Have Script - Will Travel

Going someplace a bit different with this Youtube video.

the Kid

I’ve got an hour of free time so I thought I’d catch up on this week’s events.

Monday, November 10

I called my mother.  She had just finished up making arrangements for dad’s cremation and was at the bottom of her mountain getting ready to head up it, to home.

She wanted to talk so I told her to pull over in a parking lot or I’d hang up and talk with her later.  My mother has a horrible attention span when driving and has had several ‘close calls’ because of it.  I waited to talk until she told me she’d pulled over in a convenience store’s lot and parked.  She balked, saying that she was perfectly capable of talking and driving, but when you add dad’s death into the mix I knew she’d be courting death if she did.

And, that is exactly what she did…

Fifteen minutes into the conversation she started screaming, “Oh my god!  Oh my god!  I killed him!”  Then she broke into a hysterical sobbing that made the rest of her speech incomprehensible, and the phone went dead.

I freaked out and called my sister who was at mom’s house.  I told her something bad had happened to mom and she needed to head down the mountain and check it out.  She said my nephew had her car and she was stuck at the house.  Mom was on her own.

Fifteen minutes later my sister called and said mom had arrived home safe.  It turned out that she had pulled over for a full 3 minutes before starting back up the mountain.  Distracted by the phone and her grief, she hit a black lab that ran out in front of her.  The people behind her stopped to check the dog out and my mother, in her devastated state of mind just continued home without stopping.

I don’t know if the dog died or not because my sister says it was gone an hour later when they went back down the mountain.  But I was pissed.  Pissed that I should have known better than to talk to her when she was in the car.  Pissed that she lied to me and told me she had stopped.  Pissed that dad was dead.

Tuesday, November 11

Mom picked up dad’s urn of ashes at the funeral home.  I wondered what I was doing when they slid him into that raging fire.  His twinkling blue eyes; his large hands that slid over the keys of his accordion and organ with speed and grace;  his little crew cut of hair he was so proud of, that had finally grown back after his chemotherapy treatments, all gone forever in a few seconds of a fiery blaze. 

He is no more. 
How the hell am I supposed to wrap my mind around that?!

Wednesday, November 12

Dad’s memorial service was held at 10:00am at the small country church he belonged to at the top of the mountain.  I brought a small American Flag that was the perfect size to cover the urn which was casket shaped.  He was proud to be a Veteran.  There were about 35 people at the service - family and a lot of people his age that were church members.  The minister was the spitting image of a young Stephen King.

When it was time for people to stand up and reminisce about dad, my brother Greg (the ultra-bible thumper and reformed alcoholic) popped right up.  He talked for about 10 minutes on what a patient, loving man dad was and he used dad’s tolerance of Greg’s drunk escapades as examples:

“…the time I sat at the table eating spaghetti with my bare hands, shoving it into my mouth.”
“…woke me up sleeping on the couch and found his car on its side in the ditch out front.”

And on, and on, ad nauseum.
I felt like I was at an AA meeting.

His ultra religious wife of 3 years, who he’d met on eHarmony  sat in the pew with her on hand on the bible and one hand in the air, muttering “Praise God” and “Praise Jesus” at frequent intervals during his speech.  The Methodists just sat quietly.

Uncle Phil, god bless him, got up and recited an entire, super-long, chapter from the bible.  It took him 10 minutes and his voice was so low I could only catch phrases here and there.  But, I sat in awe that he could memorize something that long.  Later he told me it took him 8 months to memorize.  Wow.

My dark, depressed, suicidal-thinking nephew Joseph, who turned 31 while dad was in the hospital, sat in the first pew in front of the table that held dad’s ashes and a scattering of his pictures.  He never stood for the songs or even looked around.  He just stared at that table the whole time and then got up and walked out when the service ended.  No food or socializing for him.

During the service, my sister Linda took my kids into the dining area where she says they ran around trying to put their fingers in the food and rearranging the autumn gourd displays on the dining tables.  She had a great time she says.

Surprisingly, I had nothing to say at the service, although it crossed my mind to say how thoughtful it was of my mother to kill a dog so that my dog-loving father would have company in the afterlife.  And it crossed my mind to say how angry dad would be each time alcoholic Greg would crash and burn, leaving my mother to clean whatever apartment he had at the time, and pack up/move all of his belongings into storage until he got out of rehab and could drink again. 

