My Big Fat Title Ego

            I have to say, lately I’ve been pretty pleased with my subconscious casting director. After John Krasinski’s appearance in my dream last week, Sarah Hyland, or better known as Modern Family’s Haley Dunphy, starred in a dream I had about a pool. In this dream, a group of pre-teen girls were playing truth or dare at the community pool in their apartment complex. For those of you who have been keeping tabs on my scenes, I think this one might have the best title. (Which isn’t saying much, considering the last title was John Krasinski Scene.)

            At first, I was going to call this scene, “The Pool”. Short, sweet, and easy to interpret. These short titles have been catching my eye lately, especially since I’ve been watching a lot of The Office and The League lately (both hilarious shows by the way). These titles are easy to say, easy to remember, and easy to tweet about when you’re only allotted 140 characters on Twitter. However, I wasn’t totally satisfied with “The Pool”.

            And then I thought of “The Complex”. Initially, I was referring to the apartment complex that this scene takes place. But then I thought about how many different directions I could go with a title like “The Complex”. Since this is a story about a teenage girl, it wouldn’t be hard for me to leap to the psychological and explore any mental complexes that our lead, Sarah Hyland, might have.

            Now, I’m not just writing about this to virtually pat myself on the back. So far, all of my scenes have been just that: scenes. However, I’ve become so attached to this title that I might continue the idea into a bigger story. So get excited! Fingers crossed, I might have my first finished screenplay to post soon. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves; here’s the first scene. Enjoy!

THE COMPLEX

EXT. SWIMMING POOL — DAY

THREE GIRLS sit on the edge of a pool, their feet dangling in the water. AN OLD LADY SNORES from a pool chair in the corner. THEY are surrounded by apartment buildings.

CARMEN, the eldest of the girls, stands up, her feet curled over the edge, and looks down. She’s wearing a light brown bikini and has long dark hair.

CARMEN’S P.O.V.: Through the ripples in the water, CARMEN can see her own reflection. She dives in, and the water SPLASHES. THE OTHER GIRLS follow.

After a while, the water becomes still.

CASEY: This is boring.

CASEY SMACKS the surface of the water with her hand.

TONI: We could play sharks and minnows.

TONI is clearly the youngest in the group. SHE swims to the side of the pool to hold on.

CASEY: No that’s lame, isn’t it Carmen?

CARMEN is uninterested, looking in another direction.

CARMEN: yeah.

TONI: Or we could play Marco Polo.

CASEY SNORTS, but CARMEN isn’t listening.

CARMEN: What?

CASEY: What do high-schoolers do for fun, Carmen?

CARMEN: I don’t know, I haven’t started yet.

CASEY: Adrian’s sister said that they always play truth or dare.

TONI: I know that game!

CASEY: But like, the dirty kind.

CARMEN: The dirty kind?

CASEY: Yeah, like Carmen, truth or dare?

CARMEN: Truth.

CASEY: No one ever picks truth, that’s so lame.

CARMEN: Fine, dare.

CASEY stops to think for a second, and then smiles.

CASEY: I dare you to jump get out of the pool with out your bikini top on.

TONI: I can do that!

TONI lifts up her bikini top to reveal the flat chest of a ten-year-old. Her ribs jut out as she puffs out her chest.

CASEY: No one cares, Toni. You don’t have any boobs.

CARMEN helps TONI retie her bikini top.

CARMEN: Fine.

CASEY: Fine?

CARMEN: I’ll do it.

CASEY SAYS something, but CARMEN ducks her head under the water.

ZOOM IN: CARMEN’s eyes are closed tight under the water, and her hands are behind her back, untying her bikini top.

CARMEN’s tan bikini top floats on top of the water and CARMEN walks up the steps in the shallow in. SHE pulls at her bikini bottom, and all we can see is her backside.

ZOOM IN: CARMEN’s toes curl around the edge of the pool again.

THE OLD LADY is still SNORING in her chair, oblivious to what’s going on.

CASEY’s mouth is wide open, and CARMEN smiles. However, just as SHE’s about to jump in, we hear a CLICK. CARMEN turns to see A GROUP OF BOYS with their phones out. Embarrassed, SHE jumps back into the water, and the SPLASH masks the sound of the BOYS SNICKERING.

            SCREENPLAY PAGES WRITTEN: 59

            NOVEL PAGES WRITTEN: 90

To Start and End with the End

            After watching an embarrassing amount of How I Met Your Mother this summer, I’ve become obsessed with finding out who Ted actually ends up with. However, like every other avid HIMYM fan, the only thing I can do to solve the mystery is watch more episodes. When you step back from the television screen, you realize how brilliant this is. The creators of the show, Craig Thomas and Carter Bays (shout-out to my fellow Clevelander! Proud to say that his parents lived on my street for a while), came up with an over-arching plot that automatically makes viewers return each season.

