Tennessee Flat-Top Box

Unfortunately I'm getting battered on all sides today, so here's a bit more from my all-but-the-kitchen sink b-movie epic RING OF THE SORCERESS:

CUT TO:
EXT. DEEP WOODS -- LATER
The pair walk through the woods, warily.
PERYL
The vision you had back there...
SHADOW
An arrow, finding its mark in my chest.
PERYL
Your visions come waking now, the closer we get to Castle Ebon...Tis curious.
Peryl turns back from addressing Shadow and almost bumps right into a skull speared on a splintered stick. The pair eye the skull warily.
PERYL (CONT'D)
I was feeling the chill of the tomb around me. I wondered if it was just your company.
SHADOW
It's a warning.
Peryl looks at him with a raised eyebrow.
PERYL
It's not an invitation for a seat by a warm fire, I'll grant you that.
Peryl scans the woods.
PERYL (CONT'D)
Mayhaps it was not you I felt after all.
There is a rustle of silk, and a flash of black between the trees. Peryl becomes more ill at ease.
PERYL (CONT'D)
Which way is the road, shadow?
SHADOW
I...I had hoped you would tell me.
There is a CAWING from above which draws the duo's eyes. Above, a large flying LIZARD wings its way across the sky.
When they look back down, a sexy, raven-haired woman swathed in silky black robes, CYMBALLINE, stands before them. Peryl is startled.
CYMBALLINE
You two aren't from around here, are you?

Give me a yell at johnoakdalton@hotmail.com.

Onde Anda O Meu Amour

I've fielded a couple of emails about RING OF THE SORCERESS, surprisingly enough, so I'll try to post it more steadily. Today, stop-motion monsters.

CUT TO:
EXT. DEEP WOODS (CLEARING)-- CONTINUOUS
The pair enter a clearing dappled in long shadows. Peryl sits down wearily on a log.
SHADOW
What's wrong?
PERYL
You may not need sleep or food, shadow, but I am sorely needing both. I had hoped to secure some passing game.
Suddenly, Shadow grabs his head and lets loose a low MOAN.
CUT TO:
EXT. WOODS (CLEARING) -- MORNING
Fast, blurry cuts through Shadow's eyes feature a hand grasping a crossbow, and an arrow flying through the air. The TWANG and WHOOSH of the crossbow is heard again and again.
CUT TO:
EXT. DEEP WOODS (CLEARING) -- CONTINUOUS
Shadow is grasping at his chest. He comes out of the strong vision and looks around.
PERYL
What is it?
SHADOW
I know not. This clearing reminded me of something...somewhere.
(beat)
I will catch some game for you.
Shadow squints and scans the forest. He sees a slight movement to the side, and a rustle of bushes. He unsheathes his sword and leaves Peryl seated.
CUT TO:
EXT. DEEP WOODS -- LATER
Shadow is tracking something SNUFFLING in the forest. He is creeping closer, closer...
Suddenly, a good-sized, multi-fanged, heavy-scaled lizard bursts from the brush and lets out a ROAR. Shadow stabs at it several times, then bursts out running.
The lizard is in hot pursuit.
CUT TO:
EXT. DEEP WOODS (CLEARING)-- CONTINUOUS
In the distance, Peryl's attention is draw to the noise.
CUT TO:
EXT. DEEP WOODS -- CONTINUOUS
Shadow looks back over his shoulder as the lizard closes. Suddenly, the trees above the lizard part, and a giant lizard head dives down and plucks the smaller, tasty-looking lizard right from the ground.
Shadow stops dead and looks on with amazement.
The giant lizard swallows the smaller in one, two, three gulps, then turns and ambles away, taking no notice of the tiny swordsman.
Shadow expels a long breath and makes his way back to Peryl.
EXT. DEEP WOODS (CLEARING) -- MOMENTS LATER
Peryl stands up from her perch and looks curiously at Shadow.
SHADOW
I fear you'll have to look for roots and berries.
Shadow brushes past her without another word, as a question dies on her lips.
CUT TO:

Give me a yell at johnoakdalton@hotmail.com.

The Man Who Sold The World

Some thoughts on the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame: neat design, sensory overload, lots of multimedia. I liked looking at the handwritten lyrics, on odd scraps of paper, though a lot of those guys can't spell. I mean really can't spell. Also of interest: how small a lot of people's clothes really were. Many rock stars must be shorter and skinnier than one might think. The only clothes I think I could have gotten into were Peter Gabriel's and a couple of the guys from ZZ Top. Some weird stuff there--Jon Bon Jovi's bad grades; a bag of keys some guy from The Eagles kept stealing from hotel rooms; a letter Paul Simon wrote to Art Garfunkel from summer camp.

