I'm probably going to be off-line for a while for the Thanksgiving break; we are hosting it at our house again this year and are expecting about a dozen to fifteen people. The day after is a movie and shopping and the long weekend will hopefully be stitching up.

Here's a little PETER ROTTENTAIL for now:


Peter looks at the two corpses, then produces a large, cartoony stick of TNT from his coat.
Lighting it, he chucks it at Tejeda's house.
The house EXPLODES and collapses.
Peter, CHUCKLING, hops away.
JAMES (V.O.)
The underworld. It has been a part of mythology since the first recorded tales.
CUT TO:
INT. CLASSROOM -- DAY
James paces back and forth in front of an indifferent group of students at a modest Midwestern college.
JAMES
Hades. Orcus. Sheol. We have always held the belief that there is a waking world...and then a world of the unknown. Are the roots primal? That as a species we recognize that in the fall, everything dies...only to rise again in the spring. Or is something else at work?
CUT TO:
INT. JAMES' OFFICE -- LATER
James is grading papers at his desk when the phone rings.
JAMES
This is Professor James Neely.
LENNY (V.O.)
Professor? Only if they give out PhDs for spanking off and smoking dope!
JAMES
I gave up smoking dope!
LENNY (V.O.)
It ain't too late to start back up, is it, cuz?
JAMES
My college days are behind me, Lenny!
CUT TO:
INT. LENNY'S APARTMENT -- DAY
LENNY NEELY, James' scruffy cousin, sits on a faded sofa among a stack of old magazines and empties, and the general debris of an unfulfilled life.
LENNY
You're still there, ain't ya?
JAMES (V.O.)
As a prof!
Lenny scratches the strip of stomach poking out from under his dirty t-shirt.
LENNY
Then you should get the best reefer and the best cooze, cousin!
CUT TO:
INT. JAMES' OFFICE -- CONTINUOUS
James shakes his head, smiling.
JAMES
To what do I owe the honor of this call, Lenny?
LENNY (V.O.)
You busy this weekend?
JAMES
Who wants to know?
LENNY (V.O.)
Come over later. I got a business proposition for ya.
JAMES
No pyramid schemes. No web cams.
LENNY (V.O.)
We grew up together! You know me better than that!
JAMES
And no mail order brides!
Lenny pauses.
LENNY (V.O.)
She told me that picture on the Internet was really her!
JAMES
Yeah, everything on the Internet is true!
LENNY
Now I know that! Shit, cuz!
Lenny hangs up. James shakes his head and cradles the phone.

Give me a yell at johnoakdalton@hotmail.com.

Indiana Wants Me

Yesterday it was 65 and sunny; today about 25 and snowy. That's Indiana, in a nutshell.

I had my eye on a big stack of RAIJIN comics at the shop; a weekly Japanese-style manga that reads right to left and the whole nine yards, but had kind of a steep price point. Well, it just showed up on the discount shelf, and I snagged a huge shopping bag full of it. Later I thought, what am I going to do with this many pounds of comics? But it's been a fun read.

Mark Polonia spoke to my scriptwriting class today. I always get a charge out of hearing his stories from the trenches. They have a big chunk of PETER ROTTENTAIL edited already. For better or worse, Mark said that about 95% of my rewrite ended up in the final project.

Here's a bit more from PETER ROTTENTAIL:

