptly grabs his shirt in a tightly clenched fist.
CLAIRE
You can actually. Answers.
JASON
Mm, feisty. What kind of answers can I offer to a lady like yourself?
Claire pulls his face close to her own, as if going in for a kiss.
CLAIRE
I know what you did.
JASON
(laughs)
Whoa now, you’re gonna have to be a little bit more specific than that, sweetheart.
CLAIRE
(through her teeth)
I know what you did. And I refuse to worship you like every other pathetic groupie of yours. Did you have the courtesy to tell them? Huh? Do they know what you did to my mom and brother, the only family I had? Do they know that you killed them less than three months ago and got off on a gimmick? I came to your show to see if you showed any sign of remorse, and after that shitshow I sat through, I know you still think the sun shines out of your ass. You’re disgusting.
JASON
You can’t prove a damn thing, little girl. No one can put me behind the wheel of that car, remember? Now how about you go play hero somewhere else and stop wasting my time.
CLAIRE
That’s right, I forgot you vowed never to learn from your actions. Your bullshit philosophies on fucking up may hold up to your glow–in-the-dark idiot fan base, but me; I don’t buy it. I’m gonna make you learn this time.
Claire takes out the gun and places in on his chest sideways.
CLAIRE
I dare you to say fuck it to this one.
JASON
You don’t have it in you, little girl. You know all you wanted to do was scare me.
(whispers)
Just give up.
CLAIRE
Dare me.
JASON
(laughs)
Humor me, sweetheart. I dare-
Claire fires the gun, a close range shot to the chest. Jason falls wide-eyed to the sidewalk, and Claire stares down at him with disgust.
CLAIRE
I hope you enjoy fucking up as much in hell, bastard.
She gets in her car and drives away without a second glance.
FADE OUT.
THE END
Friday, January 29, 2010
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Slam.
Our favorite onomatopoeia.
Our favorite conversation closer.
Burning brides and unintentional alliteration.
People forget, others stress, others go blank.
Some leak, some narrow.
One break down, careless back down.
Need is variable. Therefore, need nothing.
Happiness is square, sometimes,
and best served in a frosted glass.
Sophistication is favorite childhood cartoons,
and growing out of their button nose
with the needless claiming class.
I refuse to believe we're stronger by our most painful trials.
I won't believe in surviving death to abandon the living.
Listening's easy; comprehension takes compassion,
and well, it's hard to muster up these days, it seems.
Am I right?
This isn't being onto you;
It's certainty of correction,
and assurance it won't occur.
Just know that I want you, I do,
and that the rest is up to you.
I've forgotten how to take chances;
Cons outbalancing. It's hard to disappoint.
I could feed you cryptic uncertainty
until these hands lose key-grip fingertips;
I hide behind the faint doubts, the lack of forward honesty.
You do too.
Your greatest talents won't save you from back stairs.
Your favorite escape could leave you with no last words.
Clean air, spiteful variety, organized mess;
Smile at sleeping faces in messy sheets
five minutes longer than your impatience allows.
Sweet in the moment, rearview.
I swear these limits vow only to you.
Our favorite conversation closer.
Burning brides and unintentional alliteration.
People forget, others stress, others go blank.
Some leak, some narrow.
One break down, careless back down.
Need is variable. Therefore, need nothing.
Happiness is square, sometimes,
and best served in a frosted glass.
Sophistication is favorite childhood cartoons,
and growing out of their button nose
with the needless claiming class.
I refuse to believe we're stronger by our most painful trials.
I won't believe in surviving death to abandon the living.
Listening's easy; comprehension takes compassion,
and well, it's hard to muster up these days, it seems.
Am I right?
This isn't being onto you;
It's certainty of correction,
and assurance it won't occur.
Just know that I want you, I do,
and that the rest is up to you.
I've forgotten how to take chances;
Cons outbalancing. It's hard to disappoint.
I could feed you cryptic uncertainty
until these hands lose key-grip fingertips;
I hide behind the faint doubts, the lack of forward honesty.
You do too.
Your greatest talents won't save you from back stairs.
Your favorite escape could leave you with no last words.
Clean air, spiteful variety, organized mess;
Smile at sleeping faces in messy sheets
five minutes longer than your impatience allows.
Sweet in the moment, rearview.
I swear these limits vow only to you.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
My Angel.
It's the toasts and introductions that have me remembering what it was like to be around you, and how desperately I'm going to miss it for the rest of my life.
I still remember the exact place my head fell on your chest when you pulled me in for a lanky hug, and the way your hand towered next to mine in a high five. Memories this clear are easily surfaced when your usual companions meet for a celebration, a circle less one unit in diameter and certainly several inches shorter. This is one of the days where your presence would be guaranteed if you weren't watching from a view too high for a visit. All the boys I've spent my life under the watchful care of have grown from awkward boys to strong men, and it's hard to keep my eyes from blurring with the picture missing the usual companion of your smile.