Boy, don’t personal thoughts get vicious?  Anger at my great loss competes with sadness and depression.  I never know what is going to surface these last few days.  Ahhh.  But, my kids keep me sane and make me laugh.  I don’t know what I’d do without them.

After the service we went to the doctor’s office.  Hubby’s cough had become bronchial sounding and frequent.  He was diagnosed with a bad case of bronchitis which the MD said was on the verge of pneumonia.  They gave him a steroid shot, a breathing treatment and a script for Avelox. 

Thursday, November 13 

I didn’t quit smoking.  But I will, soon.
Life goes on…

the Kid

For two days before my father died, the only time he moved was when the nurses or family members turned him.  Otherwise, he would just lie where he was positioned. 

My sister says that immediately before he died, my dad did something really strange.  She says that he was lying on his back with church music playing from a tape player near his head.  Suddenly, he sat straight up in bed, opened his eyes for the first time in two days and looked all around the room.  She says he wasn’t looking at the people gathered at the bedside, but seemed to be looking at something that the visitors couldn’t see.  He raised his arms straight out in front of him like he was reaching toward something or someone, then he lay back down, closed his eyes and took his final breath.

Weird, but very interesting!

I’m not a Christian person, but I do believe that there is a supreme power or force in and around us that we tap into when we pray.  I’m also inclined to believe in reincarnation.  Either way, the thought that maybe he was seeing something or someone that exists in that other dimension is comforting to me.  It makes his passing easier for me to handle and it gives me hope that I’ll meet up with the souls of people I’ve known and loved in this life.

the Kid

Dad passed away at 4:30pm.  I was working on my UCLA assignment - I can’t seem to catch up with that work.  Today is my mother’s 73rd birthday. 

Hubby stayed home with the kids who were napping.  My best friend Cindy, who is such a butch looking lesbian that people call her sir, drove me in my van to the hospital.  My legs were too shaky to manage the pedals. 

I took glee in introducing Cindy to my ultra conservative/religious aunt Carolyn whom I rarely see because she lives in Petersburg Virginia and when she comes to visit my mother I avoid her like the plague.  I can’t stand her judgemental/preachy ways.  When she took in Cindy’s masculine clothing and the moustache she sports, her mouth dropped open.  

“Who’s taking care of the children?”  She finally managed to say. 
“Carl.” I answer, and then I lean suggestively against Cindy’s arm.  Cindy smiles  and winks at me.  She knows how I play my games.

Aunt Carolyn scurries off and doesn’t return.  

Cindy
Cleaning My Gutters

Bonnie Tyler is singing “Holding Out For A Hero” on last.fm radio.

My nephew Joseph, Cindy, and I were the only people who didn’t go into the hospital room to look at dad’s body.  I wanted my last memory of him to be as  I’d seen him last on Thursday with a big grin and an intelligent twinkle in his blue eyes when he gave my son Jack a high-five. 

I don’t do dead.

After the funeral home came and took my dad away in a hearse, we took mom out to a Chinese buffet where she got a free birthday meal.  She wandered around the food islands putting food on her plate like a zombie in the new slippers my brother had given her earlier in the day because her feet had become cold and swollen from standing next to my dad’s bed for hours on end, holding his hand and telling him how much she loved him.

Janice Joplin is singing “Bye Bye Baby” on last.fm radio.

My mother doesn’t drink alcohol.  I talked her into drinking a small cup of hot Saki.  She said it took some of the cold she was feeling away.  Cold she thinks is from shock.  Cindy drove my mother home in mom’s car.  I was worried that mom was too fatigued and distracted to make the 45 minute drive from the restaurant to her home on the mountain.  I followed and Cindy drove me home afterward. 

John Lennon is singing “Mother” on last.fm radio.

My sister will be moving in with my mother for a couple of months until mom is able to re-group.

I’ll be quitting smoking on November 13th. 

the Kid

I can’t sit in that hospital room and watch him die.  I can’t watch while the light in his eyes dims and then finally burns out.  Already, when he looks at you it’s like looking into a blind man’s eyes.  When he looks in the direction of your voice,  his eyes are dull like he’s not connecting and and they rest very briefly on your face and then slowly wander to the side like strings are pulling them away.