CUT TO:
EXT. GRAVEYARD -- NIGHT
Feature Peter Krigstein's grave.
Lightning STRIKES the ground in front of it.
A moment later, a hand bursts from the ground.
Someone, something, claws through the ground and stands, silhouetted against the night--a figure in top hat and tails.
Another lightning FLASH.
This flash reveals Peter's transformed face. He is now a monstrous rabbit--the embodiment of Peter Rottentail.
Low angles show Peter trudging through the graveyard, lightning flashes pulling him forward.
CUT TO:
EXT. TEJEDA'S HOUSE -- LATER
Todd and Kevin come outside, sweeping their flashlights back and forth.
KEVIN
Your dead uncle was bogus, dude.
TODD
Yeah, so's your moms, yo.
Suddenly both stop cold.
From their POV, we see a dark figure in the shadows.
Kevin squints his eyes.
KEVIN
Who's there?
The figure waits.
TODD
This is private property, straight up!
The figure watches.
KEVIN
Don't front up in here, dude! You got to have a warrant! It wasn't like we was looking for his dead uncle's weed or nothing!
Slowly, the figure raises his hand. A brass horn FLASHES in the moonlight.
The figure HONKS the horn.
KEVIN (CONT'D)
Okay, now we gonna chafe.
Kevin starts to move forward. Todd grabs his arm.
TODD
Dude. Do you know what that is?
KEVIN
Somebody who's about to get a beat-down.
TODD
No, dude. That's so totally my demonic slave.
KEVIN
What?
TODD
Didn't you hear the shit that was in that book?
KEVIN
I zoned out during that part, dude.
TODD
Here, check it. Let me lay some death metal on it.
(booms out)
Come to me, my evil puppet! Come to me!
Peter lurches forward.
KEVIN
Whoa, dude!
TODD
Thank you, Dark Lords!
Peter lurches into view, rabbit ears and all. He HONKS his horn.
Kevin furrows his brow.
KEVIN
That demonic slave is whack, dude.
Todd smacks him.
TODD
Dude, this ain't some demon off a Black Sabbath album cover, this is the real dealio. I'm going to take him to school and get some paybacks on some motherfuckers.
KEVIN
Shit, my grams could whip his ass, G.
TODD
Shut up!
(to Peter)
Come to me! Come!
Peter shambles closer. Closer.
Soon he is standing before the two boys.
Again, he HONKS his horn.
KEVIN
Dude, seriously.
TODD
Dude, you may be right. I wonder if I could send this reject back and get something real kickass. Like with bat wings and hooves and shit.
KEVIN
Now that mutha would rock!
TODD
Okay, let me lay this shit out there.
(to Peter)
Go, slave of shadows! Go, I say!
KEVIN
That is so Marilyn Manson, dude.
TODD
Cool.
Peter begins to rummage around in his magician's coat, coming out with a variety of offbeat magician's tricks and tools.
Finally Peter reaches into his dented top hat and roots around.
In a moment, he produces a carrot.
KEVIN
Oooh, look out! Demon with a carrot!
TODD
Shut up, dipshit! Where's your demon at, dude?
KEVIN
Whatever, dude!
Todd looks frustrated. He turns on Peter.
TODD
Dude! I told you to get outta here!
Peter stares.
TODD (CONT'D)
Get the fuck outta here, yo! Weak-ass motherfucker!
Peter looks at his carrot, then at Todd.
Then drives the carrot right into his chest.
KEVIN
Whoa, dude!
Todd falls, blood burbling from his mouth.
Kevin puts his hands up.
KEVIN (CONT'D)
I didn't mean that shit I said earlier. I was just playin' you. You bad. You one tough demon, yo!
Peter jams the bloodied carrot into Kevin's chest as well. The life seeps from his shocked face.
Kevin slumps to the ground, mouth agape.
Peter looks down.
PETER
The name's Peter Rottentail!
Lightning FLASHES.
Kevin's head slumps, and he is gone.
Peter looks at the two corpses, then produces a large, cartoony stick of TNT from his coat.
Lighting it, he chucks it at Tejeda's house.
The house EXPLODES and collapses.
Peter, CHUCKLING, hops away.
JAMES (V.O.)
The underworld. It has been a part of mythology since the first recorded tales.

Give me a holler at johnoakdalton@hotmail.com.

From the Mailbox

My pal Gary Lumpp mentioned to me that my blog seems to be mostly about me fixing my house and writin' scripts. Painfully, that is the bulk of my life right now. So maybe I'll change things up by mentioning that there was a bomb threat at my daughter's high school yesterday, and they closed to school, but the pen is mightier than the sword and tonight A MIDSUMMER'S NIGHT'S DREAM, with my daughter as a fairy, but not one of the ones that gets a name, will go on as planned in the cafetorium. Then she will discard her fairy's wings, and as a true renaissance woman, rejoin the 2-1 (counting a forfeit) JV basketball team to take on the mighty Cowan Blackhawks.

And I am also going to paint the bathroom tomorrow in preparation for Thanksgiving, and work on GIZZARD GUTS some more.

I got an update from new pal Joe Barlow, who told me the director Bob Dennis changed the name of DEAD LAKE to DEATH LAKE. Joe is the editor of the feature, from a script from John Polonia that I rewrote and that (I think) two more people took a stab at (so to speak) afterwards.