I wish I could've introduced you to the friends I've gained since I saw you last; I wish you could've been in that line of intimidation. There are so few things I wouldn't give to see all the boys, all my brothers, together just one more time, one more drink, countless shared laughs. The silence that sits behind your place setting is impossible to ignore. It used to be that I could count on your handsome, silly self celebrating alongside the people that time has failed to separate. Now, you're cheering from beyond the stretch of our eyes, and it's hard not to be selfish, to wish you down from perfection to share in our human moment.
I know your pride far outweighs any of ours, that the size of the party you threw in his honor blew our full house away. We're imperfect where you're incomprehensibly tranquil, and left to miss the hell out of a life cut short when in fact, your new one blessedly begun after fewer trialed years than most. You beat us all; your famous smile our only foreshadowing. Your lucky new life, our lucky old memories.
In the face of it all, we smile because we have a fantastic person to live for, and cry because we wish we could continue to share our days with you. We'll continue growing with a pain that won't numb and an angel to protect us. The way I see it? You always strove to protect me, and everyone you loved, and you beat us to heaven so you could do just that. I bet you're playing guardian angel to everyone you called your family, by blood and by love alone.
We'll never understand, but God knew what he was doing, and I can rest easy knowing that my angel, our angel, is the strongest in the stars. <3
In honor of my big brother, Andrew Christian Landes.
1987-2009.
I still remember the exact place my head fell on your chest when you pulled me in for a lanky hug, and the way your hand towered next to mine in a high five. Memories this clear are easily surfaced when your usual companions meet for a celebration, a circle less one unit in diameter and certainly several inches shorter. This is one of the days where your presence would be guaranteed if you weren't watching from a view too high for a visit. All the boys I've spent my life under the watchful care of have grown from awkward boys to strong men, and it's hard to keep my eyes from blurring with the picture missing the usual companion of your smile.
I wish I could've introduced you to the friends I've gained since I saw you last; I wish you could've been in that line of intimidation. There are so few things I wouldn't give to see all the boys, all my brothers, together just one more time, one more drink, countless shared laughs. The silence that sits behind your place setting is impossible to ignore. It used to be that I could count on your handsome, silly self celebrating alongside the people that time has failed to separate. Now, you're cheering from beyond the stretch of our eyes, and it's hard not to be selfish, to wish you down from perfection to share in our human moment.
I know your pride far outweighs any of ours, that the size of the party you threw in his honor blew our full house away. We're imperfect where you're incomprehensibly tranquil, and left to miss the hell out of a life cut short when in fact, your new one blessedly begun after fewer trialed years than most. You beat us all; your famous smile our only foreshadowing. Your lucky new life, our lucky old memories.
In the face of it all, we smile because we have a fantastic person to live for, and cry because we wish we could continue to share our days with you. We'll continue growing with a pain that won't numb and an angel to protect us. The way I see it? You always strove to protect me, and everyone you loved, and you beat us to heaven so you could do just that. I bet you're playing guardian angel to everyone you called your family, by blood and by love alone.
We'll never understand, but God knew what he was doing, and I can rest easy knowing that my angel, our angel, is the strongest in the stars. <3
In honor of my big brother, Andrew Christian Landes.
1987-2009.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Excuses.
One particularly prominent aspect of my lifestyle is unwinding, and I couldn't be more ready to let it.
I've always lived to do what I want, those chasing, to do what they can. Breaking hearts gets easy when you're conditioned to breakaway glass and family heirlooms. I made mine to be their antithesis; built to block any view of the sun. Who smiles this much unless they have a secret? Packing is inessential when all you intend to do is leave. Escape routes, one of my finest arts I intend to sell off and live without.
Stubborn and insistent, I've said repeatedly that I was open to being proved wrong. This complete lack of care coupled with days on end spent nothing short of elated deliver rationale; there's nothing to prove. Nothing about this cynicism is right or wrong, but purely circumstantial. My stars have been hidden by big city smog. Airplanes and thousand feet tall buildings exist to seek out what your tippy toes couldn't find. Sometimes, you have to face everything you've been avoiding to discover that you're completely in love with the way the water feels after you're submerged. Eyes open, thirty feet up- step off. The first breath you take at the surface is bound to taste better the mundane air you offhandedly recycled seconds before. I don't know yet, but something tells me golden shoulders and sun kissed cheeks will see me changed.
I've forgotten what it is to hate the snow because I've forgotten what it is to hate anything. I've grown more violent, more confident, less shy, less hesitant. More ready, less excuses. Save time by losing fear.
I've always lived to do what I want, those chasing, to do what they can. Breaking hearts gets easy when you're conditioned to breakaway glass and family heirlooms. I made mine to be their antithesis; built to block any view of the sun. Who smiles this much unless they have a secret? Packing is inessential when all you intend to do is leave. Escape routes, one of my finest arts I intend to sell off and live without.
