Jay Royston's Blog, page 6

WIP Inspiration 2

One thing that has been bothering me throughout the X amount of months I've spent on this book is the attempt to make 'smoking' Karma sound legit. In a day of edibles, pipes, bongs and god knows what else, using the word joint, or simply the act of my characters smoking a joint seems so ... juvenile and crass. Yet, calling them Karma cigarettes - which I often refer to them as with packaging, social habit etc seems too ... dated.

So today I was editing K2 when I had the idea to call them Karma Sticks. I realize just as I write this that smokes have also been referred to cancer sticks so ... I like it.

Now, I just need to do a simple search for every use of the word Karma or Karmajuana in K2 and determine if it justifies adding stick to the end of it.

And that's part of my process.



In other news, I spent 3 hours on Sunday guarding someone who was run over by a train. At least, the parts that were left of him. Right now I think I have some PTSD going on so at least I have that going for me...

Our debriefing included a man who told us there is a difference between remembering and revisiting what happened and to watch how our brain reacts to being normal in an abnormal situation.

Takes me back to these thoughts which I will probably be revisiting with a therapist later.

'Where do your ideas come from?' a short bonus feature for the next WIP

Not that anyone asked me this yet, but the question does bother me. Writing isn't easy for me. It isn't easy because I don't write generic genre stuff. I don't write about the good guy chases the bad guy in the world of global espionage nor do I write about On Golden Pond stuff where boy meets girl, boy marries girl after difficult romantic courtship. I don't think I write much about great insights to modern behavior or society.

Anyways, I digress. I wanted to remember this moment as I'm having trouble with a story and this could be part of an 'extras' feature, like they did with DVDs, some bonus content at the end of the book. Maybe this is a turning point (nah) but I guess it does help give a hint or two as to my process in writing this stuff that I question people would want to even read in the first place.

I have a man returning (under extenuating circumstances) to the town where his ex lives. People think he ran out on her, as he simply disappeared one day and never came back. They had a fight over procreating (she for, he against) and that was the last they saw of each other. 

Now, he just came out of the woods to discover the world went full-nuclear. There is no more society as we know it anymore. Nobody wants to tell him 'the news' and thinks it should be her to tell him.

That's not really a spoiler as that is pretty much the first thing he finds out so he's already adjusting to that. 

The question was, what could be so hard to hear after he's been told that the world is basically a radioactive wasteland that nobody wants to tell him?

Now, the immediate thought i think readers would have is that she is pregnant. I don't want to do that because it's completely cliche, and the man has had a vasectomy. I mean, it creates drama, it's part of the reason why he disappeared and adds in the 'well, whose kid is it then?' But then again, he's only been gone for maximum three weeks, so she really wouldn't be showing or anything yet.

So I've been racking my thoughts as to what could be so important that he has to be told personally by this woman but yet the whole town appears to already know.

It took me about three days idly returning to this question.

Then I got it today, just driving home from work. It might change but this is the best I have so far and I'm looking forward to writing the confrontation these two wind up having when he finally finds out what nobody else would tell him; she's dating someone else. It's such a paltry thing in the big picture of the Nuclear Apocalypse. I had thought perhaps maybe she got a couple of cats. But that doesn't seem worthy enough of everyone keeping that info away from the guy.

Yeah, this could work.

My bookshelf

I have a bookshelf. Everyone should be so lucky.

Actually 5 bookshelves. They are the length of closet doors, because that is what they are. That is also why I can't call it a bookcase. The shelves are full, with books I have read. Most of them only once but liked enough to keep, thinking one day I will read them again.

I think what you read says a lot about if we could be friends. I think my books say a lot about me.

Let me check out your bookshelf and I believe I will get a glimpse into your soul.

Look at my shelf and it's a clusterfuck of authors, subjects and genres... which is appropriate.

I am barely holding on here.

At one time, I built these shelves, for the specific purpose of making a home for my book collection. They were organized in some way now lost. Was it by author or subject matter?