Another pal, Tom Cherry, wrote to me after checking in on my script pages here hoping for the painful deaths of PETER ROTTENTAIL's misguided youths Kevin and Todd (named for b-movie mavens Kevin Lindenmuth and Todd Sheets, by the way--and you should check out John Polonia's Todd Sheets impression sometime). Coming soon, Tom, but not today:

CUT TO:
EXT. TEJEDA'S HOUSE -- NIGHT
A full moon hangs in a cold, starless sky.
CUT TO:
INT. TEJEDA'S BASEMENT -- NIGHT
Kevin and Todd come down the stairs of the dilapidated old house carrying flashlights.
Todd gropes for the light switch, and suddenly the basement is bathed in a weird purple light.
The two friends exchange glances.
TODD
Grow lights, dude! This will be the motherlode!
They both look in opposite directions, wild-eyed, the white light from their flashlights spearing the strange quasi-gloom.
Suddenly, an eerie LAUGH shatters the silence.
Both flashlights spin and zero in on its source.
Both teens see Todd's dead uncle Tejeda LAUGHING, a crazed look in his eyes, gesturing at the shocked kids.
TODD AND KEVIN
WHOA!!!
Tejeda disappears.
Todd and Kevin exchange glances.
TODD
I can't believe it, dude.
Kevin shakes his head.
KEVIN
Me neither.
TODD
I'm getting a contact high off the walls, G. I'm seeing all kinds a weird shit.
KEVIN
There must be some righteous shit down here.
Both teens start looking around more carefully.
Todd opens one of many cardboard boxes on a nearby shelf. Then another.
Kevin notices him.
KEVIN (CONT'D)
Anything, G?
TODD
Nah, just old books.
KEVIN
Dude, if I wanted to look at old books, I'd quit skipping school.
Todd brings out an odd-looking book, like an old scrapbook.
He gently strokes the cover, and an ominous monk-like CHORUS reverbs in the grubby basement.
Kevin shows the devil-horned heavy metal sign with both hands, fingers wiggling.
KEVIN (CONT'D)
That book rocks!
TODD
I don't know, dude, this cover is weird. Like old skin. It kinda feels like kissing my grandma.
KEVIN
You don't think--
TODD
Naw, my grandma's still alive, dude.
Kevin comes and looks.
KEVIN
Dude, I don't mean your grandma! What if it's...somebody else's skin?
TODD
Dude, why? Have you ever tried to write a chick's number on your hand? It smears and shit. Who would write a book on that? Doesn't make any sense, G.
KEVIN
Then open it, dude.
Todd slowly cracks the cover; then suddenly slams it shut.
TODD
Whoa, dude. What if this has, like, a bunch of chick's numbers in it...all cut off of a bunch of dude's hands?
KEVIN
Whoa!
(beat)
You think any of those chicks live around here?
Todd elbows him, then cracks open the book.
He starts slowly mouthing the words.
KEVIN (CONT'D)
Read it out loud, G!
TODD
"I call upon all of the powers of evil and decadence...to raise a profaned body to do my bidding..."
KEVIN
What is that, just some Metallica lyrics?
TODD
Shut up, dude!
(beat)
"I stand here...as a student of the Dark Arts. I call upon...the cursed shadows...for a reward!"
The lights dim, then come back on suddenly. A LOW MOAN is heard.
Both teens look around.
KEVIN
Let's motor, G. I know where we can get some ditchweed off my cousin's farm.
TODD
Let's ghost, yo.
Todd throws the book down, and they start heading for the stairs.
Feature the creepy book, in the ghastly reddish light.
CUT TO:

Give me a holler at johnoakdalton@hotmail.com.

All kinds of stuff going on today; so here's a bit from PETER ROTTENTAIL to tide you over for now.

DISSOLVE TO:
INT. JAMES' HOME (KITCHEN) -- MORNING
A rumpled James, tired from lack of sleep, comes into the kitchen scratching himself and hunting for coffee.
He clicks on the television.
A perky ANCHOR looks out at television land.
ANCHOR
--you could have purchased a toy that will kill your children--later in our broadcast. But first...
(beat)
The police are out to stop a hometown tradition this year; the annual desecration of the grave of magician Peter Krigstein, who committed suicide several years ago. The life and mysterious death of the self-proclaimed "Peter the Great" have become the stuff of urban legend here.
James stares at the screen.
CUT TO:
EXT. GRAVEYARD -- DAY
From the news camera's POV, feature TODD, a gangly youth, standing in front of Peter's grave, festooned with toilet paper and other debris. A CG across the bottom of the screen reads: "Local Disaffected Youth."
TODD
Yeah, everybody who knows what's up parties here. It's stone freaky here at night. This dude was a real douche bag, he started trippin' at some party and was going to go all Manson up on some kids.
(beat)
Can you say douche bag on TV?
Cut wide as the CAMERAMAN lowers the camera dejectedly and shakes his head, turning away from Todd. Realizing his fifteen minutes of fame are over, Todd flashes him the finger.
TODD (CONT'D)
Whatever, dude!
Todd spies his pal KEVIN standing nearby.
KEVIN
Dude, your pops is going to see that shit on TV, yo!
TODD
Nah, he only watches wrestling and porno, dude.
Todd and Kevin head out of the graveyard.
KEVIN
I snuck some forties out of my dad's fishing cooler. You want to come back up here later?
TODD
I got something better to do. You remember that uncle I have who my parents didn't want me to turn out like?
KEVIN
Yeah?
TODD
Dude died, man. And I bet he died happy.
KEVIN
Why's that, G?
TODD
Know how he was always going off to New Orleans and Jamaica and shit? And he was always jamming to those Bob Marley records and all that noise?
KEVIN
Yeah?
TODD
You know a dude like that ain't sittin' around drinkin' no lemonade. So what kind of stash you think he left in his crib, yo?
Kevin stops cold.
KEVIN
Chronic?
TODD
Yo yo yo.
KEVIN
Blunts?
TODD
Yah mon.
KEVIN
Spliffs?
TODD
Amen, brother.
KEVIN
Dude!
TODD
Dude!
They race out of frame.