It’s too nightmarish for me to watch the proud, dignified, wonderful father I love, fall like a giant oak tree cut down.  Instead, I do what I do best when I’m upset - I clean house!  I cleaned my ass off today scrubbing floors on my hands and knees, washing clothes, and tending to the needs of my kids.  Cleaning is a great mind occupier and helps to exhaust me so I can sleep at night and not think about my dad lying in that hospital bed with his hands folded across his chest, making small talk and offering smiles to the visitors during his more lucid moments, while he calmly waits for the Grim Reaper to visit.

He complains that the room looks foggy.  His hands, arms, feet, and legs twitch.  He moans and groans when he rests with his eyes closed.  He is restless and becomes agitated easily.  He pulls his oxygen mask off and his oxygen level plummets setting the monitor machine off.   For the last two days, he can’t cough up the copious phlegm the cancer produces in his lungs so his breaths sound wet and gurgly.  He’s slowly drowning in that fluid.  His kidneys quit working 4 days ago so all of those toxins are swimming around in his organs slowly poisoning him.

God.  I hate being a nurse right now.  I have too much knowledge and no way to change anything.

His last coherent day was Thursday.  He sang ‘Happy Birthday’ with his oxygen mask on, to my nephew Joseph who just turned 31.  I thought Joseph was going to break down and sob.  On every birthday Dad plays Happy Birthday on his accordion and sings to the Birthday person.  If the person lives far away, he calls them on the phone and plays the music and sings by phone.

Speaking of Birthdays, November is birthday month for 5 of us.  Happy birthday time, eh?  Joseph’s was the first.  Mom’s birthday is tomorrow and the doctor says my dad might not make it until midnight tomorrow night.  Ain’t that something if he dies on her birthday? 

My dad is a jack of quite a few trades.  He plays a killer accordion, harmonica, and organ.  In fact he was a member of a band (of old guys), and they played at the local nursing home every Tuesday for the residents.  He sang bass tenor in the church choir until the cancer took his breath away.  He said that if he had one last wish it would be to sing just once more in that choir.  That never happened.  He excels at carpentry!  He built a huge deck for his house and was going to screen-in my deck, but got diagnosed with his cancer a month before he was going to do it.  He loved playing pogo.  He kept an annual account with pogo and had every badge they offered, which means that when he joined he had to play a hell of a lot of back games to get those badges.  Every holiday, he would dress his little pogo man icon and give him a holiday background.  Mom says she’ll never be able to cancel that account and she plans to keep getting the newer badges for him after he passes. 

Isn’t it silly how stupid little things like deleting his little pogo account and his little man icon will tear at your heart?  I about lost it when I went to my mother’s house to pick up my beta fish she’d fish-sat for while I was on vacation, and I saw his favorite, worn out recliner and knew he’d never sit in it again.  I grabbed my fish and left as fast as I could.

The only positive thing about the way he is dying is that kidney failure is a relatively painless way to go.  Once the toxins build up enough in your body, you pretty much go into a coma and just slip away.  That’s positive for the person dying, but horrible to watch for the people who love the person.  I can’t watch it.  Thank God there are a ton of relatives and friends holding bedside vigil so I don’t have to do it and he won’t die alone.

I’m starting to ramble on here so I’ll close.

Dad.  I love you!!

the Kid

I had planned to keep a daily log of my vacation as it happened but with all of the twists and turns that the vacation threw me, I didn’t have the time or the inclination to keep up a log.  So, I have summarized my lovely vacation…   

You know they say that when writers create characters they put a little bit of themselves in those characters. Like my main character Jewels and her phobias. Well I have a phobia too. Grab a cup of coffee, and I’ll tell you a little story…

Background:
In 1994 I had an anaphylactic reaction to an antibiotic - major rash, itching, swelling in my hands and face, and wheezing. I spent most of that day in the ER being shot up with Benadryl and epinephrine. Since that time, I have known two patients that died of the same kind of reaction. One was a woman in her early 30’s who had an ear infection and got a rash from penicillin. Her physician said he’d give her a prescription for a different antibiotic after she got off from work that day. Near the end of her work day her ear started hurting so she broke one of her penicillin pills in half and took it, thinking she’d get half the rash and could handle it. Instead she had the BIG anaphylactic reaction. The killer is that she worked in a physician’s office and although he tried to cut a hole in her neck and put a tube in it so she could breathe while they waited on the ambulance, it didn’t work because her lungs were swollen too. She ended up brain dead from lack of oxygen and died 3 days later leaving behind 3 children.