The shelves, like myself, have become disorganized. I look back on these shelves, dissecting them, much like my life, what choices made me do this? Why are they there? When did I start stuff books anywhere there was space?

What was my original intention with that top shelf?

Perhaps that was where the 'classics' were to be. There was my Steinbeck, Asimov, Hesse, Wolfe. But then again, why is there a Mastering The Tarot book, sandwiched between a single serving of Tolkien (a hardcover 74th printing of The Two Towers (1983) I bought for a quarter at the Mission 2nd hand store) and Elmore Leonard's Rum Punch (better known as the Tarantino movie Jackie Brown)?

And why is 1 Harry Potter book and a Richler book on top of two Terry Pratchetts? Why are they with the Winston Churchill biography trilogy? The only thing separating the two is a sci-fi 'Hall of Fame' anthology (1971) I keep solely because it has Flowers for Algeron in it, a legendary story I only read a couple of years ago and was kinda 'meh' about.

At least still perchedon the top-right corner are my memories; about a dozen notebooks from years past, story ideas and memories waiting to be re-discovered, analyzed, considered. There's also a copy of the Joy of Sex under all that, because... I was single once.

Is that good those notebooks remain untouched, when so much of the rest has been tampered with?

On my second shelf, the 'eyeline' shelf for me, which I would think should be my favourites, are books organized again mysterious to my reasoning.

From the left there are a few hard-cover books, most over 75 years old if I go by their spines. Great, I get that - high enough to imply value if I ever become a book-collector/seller and also to keep out of toddler hands. But then there is a pile of financial books which I doubt I will ever read (again). It takes money to care about keeping money.

Then a few pretentious names to keep you interested; Philip Dick, Chuck Palaniuk, Ayn Rand. A couple books on accepting I'm a writer and how to deal with it. Dead center of the shelf is my current fav contemporary writer, Patrick DeWitt and his three books.

Beside him, my humour section. Woody Allen, Carl Reiner short stories. Will Ferguson devolves into a Uncle John's Bathroom Reader. That is bordered on the right by my 'spiritual section' in case I ever want to read more about Taoism or How to Win Friends.

Third shelf - I remember this is for my pocket books as the height is quite short. I'm thinking this uneven spacing needs to change if I am going to organize this mess. I have a lot of Discworld on this shelf, altogether. A sign of respect for honestly most influentialBut then I have some Vonnegut and Brave New World. A bunch of Malcolm Gladwell books separates the books from the few cassette tapes I have remaining from that part of my past.

I'm getting tired. So much to dissect.

Fourth shelf - the bigger books, too large to fit on my paperback shelf. These range from The Shining (2 copies) to Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy Anthology.  I recall this was to be my 'books made into movies' section, which explains why Gone Girl is beside Captain Corelli's Mandolin and Princess Bride beside American Hero (rebranded Wag the Dog for Hollywood purposes). There's also Silence of the Lambs and Cloud Atlas and my in-joke copy of God Hates Us All, the meta-book within a TV series, Californication, written by 'Hank Moody'. 

But that segment is cut off by the few Ender saga books I have found in bookstores by Orson Scott Card. Then it goes back into my over-sized Vonnegut, a copy of Geek Love found under the Free Books Tree in my neighbourhood. Fencing that off is my stack of sports-related books, mostly hockey. Now I'm seeing the subjects; the social consciousness pile, Shock Doctrine, a Leonard Cohen biography sandwiches some Noam Chomsky and 2 wildly different biographies of Howard Hughes. A Pat Riley Life Coaching dips into my Pierre Burton historical Canadiana books. I enjoy historical fiction but don't go out of my way to find it. Beside Burton is the collection of James Michener books/volumes read and still waiting to be read. Chesapeake, Alaska, Space, all bought for 50 cents each. As for cost per word, you can't get a better deal than this.

I am getting OCD just looking at this... 