Give me a yell at johnoakdalton@hotmail.com.

FROM THE KEYBOARD:
For anybody keeping track, I learned my Bigfoot movie AMONG US is coming out in April, RAZORTEETH is coming out in May, and PETER ROTTENTAIL right after that. No announced dates on DEMONS ON A DEAD END STREET or GIZZARD GUTS. I heard DEAD LAKE, which I rewrote over John Polonia's script and was rewritten over (I think) twice more by others, for director Bob Dennis, is still underway, and THE PAYBACK MAN is still in development. GIZZARD GUTS is coming along nicely. God knows what I'm going to do after all of this.

LISTENING TO:
I grabbed a handful of old-time radio shows from the library, including THE WHISTLER and HOPALONG CASSIDY and one of my favorites, YOURS TRULY, JOHNNY DOLLAR, to listen to on my commute.

READING:
My name came back up on the waiting list at the library for the generation-spanning Brooklyn epic FORTRESS OF SOLITUDE, a challenging read that I hope to get through this time before somebody else claims it.

MOVIES:
Over at microcinemascene.com I have recent reviews for WITCHOUSE 2, DEMONICUS, HELL'S HIGHWAY, and THE SANDMAN.

COMICS:
I am getting into Bill Willingham's FABLES, loaned to me by my pal Doug, a revisionist history version of fairy tales, which sounds kinda fey but is pretty engaging.

Give me a yell at johnoakdalton@hotmail.com.

Knock On Wood

Well, I decided to change my template, and ended up screwing myself up. Sometime when I have some time I am going to have to put this little Humpty Dumpty back together again.

I got struck by lightning yesterday, and GIZZARD GUTS, the ghost pirate movie for the Polonia Brothers, started flying off of my fingers. Everything is cyclical.

I talked to Mark Polonia yesterday, and it looks like PETER ROTTENTAIL will be posted by Christmas. In the meantime, here's more:

SMASH CUT TO:
INT. PETER'S FLOPHOUSE -- NIGHT
Peter is sitting at a thrift-store table with an empty bottle of rotgut and a dirty shot glass. An old radio with foil wrapped around the antennae is in the background.
RADIO ANNOUNCER (V.O.)
Police are seeking local children's entertainer Peter Krigstein in relation to an alleged assault earlier today.
PETER
Shit! I'm a fucking MAGICIAN, not a children's entertainer! The first time I get in the news they can't even get it right!
His rabbit is eating old food off of the table. Peter strokes the rabbit.
PETER (CONT'D)
Retread...I screwed the pooch. I'm finished. A failure.
He gives the bunny one last pat.
PETER (CONT'D)
You were my only friend, little Retread, and I thank you.
Peter goes to a bureau against one wall and opens the drawer slowly.
From his POV, we see a gun in among the trash and debris.
Peter lifts it out.
PETER (CONT'D)
They'll be sorry. They won't forget me.
(beat)
Jesus, I can't mess this one up. My final trick.
Peter puts the gun in his mouth.
At the sound of the BANG, Retread hops away.
The gun falls from Peter's nerveless fingers onto the floor.
SMASH CUT TO: OPENING CREDITS


Give me a yell at johnoakdalton@hotmail.com.

At the Copa...

I found out principal photography on PETER ROTTENTAIL ended this weekend, for those who are following along. Yes, it's hard to believe, but I didn't even have the damn thing written a month or so ago.

I had a kind of long weekend working on the house, and started back up on GIZZARD GUTS. I'm eager to get back at that one after a hellish respite working on home repair.