Stubborn and insistent, I've said repeatedly that I was open to being proved wrong. This complete lack of care coupled with days on end spent nothing short of elated deliver rationale; there's nothing to prove. Nothing about this cynicism is right or wrong, but purely circumstantial. My stars have been hidden by big city smog. Airplanes and thousand feet tall buildings exist to seek out what your tippy toes couldn't find. Sometimes, you have to face everything you've been avoiding to discover that you're completely in love with the way the water feels after you're submerged. Eyes open, thirty feet up- step off. The first breath you take at the surface is bound to taste better the mundane air you offhandedly recycled seconds before. I don't know yet, but something tells me golden shoulders and sun kissed cheeks will see me changed.
I've forgotten what it is to hate the snow because I've forgotten what it is to hate anything. I've grown more violent, more confident, less shy, less hesitant. More ready, less excuses. Save time by losing fear.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Green Eyes.
I read into every word of yours as I skim the lines you unravel to. One count scared, two counts irritated, five counts love. I think I know one small thing that could aid the bleakness you write to, but I don't know if you'd oblige. Something to do with less green and more yellow. I heard an old song today, and with a few tweaks, it could be yours. Ain't no sunshine when she's gone. She's gone from you, and you need to sun to light up your eyes. Nights spent in cluttered cars packed with confused kids waiting to be saved by a haze. I'm guilty, but growing restless. It's not my medicine anymore.
Although it's knocked due to its overuse in PSAs and mommy's warnings, you lost your care when you gained an affinity. My line of sight is filled with the faces I've come to love and the way they distort through click button-lit fog. You used to shine so bright. There's no easy way to blame the life of the party, but I'm calling it out. The people I bide my time with chase their nose-stinging troubles away in sweet smelling papers. Watermelon wraps around an unkind nature of its own. It's easy to laugh when your echo reaches your ears. Comic relief, late night digs, too many calories, ghost medians, and unending railroads. I've made some memories I'm not about to wish away within a specially altered mindset.
Take the good with the bad, wish for improvement but work at it slowly. I'm just fine, and I love you no less. I miss high times being less literal, but most of all, I just miss you. No matter how lost you feel, I promise I'd cut my way through any mess to find you. I don't want you to forget that you have me. I swallow second rate when I see how much he means to you, but I know your priorities are set and unwavering, and you don't play favorites. We don't have to agree on everything to be content. Sixty miles north is nothing. I'm always going to mean it when I say I'll be your best friend forever.
There are far too many stoplights we have yet to see.
Although it's knocked due to its overuse in PSAs and mommy's warnings, you lost your care when you gained an affinity. My line of sight is filled with the faces I've come to love and the way they distort through click button-lit fog. You used to shine so bright. There's no easy way to blame the life of the party, but I'm calling it out. The people I bide my time with chase their nose-stinging troubles away in sweet smelling papers. Watermelon wraps around an unkind nature of its own. It's easy to laugh when your echo reaches your ears. Comic relief, late night digs, too many calories, ghost medians, and unending railroads. I've made some memories I'm not about to wish away within a specially altered mindset.
Take the good with the bad, wish for improvement but work at it slowly. I'm just fine, and I love you no less. I miss high times being less literal, but most of all, I just miss you. No matter how lost you feel, I promise I'd cut my way through any mess to find you. I don't want you to forget that you have me. I swallow second rate when I see how much he means to you, but I know your priorities are set and unwavering, and you don't play favorites. We don't have to agree on everything to be content. Sixty miles north is nothing. I'm always going to mean it when I say I'll be your best friend forever.
There are far too many stoplights we have yet to see.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Clean.
With priorities messier than any typical teenage bedroom, we've created every parent's worst nightmare.
Open bottles permeate already catching air; all without defined boundaries are captives. Bruised eyes grasp for what little naivety their twice washed pockets can cough up. Fretting over handfuls turned to pocket lint with frantic searches for lost wallets and virtue turns to loaded laughing acceptance. This is a constant battle when I spend a few days without the makeshift comfort zone I make my camp in. From shellshocked to seasoned, introduce a leave of absence and I remember what it's like to function as a happy resident behind a clean white fence.
This isn't as boring as our generation likes to make it sound. This northern air is the only taste of intoxication I crave.
Open bottles permeate already catching air; all without defined boundaries are captives. Bruised eyes grasp for what little naivety their twice washed pockets can cough up. Fretting over handfuls turned to pocket lint with frantic searches for lost wallets and virtue turns to loaded laughing acceptance. This is a constant battle when I spend a few days without the makeshift comfort zone I make my camp in. From shellshocked to seasoned, introduce a leave of absence and I remember what it's like to function as a happy resident behind a clean white fence.
This isn't as boring as our generation likes to make it sound. This northern air is the only taste of intoxication I crave.
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