Tuesday, November 4
Vacation is over and we make the long drive back to Tennessee.  The children’s DVD player stopped working so they had no diversion all of the way home.  Arggggg…. Instead, we listened to the election coverage on XM radio’s CNN Newsroom channel and we kept in touch with my mother on dad’s condition.  He was in the ICU.  Oh yeah, now Carl and Lucy - my daughter, are starting with the cough that Jack and I had.

Thursday, November 6
Dad is going downhill quickly.  He is becoming more confused and sleeps more.  I brow-beat my mother into switching him to Hospice care.  To her and my dad, the word Hospice means death and both of them were still counting on a miracle.  Once she agreed I got an order from dad’s doctor for Hospice and dad was transferred to a room on the Oncology floor where he was not limited to visitors and my mother could spend the night with him.  He is on ‘Comfort Measures’ only.  No shocking him if his heart stops.  No ventilator etc.

That’s pretty much it for now.  Usually I am not so grim in my posts but I wanted some documentation of these events.

the Kid

Shew!  Talk about busy!!

Let’s see.  I’m heavy into my UCLA screenwriting class.  Watching a movie a week, reading a script a week, reading assigned pages in two different books, and doing whatever analysis the instructor assigns.  Then, reading all of my classmates posts and commenting on as many as I can find time to.  I can’t believe how much I’m learning and how much my original story idea is evolving, but the whole process is very time consuming.  Exciting though!

NaNoWriMo starts on November 1st.  It’s a huge online race where thousands of writers try to write a 50,000 word novel during the 30 days of November.  I usually participate in that race but I doubt if I’ll have time this year with my class.  On the other hand, it is tempting to try to write a 110 page script during that time.  No conflict of interest there.  Would I be biting off more than I can chew time-wise?  Probably.  I really should wait for ScriptFrenzy in April.  They write a 110 page script in a month.  We’ll see…

Today I have to gather and pack a huge list of things in preparation for my 2 week vacation which begins next Monday.  I’ll probably be up until after Midnight collecting stuff as I have to work my 12 hour hospital shifts on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday and won’t have the time to pack on those days.  I’ll be travelling with hubby, our two 3 year old children, and a 50 lb. dog that barks at strangers and hates other dogs.  That makes for fun walks at pet rest areas.  Have you ever sat in a van in a fast food drive-through with a dog that barks at everything that moves outside the window?   It isn’t pretty.

In toddler time, from here to Virginia Beach is about 16 hours.  Thank God for the DVD player and screens I have set up in my van.  Did I mention that my kids are movie freaks like me?  Especially Lucy.  We have a DVD zip-up case that holds 90 movies and it is packed full.  The kids call it ‘the movie book’ and they know every one of those movies.  Lucy even does dialogue and action along with some of the actors while she watches.  Maybe we should move to L.A. where she could act and I could write screenplays.  Wouldn’t that be fun.

Gotta run and pack for now.

the Kid

It all started with my mother who called to inform me that I had until this Friday to vote if I was going to vote early.  Since I will be out of town the week of the elections, I thought I’d go ahead and drive the 5 blocks to the Lion’s Club where I vote every four years. 

It was closed and the parking lot was vacant.

I stopped a passerby and asked if she knew where the early voting was.  She told me it was at North Gate Mall.  “If you face the mall it is supposed to be inside at the far right, just outside the entrance to the Department Store.” 

I went to the mall.
There was no voting place there either.

Just inside the food court I stopped a ‘cleaning woman’, who was pushing her cart, and asked where the voting place was. 