Finally, on the bottom shelf, there are my textbooks, coffee-table books too large to fit elsewhere. My collection of Calvin and Hobbes, my Star Wars trilogy storybooks, which is probably worth quite a few bucks nowadays. Yet, there they are, bottom shelf. Surprised they weren't destroyed by curious fingers yet. A quick Internet search reveals some for sale on ebay, roughly $10 each.

Guess that new sailboat will have to wait...

Beside the fantastical X-Men anthology, Macbeth adaptation and V for Vendetta (graphic novels, not comic books I remind myself) there is a very interesting illustrated book called Great Moments In Medicine. The corners have been nibbled on by mice years ago when I had so many of these in storage as they waited for me to put down roots. This is where I learned they used to put boiling tar into bullet wounds during the American Civil War until some doctor decided that probably wasn't helping.

There's always a lesson if you read long enough.

My last two books are Lady Cottingham's Pressed Fairy book, a book I never gave to a long-ago crush and a textbook on Criminal Behavior. Perhaps there is a link? Then it devolves into photo albums, another nostalgic memory from decades ago.

But then... stashed behind those snapshots is another memory vault. My collection of childhood hard-cover Hardy Boy books, twenty-some in total. Back when I thought Franklin W. Dixon was a real person and had no idea what a coupe was, no matter how many times it followed Frank and Joe. Turns out it was a type of car. Memories. 

I thought at one time I would be giving them to my son. Thankfully, life made it so I have two. However, my first doesn't live with me and is a great reader, probably too far ahead of the pop curve what with his Harry Potter series, anime and Youtube channel. I doubt he would ever get hooked on two teenage detectives.

Perhaps my younger will be interested. However, that is many years away yet until he will be able to read.

I really need to organize this... but there you go - a quick glimpse into my book shelf. 

Random Bitching

I don't get the whole 'which one would you give up' or 'would you live in a cabin for a 1 million without Internet' posts.
Adults (I assume) are posting these - and friends are answering. I don't get it.

I assume it is some weird psych experiment - I read once they are lead generators so if you post on one it fills you with more of the same... but to what point? Do those posts evolve into 'would you live in a cabin or buy Hershey's Peanut Butter Cups?'.

Math questions... they never give you the right answer so you have to actually scroll through the comments and figure out which one seems to be the most popular. Sometimes, someone explains it but wow... i don't really care how much a burger is equivalent to.

Post a picture of your dog.  Why? Does anyone really scroll through the 13K pictures of dogs already posted on there? Why not just post the picture of your dog on your own timeline instead of putting it on some chain letter thing?

It's gotta be a psych experiment. Right?

Here's the last picture of my dogs...

This is actually a rock. But my boy thought it was Penny...
so I took a picture to remind him he needs to get his eyes checked. 
This is the last picture of my dogs.
They're happy.  

Still avoiding avoiding

I'd almost laugh at how ridiculous I'm being if I didn't think it was so some profound psychological block I'm going through.

I did a query letter about 4 days ago, asked my wife to proof it. Wife... still sounds weird to say that. Anyways, she looked at it today.

In the meantime, I've delved into sorting my children's lego, planting some potatoes, marathoned a bit of Ash vs. Evil Dead... basically a lot of things, everything other than submit the fricking thing or talk a bit more of Post Pestilence.

So, here I am... I have 15 minutes to send it off before I go get my daughter. Part of me is justifying not doing it because it's Friday and what's the point right before the weekend... I mean, can't hurt to let it go for a few more days.  What's the worst that can happen?

I wait 2 more days then I wait 2 more days and I wait 2 more days...

What is it going to be, Jay?



SUBMISSION UPLOADED.

Pls Wait 6 months for confirmation.

Still avoiding...

Once again, I've reached the summit of how far I'm willing to address the cancer/Pestilence thing.
I can say it is a lot of things, time, Spring, etc but really it's just me avoiding these demons.

