Wednesday, June 29, 2011
In chatting with him about the project, I told him that straight how-to is waaay boring. He agreed and showed me his attempt at a first draft at a script before he gave up. He obviously understands that, because his first draft starts off with a bang! It gets the blood and the curiosity going, so we stayed with that. But he didn't know where to go from there, because how to's can end up being so dull, especially if it's some guy with a pointer and a blackboard and he's telling folks how something works. Sooo, I went with my narrative filmmaking training and turned it into a story of sorts and explained how it would work. He loved my idea and said, "You're my writer!"
I took him to my place and showed him my old Oregon history collection and my Oregon Historical Quarterlies, my True West Magazines, and whatnot, and he said, "You really ARE my writer, girl! You know what's goin' on!"
I love listening to him talk. He's an old-timey treasure-hunting gold miner with lots of fun stories. We also seem to be very much in sync. Not five minutes after I finished emailing him my first draft, he called me. I asked him, "So you read the script?" And he replied, "What script?" He hadn't even read it yet! He had called me to tell me about some ideas he had about the project in general.
I'm feeling major fate/karma/destiny/kismet going on. Especially since Monday. Monday we went to a filmmaker's networking fete and chatted with lots of people. A couple of the guys we talked to immediately understood what we were doing, liked it, swapped old gold-panning stories and whatnot with Bill, and said, "I'm in." Now what is the likelihood that in all of this town, we would happen upon the two camera guys who like treasure hunting, gold-mining, adventuring and whatnot? I ask you. It's kismet!
But anyway, Bill went and read my first draft and said he loved it. Yay! We're switching the genders of one of the characters and I added in a teaser for the next movie* at his request, for the second draft. All in all, it's coming along great.
But the best part of all this? This is what I went to school for! To write! To create! To have fun and make a living at doing it. This is awesome!
*Yes, there is going to be a series of these short films, so there is potential for me to be doing this for a while. Squee!
Monday, June 27, 2011
“Nobody. We’ve gone through the list. Nobody else wants to donate. Maybe you should widen your criteria a little bit, Marie. I mean, you are being very, very picky.”
“Mrs. Kelly, most everything looks good.” the doctor informed her. “You are healthy. Nothing was removed that we can determine. They must have been holding you these last few weeks until they needed something.”
Things started coming back to her, slowly at first. Then a torrent. She screamed, but found she had screamed out long before. Nothing croaked out but a hoarse whisper of a noise.
The heavens open;
rain eagerly falls to the earth.
So sweet and demure in puddles
and little culvert pipes.
The individual rivulets and streams
become a mob, and riot.
Cascading multitudes of droplets,
stronger than concrete.
Erosion of embankments,
trees falling down.
Splashing on out to sea,
the unruly mass
is no more.
Neptune swallows it up and
spits it back out in waves.
Stress and strain, pulled muscles-
magma flows through my nerves.
Dropped boxes, cracked knuckles-
I'm a brown and purple Dalmation of bruises.
All night, last minute frenzied preparation-
a disco mirror ball of fatigue pulses through my head.
Caffeine and tiger balm are salvation.
I’m really not myself today.
But, really, who am I?
Who is me today versus tomorrow?
If I’m not me, then what me am I?
Who will that me be tomorrow?
Is that me the real me?
Maybe the real me is you.
Maybe I am you and you are me.
What kind of me does that make me?
Will I ever be myself?
How will I know?
When faced with a mirror,
How does a chameleon recognize herself?
Her capricious face smiles,
To boozle or not?
That is the question.
The “bebbo” ,
(toddler-speak for bellybutton),
winks at me.
It is too tempting.
My puckered lips descend.
Squeals of laughter,
Bright eyes flash, grin.
Her body wiggles.
She begs me to do it again.
Prognosis is a drama about an alcoholic named Bob, who has a drunk driving accident that leaves him a quadriplegic. This video picks up from his first day home from the hospital and the chilly reception he receives from his family. Watch the video--it's intense!
Prognosis from Holly Bernabe on Vimeo.