“It’s a bit of a walk.”  She said.
“Fine by me.”  I smiled.
“Okay then.  You go to the end of the food court and turn right.  Then go all of the way to the other end of the mall by the Children’s Play Area.  You know where that is?”
I nodded.
“Turn left at the play area and walk to the glass door.”
“The one that goes outside?”  I asked.
“Yes.  Go outside and cross the parking lot.  You know where T.J. Max is?”
“Yes.”  I said, trying to keep my mouth from dropping open.
“The voting place is in that group of shops.”

I was at a loss for words.  Why couldn’t she have just said it’s outside of the mall next to T.J. Max.  Instead, she gives me step by step directions like she’s taking me to a store at the end of the mall, then directs me clear across the giant parking lot to a strip mall.  I thanked her and drove to the place she had directed me to.

There was no voting place. 

One of the shop owners at the strip mall told me that the voting place is usually next to her shop but that she hadn’t seen it there this year.  She directed me back to the mall.

I thought maybe the original woman had been correct and that I had just been looking at the wrong end of the mall.  I went back to the other end and asked a sales clerk in a shoe store if she knew where the voting was.  She didn’t, nor did any of the 10 or so customers who passed by the register while I was looking up the voting commission in the phone book.

I never did find the phone number, but I did call a friend in Virginia who looked it up on the Internet and then sent me a text message.  ”Relax.  Early voting doesn’t start until October 15th!”

I should have known better than to listen to my 72 year old mother.  She and I can watch the same news program and she ends up with totally different information than I do, or that anyone else does for that matter.  I know that so well.   I can’t believe I actually believed her and acted on it.  The joke is on me.

In the end though, you gotta love that cleaning woman who gave me the directions.  That was a flawless moment.

the Kid

Having already taken the online Screenwriter’s workshop through Gotham Writers in NYC, I figured that UCLA’s ‘Screenwriting I’ class would be a nice refresher.  What I didn’t expect was to learn something totally new in the very first week, and that is the concept of ‘Premise’.  Hell, I never even heard of it before and it turns out that having a Premise is pretty much mandatory for a successful screenplay.

What I have learned about ‘Premise’:

• Webster’s Definition:Premise: a proposition antecedently supposed or proved; a basis of argument.  A proposition stated or assumed as leading to a conclusion.
• It is a statement that is composed of 3 parts.  For instance take the play ‘Romeo and Juliet’ which has the premise of “Great love defies even death“.  The first part of the premise suggests character - one who has a “great love.”  The second part, “defies” suggests conflict, and the third part, “death,” suggests the end of the play.
• Every scene, dialogue, and move that the main character(s) make must be geared toward proving the premise.
• The premise may be as preposterous as the writer wants, but it must be something that he believes in and tries wholeheartedly to prove.
• A premise must zero in on a single concept and not be vague and generalized, to keep the story tight and focused.  For instance to have a premise that says, “Unfaithfulness of a wife during marriage leads to jealousy” would be generalized.  One has to ask why is the wife unfaithful?  Does her husband beat her?  Did an old lover show up?  Is she selling herself for rent money?  The reason for the unfaithfulness needs to be pinned down, so a better premise would be “Promiscuity during marriage leads to jealousy”.  Now you have a tight, clear cut path for the screenplay.
• You may also have a sub-premise which will enlarge the original one.

That’s the general idea of what a premise is.

I’m still working my way through “The Fugitive” script, and afterward I’ll watch the movie again. 

I’ve also decided to work on my original screenplay idea “Killing Jewels”,  instead of the hospital comedy, as Jewels is where my heart and mind are at this point in time.

That’s about it for the screenplay stuff this week.

the Kid

My screenwriting class started today and I’m off with a bang!

On Monday the students were able to sign into the class and read the first week’s assignment.  Although I was under the impression that the class didn’t require a book, the assignment called for one.  Of course I jumped on to Amazon and placed my order and it was delivered today. Talk about timing!

We are also assigned to read the script for ‘The Fugitive’ and to watch the movie.  Once again, having a 2 day notice, I placed my order on Netflix and the movie also arrived today.  I also purchased a nifty little 3 ring notebook that sports a bit of a psychedelic theme.  

Armed with printouts of my assignments, a copy of the script, the required book, and the movie, I am ready to get down to the business of learning the Craft of screenwriting.  I’m having a great time with this class and it has only just begun.

the Kid