A sleepless night, as a tickling clock and my daughter's humming SIMs game ran all night, I guess to get her creations up to some other level of SIM-ness. I ended up having a dream where I drove around in a nice black sportscar with Barry Manilow. Painfully true.

Speaking of weird dreams, here's more from PETER ROTTENTAIL:

DISSOLVE TO:
INT. GRANDMA'S HOUSE (LIVING ROOM) -- DAY
Peter is once again performing in front of indifferent kids at a crowded party. His ramshackle table is set up in front of a small group of kids.
PETER
And now...I will pull a rabbit from my hat!
Peter pulls off his top hat and roots around inside.
He comes up empty-handed.
KID #1
This blows!
Peter keeps rummaging around.
PETER
I know Retread is around here somewhere.
Another kid points.
KID #2
Mister, your rabbit is taking a dump under the table!
Peter looks under the table, spying RETREAD the rabbit. The ratty lupine is sniffing the air, with a trail of pellets behind him.
PETER
Bad Retread!
The rabbit hops off.
Peter pops back up, looking queasy. He tries to regain his composure.
PETER (CONT'D)
And now for my finale!
KID #2
Make yourself disappear!
KID #1
For good!
Peter looks down, trying to compose himself. He thinks for a moment. Then he pulls the vial from his coat pocket.
PETER
(struggling)
Behold! This potion will call forth...call forth...Peter Rottentail, the evil offspring of...man and rabbit!
A sour-looking MOM and DAD observe from the back of the room.
DAD
Is this guy saying he did a rabbit?
MOM
I thought he was going to have puppets!
We see Peter from their POV.
PETER
When I drink this, I will turn into the fearsome beast that I spoke of...and you shall all shudder in fear! Now...meet Peter Rottentail!
Peter cannonballs the drink and wipes his mouth.
There is an expectant pause.
And nothing happens.
The parents exchange glances and shake their heads.
Peter looks deflated.
PETER (CONT'D)
Shit.
The kids begin to HECKLE and JEER.
Peter begins to get angrier and angrier.
From Peter's POV, weird shots of kids LAUGHING.
PETER (CONT'D)
Shut up! Shut up, you little shits!
Suddenly the dad steps forward.
DAD
Jimmy, now daddy's going to show the magic man his own trick!
CUT TO:
EXT. GRANDMA'S HOUSE -- MOMENTS LATER
Peter goes face-first onto the pavement. He pops up quickly.
PETER
Not the table! Anything but the--
Peter's junk CRASHES onto the driveway next to him.
A wave of INSULTS from the kids wash over him from inside. Then the door SLAMS shut and abruptly cuts off the criticism.
Peter composes himself, then gets up and brushes himself up.
Suddenly, Tejeda's ear-shattering LAUGHTER drives Peter to his knees, his hands cupped over his ears.
Peter rolls on the driveway, trying to keep the weird, echoing laughter out of his skull.
TEJEDA (V.O.)
You will be mine! All mine!
Peter tries to crawl away.
PETER
GET OUT OF MY HEAD!
TEJEDA (V.O.)
Never! You are mine now! All mine!
Peter tries to cover his ears again.
He sees a tall, gleaming top hat sitting on the driveway in front of him.
Peter grabs the top hat and pulls it down over his head.
PETER
MAKE IT STOP! LEAVE ME ALONE!
Tejeda's booming LAUGHTER mocks him. Peter rolls on the ground, flailing.
Peter looks down and finds a knife in his hand. He stares at it.
PETER (CONT'D)
Where did...
TEJEDA (V.O.)
YOU WILL DO MY WILL!!
Peter sweats and shakes, looking at the knife. Then he looks up at the house, is eyes wide and red-rimmed.
The little boy from inside is watching him.
Peter stares at him with wild eyes.

Give me a yell at johnoakdalton@hotmail.com.

Walk On By

Gearing up for another weekend of lots of home repair and hopefully a little writing. I fired off my draft of the "hoosier" documentary, and we'll see what they say in response. Meanwhile I'll slink back over to GIZZARD GUTS.

Last night my daughter won her first JV basketball game, thankfully. Tonight we are going to see THE BEST LITTLE WHOREHOUSE IN TEXAS at the college. Always a lot in the hopper.