The next day we went to the Cleveland Museum of Art, at the other end of the spectrum, so to speak. A lot of tremendous stuff there, a room full of Picasso, lots more there than you might suspect. Definitely follow the link.

It sort of dawned on me today that I have spent a lot more time reading news about comics lately--Comics Continuum, The Hurting, Fanboy Rampage, Newsarama, CBR, so on--than actually reading comic books.

Also, I want to give a shout out to all of the people hitting me from www.pulpmovies.com lately, which is cool since I don't think I know anybody over there, or why they put up a link to me.

Give me a yell at johnoakdalton@hotmail.com.

Midnight Train to Georgia

Off to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland, so today I'll just post more of RING OF THE SORCERESS:

DISSOLVE TO:
EXT. DEEP WOODS (STREAM) -- AFTERNOON
Shadow splashes across the narrow stream, forging ahead, while Peryl stops, and cups her hand for a drink. She crouches and dips her hand once, twice, then splashes water over her face. For a moment, all that has happened weighs upon her.
Then she notices that Shadow is gone.
She looks around slowly, the panic rising.
PERYL
Shadow?
A hand falls on her shoulder. Peryl jumps bolt upright, and turns to face--Devlin Silverthorn.
SILVERTHORN
My child.
PERYL
Master, is it truly you?
SILVERTHORN
It is.
PERYL
How did you come to me?
SILVERTHORN
I am uncertain...though I know that magic is strong in this wood. And our Order has always had strong ties to nature.
Peryl bows her head.
PERYL
I am so sorry, master...had I not been out walking--
SILVERTHORN
You would be a shadow here beside me. Do not worry about such things. The end is the same for all. Only the paths are different.
(beat)
Listen, Peryl, for I sense my time is short. This land cries tears of blood. The cruel whip comes from the cold sky above. And only your companion has the means to stop this madness. Guard this one, Peryl, as he strives to guard you.
PERYL
My sentry skills are weak. Your shade before me is testament to that.
SILVERTHORN
You must be strong. Mayhaps I can give you something to help you on your dark journey.
Silverthorn produces a simple wooden talisman on a hempen rope. Peryl bends her head and Silverthorn slips it around her neck.
SILVERTHORN (CONT'D)
Let this be a ward against the dark magicks ahead.
Silverthorn takes a step backward.
SILVERTHORN (CONT'D)
Now I sense the gate tween your world and mine is closing. Fare thee well, child. The eyes of the land are upon you...their innocent blood is yours to shed or to save.
Peryl reaches out.
PERYL
Master, wait! There is so much unsaid...I never told you that...you were a father to me, the Abbey a home...
But Peryl is talking to the wind and the trees. Suddenly, Shadow is at her back.
SHADOW
Peryl?
She rudely shrugs out of his grasp.
PERYL
We stay together, or fall alone. Remember that, shadow!
She strides off, leaving a surprised Shadow in her wake.
DISSOLVE TO:
EXT. DEEP WOODS -- AFTERNOON
Peryl and Shadow are picking their way through a dark part of the forest, thick with moss and twisted boughs.
PERYL
I wonder now if we should have left the road.
SHADOW
I felt eyes upon me. I didn't feel we would be safe. You saw the Abbey.
PERYL
When I close my eyes I still see the Abbey.
CUT TO:


Give me a holler at johnoakdalton@hotmail.com.

Kentucky Rain

Very busy today, so I'll just try to get caught up on my b-fantasy epic RING OF THE SORCERESS. Suprisingly, I've had a few people write emails about it and want to see more.

In blog news, someone found my site by typing in "men in tighty whities."