I talked w/ my mom about that summer - 2003 as it turns out, making it almost 15 years this July. She stayed with me after the operation until I flew home with her. I, however, insisted I take her to a tea cafe in Halifax before we left. I have no memory of this. She also gave me a Radiohead fan magazine to read and Douglas Adam's Salmon of Doubt while I was in the hospital. Intensive care as one of my lungs partially collapsed during surgery. I recall the man beside me was often delirious. He had septic shock I could see his colostomy bag hanging off his bed. 

Mom and Dad stayed with my landlord, who keep in mind, inherited a cancer boarder only 2 short months ago. I wish I could remember his name as well. He was very kind to take in my family and my problems on such short notice.

Dad left on a Sunday. Mom says he didn't believe I had cancer and so kept a letter from my Dr. identifying it as such... something -carcinoma. I plan on talking with him about his version of that time.

I then came home and recuperated in my Mom's basement. I don't recall much of this; listening to Bif Naked on the computer, avoiding everything as best as possible. I lost a lot of weight - I recall being about 185.

Somewhere during this time I learned my ex-partner's sister had brain cancer. I don't know if this is intertwined but there was another family friend who also had very aggressive cancer - he was down in Vancouver's cancer ward. These are only slivers of memories but I recall thinking how awful this all was. I partially hoped my cancer might somehow bring us back together only her sister had it too and all thoughts of the movie were set aside for both of us, I'm sure.

I went down to Vancouver in my step-brother's car. I recall this as I was pulled over on S. Marine for something and I had to explain why it was my license but my brother's registration. I don't think he was allowed to drive at the time. The cop was a bit confused but it was the truth and so I was let go, perhaps with a warning. I don't recall.

I had this plan to go visit both J and B in the cancer ward. I had this idea I would give J two flight passes so her sister could fly down and visit her sometime. And who do I see waiting for a bus stop on Oak? L. Crazy coincidence, right? So i loop around, park the car and go meet her.

She's not happy to see me. I don't recall most of this incident, other than she's making a scene and the other bus patrons are grateful for this bit of drama. I give her the flight passes and walk away.

I go to visit her sister, she's doing well. I recall asking something about L and another guy - figuring I might as well get it out of the way. L finds out I visited and yells at me some more. Don't know if it was by phone or letter as to this day I don't think she has a computer, having google-creeped for any evidence of her existence a few times over the years. For this journal I actually tried again but still nothing.

But I get ahead of myself. So, I go to visit J and I visit B - he's far worse off, bald, plump, hooked up to so many bags he looks like a technological Buddha.

I believe it turned out my Mom and her husband were there the day before? He had tracked dog shit in on his shoe into the ICU which made it so memorable.

I must have driven back to PG. I also had to go back to Halifax. I think I was given four weeks off for medical leave. I should have asked for longer as I was definitely not ready to return to work. I was there very briefly, gave my notice and flew home after a quick coffee date with the nurse who took a shine to me while I was in the Halifax ICU.

to be cont'd.

Artistic Therapy Part 4

I've dredged through pre-production and production. I've taken a break from this therapy. I could say that it is because I've gotten too busy what with the kids on spring break, which is kind of true. Or maybe I can just say I'm 'avoiding'.

But I also promised myself 2 weeks ago I would submit my latest manuscript to a chosen publisher - and I still haven't done that. So maybe, I am avoiding not only that but also this. Maybe the two are connected.

And now I'm thinking - where would my energy be better spent? Here or on polishing that manuscript.

I'm going to spend 15 minutes here at the very least.




Artistic Therapy Session 4
So, we made it through production. It wasn't all bad.

I forgot to mention we had some publicity - X lined up a reporter to come out and get a cast/crew picture of us, which was nice. We also received a write-up in the paper. We were told to go to the local paper where we were led into a board room. The man assigned to interview us didn't seem to care too much about this thing - but then again, neither did I. My girlfriend broke up with me, I was withdrawing into this continuing sense of isolation, of totaling screwing the pooch on this one and now we were taking a day off to do this interview.

I recall later getting in some shit from X because apparently the reporter thought we were 'unprofessional' during the interview. Whatever that means. We weren't professionals, we didn't know what to expect and I don't know what the reporter was expecting of us.