Speaking of the hopper, here's a bit more from PETER ROTTENTAIL:

SMASH CUT TO:
EXT. MAGIC SHOP -- MORNING
Peter takes a tumble on the sidewalk and ends up stretched out flat. He lifts his head from the sidewalk.
RENNY, the bearded, glowering owner of the magic shop, stares down at Peter.
RENNY
I can't let you in here no more, Peter. If people find out I'm the one you buy your magic tricks from I'll end up selling whoopie cushions out of the back of my van.
PETER
I just need a little something. To get me back on my feet.
Kenny shakes his head.
RENNY
My cousin needs somebody to wash dishes at the diner. It's the best I can do for ya, man.
Peter stands up.
PETER
That's bullshit! You can't cut me off like this!
RENNY
I'd rather let a perv drive my daughter's school bus than let you back in here.
(beat)
Lotsa luck, Peter.
Renny SLAMS his shop door.
Peter slumps, then begins to trudge away.
TEJEDA (O.S.)
Hey!
Peter starts, and turns towards the mouth of a dark alley that runs alongside the magic shop.
Peter squints his eyes.
PETER
I don't even have bus money, man.
A dark, mysterious figure, TEJEDA, emerges from the shadow.
TEJEDA
I don't want to take something from you, man. I want to give you something.
Tejeda holds up a little amber vial. It FLASHES in the sun.
Peter waves him off.
PETER
No thanks, I heard it leads to harder stuff.
TEJEDA
I thought you wanted to know about magic.
Peter stops in his tracks.
TEJEDA (CONT'D)
Real magic.
(beat)
Black magic.
Peter inches closer.
PETER
What's in that thing?
TEJEDA
The sweat from a voodoo master's brow. A gypsy's hot tears. The blood of an unknown sacrifice. And more.
Peter blanches.
PETER
No slice of lemon with that, huh?
Wordlessly, Tejeda swings the vial at Peter underhand.
Peter watches the gleaming vial arc in slow motion through the sky.
He snatches it from the air.
TEJEDA
It will allow you to know...the unknowable. To see...the unseen.
Peter looks at the vial.
PETER
One night in high school I drank half a bottle of Jack and did two beer bongs. How bad can this be?
TEJEDA
Indeed.
Tejeda shows a wide, cold smile, and disappears into the gloom of the alley.
Peter shrugs, and tucks the vial into one lint-lined pocket.

I cooked out about five or six hours' worth of hard-core writing on my "hoosier" documentary script. I'll shoot it to the director tomorrow, nonchalantly, like I haven't been working on it like a blue-assed dog for the last few days.

I've been talking so much about this crazy-ass PETER ROTTENTAIL script I rewrote over John Polonia's work (half-handwritten, half-spliced from another script called PSYCHO CLOWN) that I thought I would start posting it here as a follow-up to my Bigfoot epic AMONG US, one humble page at a time. It sounds like it'll be the next one completed. So here's the first salvo:

FADE IN:
INT. DREAMSCAPE -- NIGHT
A backlit figure, in a tall top hat and tails. He is running towards the camera.
In the foreground, a YOUNG BOY is running from the shadowed figure, a look of terror on his face.
A knife gleams in the man's hand.
The boy keeps running.
The backlit figure seems to be gliding forward under some mysterious power.
The knife flashes as it arcs through the air.
SMASH CUT TO:
INT. JAMES' HOME (BEDROOM) -- MORNING
JAMES NEELY, an older version of that scared kid, sits bolt upright in bed.
JAMES
NOOOO!!!
CUT TO:
INT. RICH KID'S HOUSE -- DAY
PETER KRIGSTEIN, a shabbily-dressed magician in an upscale home, is trying desperately to entertain some bored kids.
PETER
For my next trick--
The trick begins to unravel before it begins.
A chunk of birthday cake SPLATS against his threadbare cutaway jacket.
PETER (CONT'D)
Not the cake, kids. Anything but the cake.
CUT TO:
EXT. RICH KID'S HOUSE -- LATER
A frosting-spattered Peter trudges dejectedly towards his rusty sedan.
PETER
I got to get one more rung up the ladder.
He climbs in, and the sedan COUGHS to the life. It RATTLES out of the drive.

Give me a yell at johnoakdalton@hotmail.com.

Driver's Seat

Chunking away on a little doc script for the university here; did I mention the poem yesterday was from like the 1800s? That might have added to the flava. Tomorrow I'm going to try to set aside the whole day to hopefully finish it up; I'm about half-done today.

For the longest time I was eager to get done with this next batch of scripts, the four-feature deal through the Polonia Brothers; but now that its conclusion looms, all I see before me is the blasted plain of unrealized projects. Maybe I should type slower on the ghost pirate movie GIZZARD GUTS, and stave off the inevitable for yet another day.