CUT TO:
EXT. WOODS -- DAY
A SMASH CUT TO a bloody, moaning VILLAGER falling to the dirt. One of Boris' new monstrous Silent Guard turns away, his fangs bloodied. Several other villagers, young and old, are huddled around a wagon in fear.
VILLAGER
Mercy, sir knight.
BORIS
There is mercy for those who serve the queen.
(beat)
Have you seen a female monk come this way?
VILLAGER
Have pity, sir.
BORIS
Pity.
Boris crouches down next to the stunned villager and speaks in a low voice.
BORIS (CONT'D)
It is you who should pity me, though you are lowborn. My queen told me to bury her son in a pauper's grave, and then wanted me to dig him up again. On this fool's errand all of my men were slain, and now monsters stand in their stead. And with them I cannot find one young grave-robbing maiden.
Boris realizes that he has been talking to himself for a few moments, as the villager's eyes have glazed over. Boris wearily gets to his feet and turns his back to the cowering villagers.
BORIS (CONT'D)
We'll continue the search elsewhere.
A second villager hesitantly steps forward.
VILLAGER 2
Good sir knight.
Boris stops up short and looks around.
BORIS
Speak.
The villager swallows, rethinking his boldness.
VILLAGER 2
You said a maiden alone. None such has passed. But a maiden and a young swordsman journeyed by.
BORIS
I have no interest in a knight topping a local wench.
VILLAGER 2
A common sight indeed. But this man-at-arms looked a bit like our lost prince.
Boris gives the villager a cold look, causing him to break a sweat.
VILLAGER 2 (CONT'D)
That is why the sight stayed in my head, sir knight.
BORIS
Best it depart again. Which way did this phantom and his mistress pass, pray thee?
VILLAGER 2
North, my lord. Through the haunted wood.
The villager points a quaking finger. Boris looks on with disgust.
BORIS
Every village in this kingdom has an idiot, a harlot, and a haunted wood. Were all the woods of the kingdom truly haunted, we would all live in clay huts. I suppose there's a witch as well.
The villager nods gravely.
VILLAGER 2
Her name is Cymballine.
BORIS
Cymballine, eh? More suited for a dancing girl than a witch. I think the Silent Guard will be more than a match for the crone.
Boris flips the villager a gold coin. His monstrous knights fall in, as the villagers watch with wide-eyed silence.
After Boris is off-screen, the villager elbows an old man with a dirty eyepatch who was skulking behind the group.
VILLAGER 2
Dernor, why did you not speak up? The witch took your eye, not your tongue!
DERNOR just shakes his head and fades farther back into the group.

Give me a shout at johnoakdalton@hotmail.com.

The Savage Caves

I just learned my wife was awarded a residency at a writer's retreat called the Anderson Center in Redwing, Minnesota, this spring. It's a real kudo for her. It's been good, because we each egg the other on to keep working. As soon as they start offering fellowships for killer rabbit movies, I am so there.

And here's more from my b-movie fantasy epic RING OF THE SORCERESS, which has also been called SWORD OF THE ZOMBIE and DOOMED SWORD RISING. Today, medieval gratuitousness:

DISSOLVE TO:
EXT. WOODS -- MORNING
A strong, burly WOODSMAN, stripped to the waist, is chopping logs in a dense forest. The early morning light shows warm rays of light through the trees.
The woodsman stops and wipes sweat from his dripping brow. There is a RUSTLING in the trees that draws the man's attention. He grasps his axe warily.
WOODSMAN
Who goes there?
Feature the woodsman's POV as he searches the light-stippled trees. There is a sudden shift of movement behind him.
WOODSMAN (CONT'D)
I care not for rude surprises this early in the day.
A comely MILKMAIDEN appears over his shoulder.
MILKMAIDEN
Boo!
The woodsman whirls and drops his axe.
WOODSMAN
Unless, of course, I am surprised by a lovely young lass. It is early, fair one.
The maiden swings a bucket.
MILKMAIDEN
The cows don't sleep in.
The woodsman gives her an appraising look.
WOODSMAN
Nor will they tell the master if you are a few moments late.
The milkmaid GIGGLES and skips off into the trees. The woodsman, grinning, sets his axe down to follow.
The woodsman is looking between the trees, listening to the young woman's LAUGHTER. In a moment, she is gone. The woodsman is drawn forward, and finds the mikmaiden's dress hanging over a limb.
The woodsman searches, half smiling, when he comes up short.
The woman stands nude, smiling, the sun dancing in her flowing hair and across her smooth skin.
The woodsman moves forward into her embrace.
DISSOLVE TO:
EXT. WOODS -- LATER
The milkmaiden is stretched, languidly, on a soft bed of grass. The woodsman is standing and dressing.
MILKMAIDEN
Pray thee, bring me my garment.
WOODSMAN
I fancy it where it is...hanging over a tree limb.
The maiden laughs and flings a stick at him. He easily flicks away the half-hearted throw and disappears into the trees.
The woodsman finds the dress and slings it over one broad shoulder.
Suddenly there is an unearthly SCREAM. The smile drops from the woodsman's face and he breaks into a run.
He comes up short as he almost falls over the maiden's bloodied corpse. After a moment of stunned disbelief, he turns and lumbers toward his axe, left jutting from a tree not far from the spot.
He sees the axe looming large in the foreground and tries to close the gap. He reaches a hand for it--and the hand is abruptly severed by a flashing blade.
The woodsman ROARS, lifting his gushing stump in amazement.
A ragged, diseased hang grasps the axe and lifts in from the log. It WHISTLES toward the woodsman's chest and cuts off his roar.
There is the glimpse of a glowing red eye, and a throaty CHUCKLE.
CUT TO:
EXT. WOODS -- MORNING
Shadow sits bolt upright, shouting, bringing his sword from its sheath in a shining arc.
Shadow sees Peryl watching intently, her back against a tree, her arms wrapped around her knees. He tries to find his voice.
SHADOW
A...maiden, and a woodsman...sent to their doom this morn at the edge of steel--
PERYL
(interrupts)
You were there all night. I watched.
SHADOW
You...watched?
PERYL
Did you think I could sleep with you lying at my side, shadow?
(beat)
And...I had to know.
SHADOW
It wasn't me.
PERYL
It wasn't you.
SHADOW
But I saw it...through my eyes.
PERYL
Through someone's eyes.
SHADOW
But how?
PERYL
How did you rise from your cold grave, shadow?
(beat)
Mayhaps the answer lies in the castle ahead. I pray it is, as we have left much behind.