            Although I would like to give all the credit to my long-lost neighbor, this idea of showing a glimpse of the end at the beginning is an old trick. Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet begins with the lines, “from forth the fatal loins of these two foes, a pair of star-crossed lovers take their life…” And in the movie Titanic, you know that the ship is going to sink just by reading the title! By starting with the end, the audience itself becomes a part of the movie. This is because it becomes the viewer’s job to piece the plot together.

            I decided to try and create my own HIMYM, Romeo and Juliet, or Titanic. The other night, I had this dream that John Krasinski was sitting on a couch at this place called the City Club, being interviewed for the radio.

SIDENOTE: This City Club was basically a bunch of lounges with glass walls between them all where different radio stations were performing interviews all at once. It was a really cool place that had an open bar and great big comfy couches. If a place like this doesn’t already exist, it totally should.

So John Krasinski is sitting in one of these couches, wedged between two women who look uncomfortable to be there. But John is smiling. He leans forward, pushing the two ladies out of the way, to answer a question into the microphone.

I took this dream, and turned it into the start of a screenplay, using the “start-with-the-beginning” technique. As for the main character, picture John Krasinski while you read it. Although he isn’t in his usual “nice guy” role, I think he’d be perfect for the part. (In my ideal world where I can cast my own first-draft screenplays.)

JOHN KRASINSKI SCENES

INT. CITY CLUB STUDIO — MIDDAY

JACOB sits on a couch with HIS WIFE, LINDA, and HIS SISTER-IN-LAW, MARCY. The couch is small, and they are uncomfortable.

THE RADIO STUDIO looks more like a lounge, with dim lighting and a microphone in the middle of the room. A MAN sits across from the couch with headphones on. HE is at a desk with another microphone.

MAN (into the microphone): And we’re live her at City Club, with Jacob Lewis, his wife, Linda, and his sister-in-law, Marcy. Now Jacob, can you tell us how this all started?

JACOB smiles, wedged between LINDA and MARCY. HE’s wearing a suit that looks out of place on him; we can see his ankles. HE leans forward to talk into the microphone...

FADE OUT.

FADE IN.

INT. BEDROOM — EARLY MORNING

JACOB wakes up to the PUPPY BARKING. HIS WIFE GROANS. JACOB turns over; the clock reads:

7:00 a.m.

JACOB: Baby it’s your turn.

THE PUPPY BARKS again. HIS WIFE turns away from him, not getting up. JACOB GRUMBLES, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. We see his tall white socks, green boxers, and white t-shirt.

JACOB (mumbles): fuck it.

As JACOB stands, he scratches his groin. THE PUPPY BARKS again, and JACOB walks out of the room.

INT. THE KITCHEN — STILL EARLY MORNING

JACOB opens the cupboard and pulls out the dog food. HE scoops a cup into the dog bowl when the phone RINGS. He answers it—

INT. MARCY’S APARTMENT — KITCHEN

MARCY has her back to the camera, looking into the refrigerator. We see milk, cheese, eggs... the fridge is stocked. MARCY holds a phone to her ear.

MARCY (into the phone): I’m out of Vee Eight.

INT. JACOB’S KITCHEN

JACOB is now looking into his own fridge. One hand on the refrigerator door, one hand grabbing the milk, his phone is wedged between his shoulder and his ear.

JACOB (into the phone): So?

INTERCUT—

MARCY shuts her refrigerator door.

MARCY (into the phone): So I’m coming over to get some.

INTERCUT—

JACOB gets a box of cereal out of the cupboard.

JACOB (into the phone): No you’re not.

INTERCUT—

MARCY grabs her car keys off of the counter.

MARCY (into the phone): Too late, I’m already out the door.

INTERCUT—

JACOB pours his cereal into a bowl.

JACOB (into the phone): But we don’t have any Vee Eight.

INTERCUT—

MARCY grabs her purse, slips on a pair of flip flops, and leaves her apartment, locking the door behind her.

MARCY (into the phone): You don’t have any Vee Eight?

INTERCUT—

JACOB sits on a stool by the counter and takes a bite of his cereal.

JACOB: No, Marcy. I’m not a seventy-year-old woman who’s constipated.

INTERCUT—

MARCY walks to the end of a long hallway and presses an elevator button.

MARCY (into the phone): You’re thinking of prune juice, moron.

INTERCUT—

JACOB, finished with his cereal, gets up to put his bowl in the sink when he steps in a puddle of pee.

JACOB (to himself): Dammit Shellfish!