On a happier note, I finished DROP CITY and had to return FORTRESS OF SOLITUDE and get back on the waiting list, so I was kind of at odds and ends for something to read (When I write a lot, it seems as if I have to constantly be feeding my head). My favorite library in Muncie is closed due to mercury poisoning (!) and the others were pretty well picked over. But I went to pick up my wife at the humble little volunteer library she works at and found two paperbacks I'd like to read; then today, I grabbed onto two more via bookcrossing.com. What kind of happy-go-lucky karma is that?

Give me a yell at johnoakdalton@hotmail.com.

Back Home Again in Indiana

I've finally got the rusty gears turning on a nonfiction project I'm working on about the origin of the word "Hoosier." Here's a bit from a funny poem I am going to quote from in the piece called "The Hoosier's Nest":

I'm told, in riding somewhere West,
A stranger found a Hoosier's Nest -
In other words, a buckeye cabin,
Just big enough to hold Queen Mab in;
Its situation, low but airy,
Was on the borders of a prairie;
And fearing he might be benighted,
He hailed the house, and then alighted.
The Hoosier met him at the door -
Their salutations soon were o'er.
He took the stranger's horse aside,
And to a sturdy sapling tied;
Then having stripped the saddle off,
He fed him in a sugar-trough.
The stranger stooped to enter in -
The entranced closing with a pin -
And manifested strong desire
To seat him by the log-heap fire,
Where half-a-dozen Hoosieroons,
With mush-and-milk, tin-cups, and spoons,
White heads, bare feet, and dirty faces,
Seemed much inclined to keep their places.
But Madam, anxious to display
Her rough but undisputed sway,
Her offspring to the ladder led,
And cuffed the youngsters up to bed.
Invited shortly to partake
Of venison, milk, and johnny cake,
The stranger made a hearty meal,
And glances round the room would steal.
One side was lined with divers garments,
The other spread with skins of varmints;
Dried pumpkins overhead were strung,
Where venison hams in plenty hung;
Two rifles placed above the door;
Three dogs lay stretched upon the floor -
In short, the domicile was rife
With specimens of Hoosier life.

Yeah, 'bout sums it up. We have John Finley to thank for cementing the word "Hoosier" in popular lore. But I like this bit too:

Blest Indiana! in thy soil
Are found the sure rewards of toil,
Where honest poverty and worth
May make a Paradise on earth.
With feelings proud we contemplate
The rising glory of our State;
Nor take offense by application
Of its good-natured appellation.
'T is true among the crowds that roam
To seek for fortune or a home,
It happens that we often find
Empiricism of a kind.
A strutting fop, who boasts of knowledge,
Acquired at some far eastern college,
Expects to take us by surprise,
And dazzle our astonished eyes.
He boasts of learning, skill, and talents
Which, in the scale, would Andes balance;
Cuts widening swaths from day to day,
And in a month he runs away.
Not thus the honest son of toil,
Who settles here to till the soil,
and with intentions just and good,
Acquires an ample livelihood:
He is (and not the little-great)
The bone and sinew of the State.
With six-horse team to one-horse cart,
We hail here from every part;
And some you'll see, sans shoes or socks on,
With snake-pole and a yoke of oxen;
Others with pack-horse, dog, and rifle,
Make emigration quite a trifle.

Give me a shout at johnoakdalton@hotmail.com

Monday morning my head is bad...but it's worth it, for the times that I had...

I talked to Mark Polonia and found out that they knocked out a big chunk of PETER ROTTENTAIL, the voodoo-spawned killer rabbit movie, over the last few days, and they were pleased with the results. Hard to believe that a few weeks ago they didn't have a bunny suit and I hadn't sent them a script. They hope to have it done by Christmas, the first of this high-wire act of trying to finish four features in twelve months for Sub Rosa. It looks like my DEMONS ON A DEAD END STREET will be up next, so I guess I should rewrite the ending like they asked. Then it's GIZZARD GUTS, and then I'll look at the smoking ruin of my writerly life and decide what to do next. I still have to finish up a nonfiction doc script, a few new scenes on THE PAYBACK MAN for Ivan Rogers, then maybe something else that I have some very tentative feelers out for.

Give me a yell at johnoakdalton@hotmail.com.

Dirty Low Down Shame

I spent today cutting and painting the trim, and painted the door and window, in my new improved bathroom; a long day, but I still get a warm feeling when I realize our old "crackhouse bathroom" is gone into a landfill somewhere. I may try to grade some papers from my scriptwriting class tonight. Some days I get a charge from going through other people's creative process, and other days it frankly just saps your will to live (let someone say that in a writing seminar!). But I'm gaining "life experience," which is good if you are writing TERMS OF ENDEARMENT but doesn't always hold you in good stead when you're writing bigfoot movies and pirahna movies and ghost pirate movies. Speaking of which, the bulk of PETER ROTTENTAIL went before the cameras yesterday and will continue on through the weekend, I believe, and I'm eager for an update from the Polonia Brothers on how it's going. I wish I was back in the wilds of Pennsylvania shooting with them.