Give me a yell at johnoakdalton@hotmail.com.

Stoned Soul Picnic

Today I got this week's NEWSWEEK and opened right to an ad featuring Hunter Austin, one of the stars in my bigfoot epic AMONG US. It's one of those Microsoft Office "Great Moments" ads, and she is standing on a box of files holding flowers while office mates applaud.

I almost didn't recognize her, as the whole time I saw her during the shooting she was wearing a black knit cap--not unlike the one worn by another starlet who was also being chased around in the woods by unseen forces in another mock documentary. At one point I even said to Hunter, "Hey, the girl from BLAIR WITCH called, and she'd like her hat back," upon which everyone in the cast and crew stared at my blankly. I thought she wore the hat on purpose, as some sort of homage. Apparently I was the only one who thought that. But you, loyal readers, can judge any parallels for yourself, when AMONG US comes out on DVD the last Tuesday in April.

But Hunter will always have a soft spot in my heart, as she was the first professional actress I ever heard speak one of my lines, the first day I was on the set. Unfortunately the sentence had the word "cornhole" in it.

Day job news: I was doing tech support on a video conference that featured an actor named Richard Cansino who was giving a theater class here some advice straight from the heart of L.A. One thing he said that was interesting was that you should not set a time limit on your dreams to make it in Hollywood. I used to give myself a year at a time to meet my goals. But I've since learned it's so up and down it's foolish to guage it by time. The next disaster, or the next big break, is always around the corner. Either you're in or you're out--it's binary. A 1 or a 0.

Give me a holler at johnoakdalton@hotmail.com.

Cherry Hill Park

Not much time today, so here's a bit more from my RING OF THE SORCERESS, my dark fantasy with, as we'll see in this installment, space aliens and zombies. See, I said it had everything.