Sunday, June 26, 2011
|Willow, back in 2007. She still looks just as devious. :)|
Anyway, she became slightly obsessed with sharks. Any body of water, she had to know if there were sharks in it. The Willamette River gets fairly shallow in spots and we could be at one of those where we can see all the rocks and whatnot in the water, and yet she would ask me if there were sharks in the river. I would say, "Oh, sure." And she would ask me, "How big are they?" And I would say, "As big as Grampa's car." Which was completely impossible--one, it wasn't the ocean, and two, the river couldn't possibly have a giant-ass shark as big as a '67 Buick Skylark in it when the water only went up to my knees. And she would look around for the sharks and declare they better not come around her or she would whack them with her tail. It was hilarious.
I did get my comeuppance, though. We were at a pool, and I was chasing her in the water and I had one elbow raised up out of the water to make my arm look like a fin and I was doing the dum-dum dum-dum Jaws theme music and she kicked me in the face. I asked her what she did that for, and she said that she was using her invisible tail to whack the shark in the nose. I couldn't get too mad. I admit it. I deserved that!
Last night I was play-cuddling with Willow (play-cuddling=cuddling, tickling, boozles and wedgies and noogies and fun) and out of the blue she stops playing and says, "I'm gonna miss this." I say, "Miss what?" And she answers, "Play cuddling with you. When I get older and I don't do it anymore. I'll miss it."
Nearly broke my heart. I'm going to miss it, too. David was about 12 before he stopped holding my hand and doing other PDA's and play cuddling with me. Hopefully I still have a few more years left with Willow.
Willow gave me a horribly guilty knife-in-the-heart moment earlier. I had been nagging her to get her room clean pretty much all night. Finally, a little after 9pm, she comes in and tells me it's after 9 so she needs to go to bed. I ask her if she had finally finished her room, and she said no. So I chew her out for dinking around yet again (this has been going on for a few days now), and I tell her she's grounded and that she should go to bed now. She gets this crushed look on her face.
Then she says, "You don't want to give me a kiss goodnight?" Insert knife in heart here. I melt, give her a hug and kiss and tell her I love her.
Then, she hands over this fuzzy red and pink thing to me. I look at it. It's a heart ornament made out of pipe cleaners. She says, "I made this for you." Now wiggle knife around, making sure to slice all four chambers of the heart.
I'm dying here...
|You can see where a couple of the missing "moldars" are here. :)|
As I’ve explained to Willow, the Tooth Fairy is an incredibly busy fairy, since there are sooo many kids in Portland who are all losing their teeth, probably at the same time as she is, so she just needs to be patient, the Tooth Fairy won’t forget her. So far, she never has. (I say she or he, but Willow insists the Tooth Fairy is a girl fairy, despite the fact that her grampa is a dental hygienist who insists the Tooth Fairy is a boy.)
Anyhow, Willow left a message for the Tooth Fairy when she left the two teeth. It read something like this: “Dear Tooth Fairy, My dad says that I should only eat soft food because I have another loose moldar and hard food could make it come out. Is he right?” [She said "moldar." Cute, innit?] She didn’t believe her dad, so she had to appeal to the higher power. Who better than the Tooth Fairy to know about loose teeth?
So I, er, ahem, the Tooth Fairy left this for a response: “Dear Willow, Your daddy is probably right. Softer food will be less likely to make your tooth come out. Stay away from sticky chewy foods like taffy because they can pull your tooth out and you could swallow it.” Willow was ecstatic she received a response.
Cut to when she finally lost that moldar. The Tooth Fairy was characteristically late, because she was broke. Er, I mean, behind on her rounds. Anyhow, when the Tooth Fairy finally made it to Willow’s pillow, she couldn’t FIND the dang tooth because the room was such a mess. So the Tooth Fairy left the following note:
“Dear Willow. I stopped by to pick up your tooth, but I couldn’t find it because your room is so messy. I will try again another time. It is probably best you keep your room clean so that I can give you your reward for your tooth, when you can find it. Love, The Tooth Fairy.”
The tooth still hasn’t been found. Willow is, of course, disappointed.
Today, Willow had another tooth come out. I asked her tonight if she put the tooth under her pillow. She said yes. I asked her, “How late do you think the Tooth Fairy will be this time?”
Willow said, “Oh, about 20 days.” (!)
I said, “Well, remember what she said about your room being clean?”
Willow grimaced, and said, “Yeah. I’ll clean it tomorrow!”
I am soooo evil!