Give me a yell at johnoakdalton@hotmail.com.

The Eyes of the Sun

I worked a 14-hour day on a field TV production yesterday and had a long day Wednesday, so I am finally checking back in.

I have always made fun of the whole idea of sitting in your underwear under a tree and waiting for the muse, but sometimes its tough not to wish for it a bit. Surely experience is drawn from waking life, from the floating world, and nature (as well as art) abhors a vacuum; but sometimes I could use a break.

Hopefully I will have some time tomorrow to work on my ghost pirate script and another freelance project I have promised; the keyboard goes cold in my absence. But real life often intervenes. I keep thinking, this is all life experience for future stories; but in some ways I've filled up enough life experience for an s-load of stories. So, enough for a bit.

What's that Chinese curse? "May you live in interesting times." Indeed.

Give me a yell at johnoakdalton@hotmail.com.

What Condition My Condition Is In

FROM THE KEYBOARD:
Poking along on GIZZARD GUTS, a ghost pirate movie rewrite for the Polonia Brothers (not needed until Spring, but I want to keep at it), and a nonfiction doc at work about the origin of the word "Hoosier."

ON THE BEDSIDE TABLE:
A stack of fun TOM STRONG comics I borrowed from my pal Doug, all Alan Moore retro Silver Age hipster cool, and a handful of D&D miniatures my pal the Caveman gave me at his house Saturday.

READING:
FORTRESS OF SOLITUDE by Jonathan Lethem, a sprawling 70s-era epic about two Brooklyn kids, one black and one white, who become close friends because of their tangled home lives and their shared interest in Marvel Comics. A great read.

IN THE CAR:
As I commute an hour a day, I listen to a lot of books on tape; and yet am still chunking through DROP CITY by T.C. Boyle, another huge 70s epic about the end of the "Summer of Love" and its effect on a commune who ill-advisedly move en-masse to Alaska. A rich story.

COMICS:
I came across two great small-press comics at the shop yesterday, both by Hoosiers. One is ROCKET GIRL, from Pickle Press, about a young woman whose obsession over a hero called "The Fire Chief" leads her to don a pair of tights herself; some fresh ideas and nice art throughout. The other is TRUST, from Graphic Panda, about a young college kid whose parents hide a secret life, which is about to spill over into his own more laid-back existence. A good genre-busting story with great art. I liked 'em so much, I linked 'em over to the side there. I've got to hang with my homeboys.

MOVIES:
I've been watching a lot of Jason Santo's work lately, of MINDSCAPE PICTURES, compiled on BENT VOL. 3 and MINDSCAPE PICTURES PRESENTS #1. Especially potent is "Here Comes Your Man," a searing allegory featuring Gene Dante, in a magnetic performance, as a man who maliciously spreads AIDS to a series of conquests. Visually striking in shooting and editing and thematically disturbing; probably Santo's strongest piece (in many senses) and has a cold knockout role for Dante, one of those rare microcinema actors who seem coiled to leap to the next level.
Santo's work is very polished and professional, and his subjects range from romantic comedy to sci-fi to drama and beyond, so each of his compilation DVDs includes at least one short that will really knock the wind out of you.


Give me a yell at johnoakdalton@hotmail.com.

I took a day off from my reality TV program "This Damn House" on Saturday and did some gaming with my pal The Caveman in honor of his birthday. He ran "X-Crawl," a variation of D&D with an emphasis on fun and mayhem. It's good to recharge my batteries a bit and maybe get those creative juices flowing for the work to come.

I spoke with the Polonia Brothers, and they are planning their major push on PETER ROTTENTAIL this coming weekend; hopefully the weather will hold. I also spoke with Ivan Rogers about working up a few new scenes for THE PAYBACK MAN as he continues to shape up that project for the big screen. I've been trying to stick with 3-5 pages a day writing, but with the house in disarray it's been difficult. Hopefully as the dust clears, literally and figuratively this week, I will point myself back in the right direction.

I tried to take my Mac Performa down to the Mission, after being turned away by Goodwill, and was told they only take Pentium-whatever and above. And they didn't want my encyclopedias, either. What kind of tech-saturated world do we live in when the homeless shelter won't take Macs and encyclopedias?

Let me know at johnoakdalton@hotmail.com.