CUT TO:
INT. CASTLE EBON (QUEEN'S CHAMBERS) -- MOMENTS LATER
Boris enters the well-appointed room, bowing.
BORIS
M'lady, forgive this disturbance...
Boris' head snaps up as he hears the sounds of soft, orgasmic MOANING from behind a curtained door. Shocked, yet fascinated, Boris holds his ground.
The sounds FADE AWAY, and Boris starts creeping towards the curtained opening. He reaches out his hand.
Suddenly, the curtain snaps back, revealing QUEEN ESME HANGFYR, whose head-to-toe black garments and veil do not hide her beauty.
Boris drops to one knee.
BORIS (CONT'D)
M'lady.
ESME
(drily)
Sir Boris.
Boris stays on one knee, his head down. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches a glimpse of what appears to be a tentacle slithering away behind the curtain. He swallows hard and tries to regain his thoughts.
BORIS
My queen, forgive this disturbance, but you asked me to come to you immediately upon my return.
ESME
I recall. Now rise, Sir Boris. You are the captain of my Silent Guard, not a commoner, and can raise your eyes to mine in my bedchamber.
As she beckons to him, a ring with an unnatural glowing stone shines on one long finger. Boris stands, taking the queen's full measure.
BORIS
The tidings I bring...are not good. The body is gone, and the female monk is afoot, though what she would want with a corpse...
ESME
So it was as we had heard.
BORIS
Aye.
ESME
And the other monks told you nothing?
BORIS
They fought well, those monks, though their back was broken after I slew their master. They finished my three men, but I raised the town militia under your banner, and we returned to put sword to every man and woman and a torch to the abbey.
(beat)
The Order of the Crystal Skull is gone, m'lady.
ESME
As it should be. The sun rises on new gods to worship every day.
Boris says nothing. Esme undoes her veil to sip from a goblet of wine. She is a striking but cruel-eyed beauty. Boris' face plainly registers shock. Esme takes note.
ESME (CONT'D)
You seem to look upon me with revulsion, Sir Boris.
BORIS
No, my queen.
ESME
Then what is it?
Boris struggles for words.
BORIS
It seems...that mourning suits you, my queen.
ESME
Our new allies from the distant sea have provided me with their ointments and potions. Our king died in his sleep not many moons ago, and our lord prince found death by misfortune while hunting a fortnight's past. I will need my youth and strength to rule this kingdom for some time to come.
BORIS
Your allies, from across the distant sea...this "sea of stars"...I cannot find it on any map.
Esme gives Boris a cool look.
ESME
Why, Sir Boris, I did not know you had your letters. But surely you must know that the map-makers in this provincial kingdom do not know everything there is about the world.
(beat)
Which lends me another notion. You seem to be short men-at-arms. In that our newfound allies have offered to help as well. Come.
Esme leads an astounded Boris from her chambers.
CUT TO:
INT. CASTLE EBON (HALLWAY) -- LATER
Boris follows Esme's wake to where several hardened men stand in a cluster. When Esme arrives, Desmond, hanging back at the door and watching apprehensively, snaps to rigid attention.
DESMOND
Hail Queen Esme!
The men fall to one knee, heads bowed.
ESME
Rise and meet your new commander, Sir Boris Halfmoon.
The men look up, a rumbling growl in the back of their throats. Boris sees that these are not quite men after all, but sport a variety of tusks, blunted horns, fangs, snoutlike noses, and other displays of inhumanity.
BORIS
What manner of...men...are these?
ESME
They are newly-knighted men of the Silent Guard. Clearly, your former swordsmen were not up to the task. These you will find more...attentive.
Boris takes this in for a long moment.
BORIS
By your command.
ESME
You know what I task you to do, my captain.
(beat)
Find that girl!
DISSOLVE TO:

Give me a shout out at johnoakdalton@hotmail.com.

I've Got the World on a String

I took Friday off for my talk, so I missed the blogophere phenom FridayFive at fridayfive.org. So here it is, with responses off of the top of my head:

If you...

1. ...owned a restaurant, what kind of food would you serve? BBQ.

2. ...owned a small store, what kind of merchandise would you sell? Comics and gaming stuff.

3. ...wrote a book, what genre would it be? Sci-fi or fantasy.

4. ...ran a school, what would you teach? Moviemaking.

5. ...recorded an album, what kind of music would be on it? Ramones covers.

Give me a shout at johnoakdalton@hotmail.com.

Nobody But Me

Yesterday I gave my presentation on "Almost, Almost Hollywood" at the E.B. Ball Cetner in Muncie and got a pretty good response. I had a lot of retirees up front whose only requirement was that I "talk loud" and some younger guys in the back who would probably like to do what I have done, although hopefully better. A real mixed group of people. We went over with questions, and quite a few people stayed after as well, a good sign. I believe there was about 25 people there. They served a good lunch as well.

A woman in the front asked me if her grandson was going to be able to make a career in screenwriting and I tried to let her down easy.

Today I just about finished up polishes on SEX MACHINE for director Christopher Sharpe, and hope to send that out tomorrow.

Give me a shout at johnoakdalton@hotmail.com.

Wots...Uh The Deal

It looks like I'll be off to Microcinemafest 2004 this summer in beautiful Rapid City, South Dakota, and be involved in some yet-undisclosed capacity. I'm looking forward to it.

Today a bit I wrote about the Florida Film Festival appeared over at MicroCinemaScene if you want to check that out as well. I'm going to have a bunch of reviews popping up there in the next few weeks.

I've been a bit lazy about posting my script for the b-fantasy shoestring epic RING OF THE SORCERESS with all of the other excitement going on, so here's some of it today:

CUT TO:
EXT. WOODS -- LATER
Peryl and Shadow are striding side by side. Suddenly, Shadow's attention is drawn by something off in the woods.
He draws his blade, but after a moment Peryl stays his arm.
Peryl has spotted the tattered cloak of the seer, shuffling away between the trees.
PERYL
Wait. I know that man. A seer. Perhaps he can tell us what happened at the abbey.
Peryl runs toward the man, who is still shuffling at the same pace.
PERYL (CONT'D)
SEER!
Peryl grasps his shoulder and spins him around; then her face registers shock.
Blood is running down his chin, as he tries to mouth words from the black maw where his tongue used to be.
CUT TO:
INT. CASTLE EBON (THRONE ROOM) -- LATER
Boris limps through the large stone hall hung with tapestries, looking for the queen. He rounds a corner and bumps into DESMOND KIER, a foppish aide in silk splendor.
BORIS
Where is the queen?
DESMOND
She's not to be disturbed.
Boris grabs up a handful of silky tunic and juts out his jaw.
BORIS
Where?