JACOB hops on one foot to the sink and wipes off his foot with paper towel.

INTERCUT—

MARCY steps into the elevator, and AN OLD MAN in a business suit COUGHS.

MARCY (into the phone): Did you just say shellfish?

MARCY is SPEAKING LOUDLY, and THE OLD MAN looks appalled.

INTERCUT—

JACOB throws out the paper towel and smiles.

JACOB (into the phone): Yes, Shellfish just peed everywhere.

SHELLFISH walks over to JACOB and licks his feet.

JACOB (whispers to the dog): good boy.

INTERCUT—

The elevator stops and ANOTHER BUSINESSMAN steps on. THE OLD MAN GRUMBLES HELLO and MARCY shifts to make room.

MARCY (into the phone): I didn’t know Shellfish could pee.

INTERCUT—

JACOB pats SHELLFISH on the head.

JACOB (into the phone): Yup, Shellfish peed everywhere.

INTERCUT—

Now BOTH BUSINESSMEN are annoyed, but MARCY is oblivious.

MARCY (into the phone): I’m allergic to shellfish, Jake! I break out in hives.

INTERCUT—

JACOB starts making a pot of coffee.

JACOB (into the phone): Well, there’s pee everywhere. Maybe you shouldn’t come.

INTERCUT—

ELEVATOR MUSIC PLAYS in the background, but MARCY talks over it.

MARCY (into the phone): Just clean it up; I’m almost there.

MARCY hangs up the phone, and THE OLD MAN SIGHS.

MARCY: Brother-in-laws, am I right?

No one responds, and the elevator door finally opens.

INTERCUT—

JACOB puts the phone down on the counter and bends down to pet SHELLFISH.

JACOB (whispers): such a good boy.

FADE OUT.

**SIDENOTE: I’m bringing back the writing logs that used to be at the end of every blog post. Sorry for those of you who missed them!

            SCREENPLAY PAGES WRITTEN: 56

            NOVEL PAGES WRITTEN: 90

My Piggyback Story

            Last week, I blogged about Miley Cyrus’s newest song, “We Can’t Stop.” For those of you who don’t remember what I said about it, here’s a recap: Although “We Can’t Stop” seemed shallow on the surface, the song’s underlying message was that by choosing not to care about what other people think, you can control your own image. In addition to defending Miley’s latest work, I also mentioned that her lyrics inspired my next story idea. So here it is…

            Lyrics such as “this is our house and this is our rules” and “we run things things don’t run we” made me feel this rush of confidence and power. It was aggressive and dominating and brilliant. When she sang, “can’t you see it’s we who own the night,” I imagined this pack of girls who radiated so much confidence that they could intimidate within a first glance. Miley indirectly proposed the question: Who owns the night? And in my mind, it’s these girls. Maybe you’ve met them before, or their type. They are the girls that girls love to hate.

            Then I thought, what if a girl owned the night, but not the day? Now I know I’m reading WAY too much into Miley Cyrus’s lyrics, but go with me for a second here. What if there was a shy, under-confident girl who spent the daytime being ordered around by everyone else, but then adopted a new persona when the night came? And what if, by the end of the story, you are rooting for her to completely take on this new persona and leave her day-life behind? Sparked by Miley’s words, I became fascinated with this idea of control and how one gets it.

So, with no further ado, here is the first scene that I came up with. It’s in third person, which I’ve never really gravitated towards, so I might experiment with using different perspectives. But here it is, anyways. Enjoy!

            Matilda slips on her black thong and stands up. She pulls down her black dress and grabs her black purse.

            “You sure you don’t want to stay the night?”

            “That’s not how this works.” Matilda flips her straight black hair over her shoulder and smiles at George, but only for a second.

            “Then at least let me drive you home.” George rolls over and grabs his car keys off the bedside table. His elbow bumps the glass of water and it shatters on the floor. Without flinching, Matilda slips on her black boots and zips them up.

            “Goodnight Mr. Wesley.” Matilda flicks the light switch and shuts the hotel door. She doesn’t look back. George tries to get some sleep, but the click of her footsteps echoes down the hall, so he sits up. His belly hangs over his boxer shorts and he exhales into his palm: booze and nachos.

            The bathroom’s small, but George leans against the wall and pulls a toothbrush and toothpaste out of his duffle bag. The mirror glares at him, and he thinks: This is George Terrance Wesley. Bags under his eyes weigh down his face and blue foamy toothpaste sits on the corner of his mouth. A yellow cab grabs his attention outside and he walks to the window, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

            Outside, a blonde girl stuffs a black wig into her black purse before stepping into the cab and riding off. George sighs, climbs back into bed, and goes to sleep.