November 2011 Archives
November 15, 2011
Title: Debt Collection
Length: 107 pages
Logline: Ex-CIA operative Merritt Stone arrives in a small village in Nigeria to learn the identities of the men who stole his sister’s life savings. There, he discovers a much bigger problem: a heroin trafficker’s corrupt stranglehold over the villagers’ lives.
First Draft — 1/18/10
Second Draft — 9/23/11
Third Draft — 11/15/11
Click the image to download the complete screenplay for just $2.99.
November 7, 2011
Those unfortunate souls who read this blog regularly know that I’ve had issues with mental age. Maybe, subconsciously, this has something to do with turning 30 on Saturday. In fact, it’d pretty much have to be subconscious, because until my family started ribbing me about the big three-oh, I thought I was turning 29. (That’s how much I care about my actual, physical age.)
Stephen Colbert said something relevant last week, to the effect of “A recent study shows happy people live 30% longer. Sure, but for depressed people, it feels longer.” That about sums it up.
November 14, 2011
I’ve thought a lot about Florida over the past couple of weeks. This might sound like an unfair generalization, because it is one, but I’m of the opinion that it’s the worst state in the union, by far. Worse than Alaska. Worse than Texas. Because Florida contains three types of people: elderly retirees who can’t drive, criminals hiding from outstanding warrants and/or child support payments who can’t drive, and rednecks more likely to form a sex cult or private militia than do anything useful with their lives who can’t drive. I wouldn’t want to live there. I wouldn’t want to raise a child there. I don’t even want to visit as a tourist.
But there’s that little, nattering voice in my head that can’t stop thinking about it. My special lady feels she needs to move there for her career. I happen to disagree with this opinion, but it’s not my choice to make, and I have no right to talk her out of it. So what would happen, this voice wonders, if I went with her?
November 21, 2011
My special lady bailed on our choir rehearsal again last Monday. She seemed fine on Saturday, although she’d been sick the week before. She texted me a few minutes before the rehearsal to let me know her cold had transformed into a sinus infection. I have a history of dating comically dishonest women, so forgive me if my first thought was, “Bullshit.”
I mean, I wanted to believe her, but after our awkward Florida conversation and wheel-spinning date on Saturday, it would not have surprised me in the least if she bailed on another choir rehearsal because, in addition to our mutual agreement that the experience was not as enjoyable as either of us had thought it would be, she wanted to avoid me.
“Nah,” I told myself, “we barely see each other during choir rehearsals, anyway, so I can’t imagine she’d stay home just to avoid me.”
But maybe she would. She wouldn’t let me come over on Saturday, which seemed like a bad sign, but as always, she had a pretty reasonable explanation — one of her job leads had sent her a particularly lengthy application, which she wanted to get done so she could e-mail it to them before Monday. She had a busy Sunday, so she had to work on it on Saturday night. But when she told me she didn’t get around to finishing the application until Monday, Saturday’s reasonable explanation started to reek of bullshit. And if Saturday’s excuse was bullshit, couldn’t Monday’s be the same?
November 28, 2011
I knew it was over about three hours after my last new post. My not-so-special lady’s text glared at me like a polished turd (100% possible per Mythbusters): “Could you please bring my Doctor Who DVDs to rehearsal tonight?” She didn’t know how jammed my Mondays are — work, then straight to therapy, then straight to rehearsal, with a dinner of granola bars in my car in the Harper College parking lot — but luckily, I’d had the DVDs sitting in my car for weeks, since I expected to see her much sooner than this.
It’s weird when something seemingly innocuous feels like the worst possible omen, but her behavior over the past few weeks left little room for doubt. The part of me that wanted to believe she was just sick and everything would return to relative normalcy as soon as she got better grew smaller and smaller with each new sign that she was preparing to end things.
“Why not just put it out of its misery?” I asked myself. When I got to rehearsal, she seemed pretty normal, though — chatty and pleasant. She even seemed to forget she asked me to bring the Doctor Who DVDs an hour earlier. I wanted to put a hash mark under the “Innocuous Message” column, and she made it easy to do that, so I let her.