Give me a yell at johnoakdalton@hotmail.com.

The Beat Goes On

It didn't take long before astute reader Joe "Dr. Squid" Sherlock weighed in on "Amost Holly" with 'sounds like a porno.'

I guess I saw that one coming.

Today it's snowing at a good clip here in Indiana. I wouldn't say Indiana is a harsh mistress; but she can be full of whimsy at times.

I wouldn't say Minnesota was a harsh mistress, either, from my time spent living there; she could be really great, but harsh at other times, but moving there you knew that going in.

1st Grade Teacher Update: Oddly, the last FridayFive asked about first-grade teachers. I thought mine was still alive, but confirmed it when I saw her in the grocery yesterday.

Speaking of which, I liked last week's FridayFive so much I thought I would do it today, since I was gone last Friday:


1. What was the last song you heard?

"Gypsies, Tramps, and Thieves," as I was pulling into the parking garage for work this morning.

2. What were the last two movies you saw?

EASY at the Florida Film Festival and PINK FLOYD LIVE AT POMPEII on DVD the other night.

3. What were the last three things you purchased?

A pack of minty gum, a tank of gas, a dozen donuts, this morning on the way to work.

4. What four things do you need to do this weekend?

Finish polishing up SEX MACHINE, rack my wine, drive my daughter to her babysitting job, pay a library fine.

5. Who are the last five people you talked to?

All coworkers--Tech Coordinator, Operations Manager, Chief Engineer, Production Manager, Equipment Coordinator.

Give me a yell at johnoakdalton@hotmail.com.

Set the Controls for the Heart of the Sun

Trying to catch up today with the near-100 emails I found upon my triumphant return to the Heartland of America.

I am also getting ready to give a lunch talk Friday at the E.B. Ball Center in Muncie, Indiana called "Almost Hollywood," which probably should have been called "Almost, Almost Hollywood," but is better than the title that unfortunately went out in a mass email--"Almost Holly."

Yes, the moving story of a transgendered man trying to find acceptance in a woman's world.

Other interpretations of this title are welcome.

Hopefully I will be of interest to people either way.

Give me a yell at johnoakdalton@hotmail.com.

Take Me Home, Country Roads

I returned from a long week away yesterday--three hotels in five days. The down side of the perennial rock star fantasy we all have, I suspect. It was 80 when I left Florida and 40 when I arrived in Indiana--a return to harsh reality.

I got a real charge out of the digital media arts conference I went to--seeing people challenging traditional ideas of media. I especially enjoyed a side trip to the Florida Film Festival, where I saw some interesting films in the cool Enzian Theater. Especially good were a riveting documentary about illegal immigrants called FARMINGVILLE and a complex comedy-drama called EASY.

I got feedback from Chris Sharpe on my SEX MACHINE rewrite and still have a few bits to work on with that.

Catching up on laundry and cleaning today.

And I found a new Ohio radio station--"The Point," from Dayton, another "retro" station. Bless you, Ohio radio!

Give me a yell at johnoakdalton@hotmail.com.

Me and Bobby McGee

So first my classic rock station from Greenville, Ohio, changed to country, then my 70s soul and disco station from Dayton turned to "Smooth Jazz." Curse you, Ohio radio!

For those IMDB fans, info for Peter Rottentail is starting to show up there.

I have to ship out my SEX MACHINE rewrite tonight to director Christopher Sharpe. I'm pleased with how the first go-round turned out. Hopefully he feels the same way.

I'm going to be way, way off-line for a few days, and will return to the blogosphere next Monday, hopefully with new adventures to share.

Give me a yell at johnoakdalton@hotmail.com.

Night on Disco Mountain

This is from fridayfive.org, the blogosphere phenomenon.
What was...

1. ...your first grade teacher's name? Mrs. Miller, who I believe is still alive and well and retired today, because I think I saw her at Bob Evans not too long ago.

2. ...your favorite Saturday morning cartoon? Superfriends, natch.

3. ...the name of your very first best friend? Matt Booty.

4. ...your favorite breakfast cereal? Count Chocola.

5. ...your favorite thing to do after school? Watch "The New Zoo Review."

Give me a shout at johnoakdalton@hotmail.com.

Matty Groves

I also write reviews for Pomp and Circumstantial Evidence, a little magazine that comes out (I think) quarterly from the Magna Cum Murder Mystery Conference held at Ball State University. Here's the last batch of books I reviewed:

MCKENZIE’S FRIEND by Philip Davison
Harry Fielding is a perhaps only slightly retired MI-5 agent who gets mixed up in the affairs of an old pal with a lucrative side business as a crooked cop. In telling the story of Harry Fielding, Davison evokes and updates John Le Carre’s George Smiley for the 21st century, adding a dollop of Nick Hornby-style dry wit with his observations of contemporary British culture alongside the muscular prose. A satisfying read.

THE VIKING FUNERAL by Stephen J. Cannell
An L.A. cop with myriad personal problems is dealt a real whammy when he sees a dead partner cruising down the freeway in a souped-up muscle car. Before long a deeply-engrained conspiracy with tentacles all through the L.A.P.D. comes to light, with the unstable cop at its center and his disbelieving lover and coworkers all around him. Cannell is probably best know as a television writer (with series like THE ROCKFORD FILES and THE COMMISH under his belt), and his writing still carries a whiff of that medium, with its glossy plotting and somewhat simple characterizations. Still a fun read, especially for fans of his television work, and part of a series featuring protagonist Shane Scully.

FADED STEEL HEAT by Glen Cook
A curious genre-bender, placing a hard-boiled noir-style detective in a medieval fantasy setting; sort of Richard S. Prather by way of Terry Brooks, or Mickey Spillane by way of Gary Gygax, and if you know what I am talking about then this whole series of books by Cook is right up your alley. Liberal doses of comedy, along with the traditional fantasy and mystery elements, makes it a palatable enough concoction, but might not be for all tastes.

SAND BLIND by Julian Rathbone
In today’s political climate, this thriller from the mid-90s by British author Rathbone is probably worth another look. A sadsack Brit with an unraveling personal life ends up, through a complicated sequence of events, getting involved with the impending Gulf War; but whose side he is on, and how he got there, is at the core of the mystery. A complex politically-themed suspenser, SAND BLIND ping-pongs from the palaces of Hussein to the corridors of Washington and everywhere in between, and is rife with double- and triple-dealings and sudden twists of fate. Though not without its flaws, Rathbone’s novel is certainly food for thought when seen through the lens of current events.

TISHOMINGO BLUES by Elmore Leonard
Elmore Leonard has had a long career spinning stories of tarnished cops, soft-hearted crooks, sardonic flim-flam men, motor-mouthed hookers, and other denizens of the fringes of crime. His early novels were largely set in Detroit, but lately Leonard has been taking his cast of characters to new locales far and wide. TISHOMINGO BLUES finds a high-dive daredevil getting mixed up with opposing criminal forces vying for the burgeoning drug trade sprouting up around local casinos in Tishomingo, Mississippi. Many colorful locals, and a surprising denouement at a Civil War re-enactment, add some variety to Leonard’s usual modus operandi of witty dialogue, offbeat situations, and sudden, explosive violence.

THE DEATH YOU DESERVE by David Bowker
Caustic, corrosively funny British novel features a somewhat lackadaisical horror writer whose career—and life—begins to take many sharp twists and turns after he first befriends, and then subsequently angers, a menacing local crime boss. The crime boss dispatches a hitman who, fortunately for our hero, is an old schoolyard chum who believes he still owes a debt of gratitude to the writer. How this hitman then insinuates himself into the rest of the writer’s life is at turns hilarious and chilling, leading to a stunning conclusion. Reminds one of what “The Sopranos” might have been like had it originated on the BBC, THE DEATH YOU DESERVE is dark-humored and hard-nosed.

MATCHSTICK MEN by Eric Garcia
A grifter whose mind is able to weave complex sting operations--but is also often seized by crippling obsessive-compulsive disorders—finds his life changing dramatically upon the arrival of a long-lost teenaged daughter. Garcia evokes the edginess of Jim Thompson, and blends it with deft characterizations and situations, for a compelling story. The inner workings of the various scams, and the equally complicated inner workings of a family, are interesting reading throughout. An admirably byzantine plot ends on a bittersweet note, but Garcia has created a fully-realized world and characters the reader can invest in.

Give me a yell at johnoakdalton@hotmail.com.

What's The Buzz

I worked on SEX MACHINE for Christopher Sharpe last night, trying to get the first draft squared away before I head to Orlando next week.

I've noticed lots and lots of blogs talk about politics and religion and such, so for the first time I'm going to try to follow the trend.

"The Passion"--looks too grisly. Can I just stick with "Jesus Christ Superstar?"

Okay, now more from "Ring of the Sorceress:"


CUT TO:
EXT. ABBEY (COURTYARD) -- MOMENTS LATER
Peryl finds small fires burning, and smoke throughout the once-bright courtyard. The corpses of her former friends litter the stones. With one hand over her mouth, she slowly backs away--and right into Shadow. She starts, and he steadies her.
SHADOW
You could bring them back...like you did me.
Peryl shakes her head.
PERYL
I know now why it is forbidden. It is...un-life. And none here would desire it.
Shadow nods solemnly.
SHADOW
I suspect not.
Suddenly, Peryl GASPS. She sees Maddie's little cornhusk doll, discarded in a pile of rubble.
She picks it up, and her eyes glisten with tears.
PERYL
Those who did this...what would they want?
Shadow shakes his head.
Peryl spots a glint of armor and moves toward it. A knight lay on his stomach.
With one cautious foot, Peryl prods the man and flops him over.
It is Luther, neck broken, eyes glazed. Peryl stares at the body.
PERYL (CONT'D)
I know the insignia, the cut of the cloak. This man was of the Queen's private army. They are the sword-arm of the monarchy.
Shadow looks on, uncomprehending. Peryl turns to Shadow.
PERYL (CONT'D)
My life here is done. Mayhaps the answer to both our questions lie in Castle Ebon after all.
The pair turn and leave the courtyard.
DISSOLVE TO:
EXT. HILLOCK -- LATER
Shadow heaves the last stone into place. A row of graves, heaped with stones, are in a long, grim line behind he and Peryl.
Shadow turns to Peryl. The wind whips through Peryl's cloak, and her face is unreadable.
SHADOW
Do you have any words?
PERYL
There are no words.
The pair leave the solemn hillside.


Give me a shout at johnoakdalton@hotmail.com.

Uptight

Short on time today, so here's more from my overripe b-fantasy script RING OF THE SORCERESS, from my loyal reader poll:

DISSOLVE TO:
EXT. WOODS (GRASSY FIELD) -- LATER
Peryl and Shadow cross a wide field. Peryl seems to have cooled off somewhat. She eyes the gory stain where Lemuel's blade ran her companion through.
PERYL
Did it...hurt, Shadow?
Shadow objectively looks down at the red, ragged front of his tunic. His eyes search for hers, haunted.
SHADOW
I felt nothing...nothing.
Peryl absorbs this.
PERYL
I am called Peryl, a monk of the Order of the Crystal Skull.
Shadow thinks for an agonized second.
SHADOW
I know not my name...and I am of the legion of the dead.
The two share an uneasy silence. Then they notice that there are sheets of paper blowing through the grass and catching on trees. Shadow bends to pick one up.
SHADOW (CONT'D)
What's this?
Peryl snatches it from his hand and studies it.
PERYL
These look to be pages torn from books...they appear to be ones from the abbey's library!
Peryl looks around at the blowing paper in sick panic. Then she breaks into a run.
CUT TO:
EXT. WOODS -- MOMENTS LATER
Peryl comes up on the path leading to the abbey. Smoke is blowing towards her. After a moment of stillness, registering shock, she creeps forward on numb legs.
A limb CREAKS. Peryl sees several monks of the abbey hanging from nooses strung on a heavy branch, their severe robes flapping in the breeze.
Then she breaks into a dead run for the abbey.
CUT TO:

Give me a yell at johnoakdalton@hotmail.com

If I Was Your Woman

I hammered on the rewrite of Christopher Sharpe's SEX MACHINE this weekend, despite the bloom of warm weather. I called Christopher to talk to him about the rewrite last night and realized I was probably the only person in the free world not watching the Oscars.

Speaking of the movies, I wish a loyal reader would watch SWIMMING POOL and email me their interpretation of the ending.

Speaking of the free world, who else felt the earth tilt on its axis upon learning about the relaunch of DC Comics' "Richard Dragon, Kung Fu Fighter?"

Speaking of bizarre things from the past, I just got the info on my 20th High School Class Reunion. Oy. Our most famous grad is probably Cynda Williams. I'm probably in the bottom five or so.

New funny web-searching thing: the guy who found my site by typing in "nerd iron-on patches."

Give me a shout at johnoakdalton@hotmail.com.