I forgot to also mention the great things my producer did besides that. We had an outhouse on set (remember we were in the woods for most of this shoot) and I seem to recollect a camper there for a few days at least - it was where I would go to work on the afternoon's shot list during lunch break. Due to the short days, we had to get through a lot of thing using as much daylight hours as I could. Because I had been an AD on student shoots, I wound up piecing together much of the shots to do that day, while my real AD became more of an all-purpose wrangler and gopher. He was also a great help and I wish I acknowledged him more during the shoot.

We had a wrap party thanks to XXX at a local night club. I don't remember much about this either. We handed out some joke awards as thank yous, got a few last minute cast pictures done. I have one ragged photo of me that night which i feel truly captures the exhaustion I felt. I had a heart to heart with my producer/girlfriend and we briefly made up. I lost over 20 pounds in the month-long shoot, I was exhausted, albeit quite tan.

I think she wanted to hear how much I needed and missed her during that last couple of weeks. I may have even apologized for being a dick to her. I recall talking with her in her car and thinking if I should tell her what she wants to hear or speak my truth. I decided to tell her what she wanted to hear. We lasted about a week.


Then, we all went back to our normal lives. Except for me; there was a lot of post-production to do now. I took the tapes back to my town with me; 17 of them in all, rough footage which needed to be logged. It would have been nice to do this on set but after the third day, logging the shots was all but forgotten. "I'll fix it in post" became a bit of a mantra for me.

And then THE FIGHT. I wanted to edit the movie on my computer, in my town, on my time. She wanted a friend of hers to edit them in her town. I said that was never going to happen - I never met the guy and he wasn't so keen on meeting me either. Most, if not all, this fighting happened over the phone. 

The biggest problem, which I tried to avoid telling her, was the lack of log sheets - even if I wanted to hand the project off to someone else, the amount of work needed to be done was insane. He'd have to log each tape, pick the right take, find the matching take, cut it together (and that was just for the picture edit). It was an insane amount of work. There was no way anyone would do this for a couple hundred bucks. And, because I felt I was responsible for this mess, I was the one who needed to fix it.

She accused me of stealing the tapes, they were the property of the investors. I offered to copy the tapes and give her doubles. She said no but I did it anyway. I flew to Calgary, paid a film co-op to make duplicates and sent the copies to her. "There you go. We each can make a film now. FU."

But to edit the tapes, I now also needed a camera and the hardware to play back and download the tapes to my computer. So there was another $1500 VISA  expense to buy that. I used Adobe Premiere for editing software, pirated by a friend. All I needed to do was learn the program and start transcribing 17 hours of tapes, long, long hours.

I found out I was missing one tape. A complete scene disappeared plus whatever else may have been on there. It was the classic 'foreshadowing' scene, involving a dead eagle nailed to a tree. My producer had borrowed real eagle wings from the local Native center for realism and my mother helped to make a paper mache body. It looked better than the totem pole but even so, I positioned the camera so the viewer couldn't see much of it.

But who cares. I no longer had any proof the thing was even shot. 

I emailed/called the DoP continually, telling him the problem. Finally he answered, said it was in the back of his car in his camera case. I practically begged him to mail it to me. Weeks later, still no tape. When I finally got in contact with him, he stated his car was broken into and some STOLE THE TAPE from the trunk of his car.

Crock of shit but whatever. I had other things to deal with. My producer, never one to use computers or email was writing me long angry letters in ALL CAPS. She sent my employer a fax addressed to me with a cover letter saying 'DON'T READ THIS'.

beat head against this repeatedly
And when I'm not working my real job, not writing angry letters back, I'm watching the footage, trying to match camera angles, getting coverage, wishing I rehearsed more with the cast.

I'm watching one scene where the trophy girlfriend is bitching about the cold - I realize her wardrobe is pretty much the same as my producer/girlfriend. They could have been twins. Why hadn't I realized this before?

Then work gave me the chance to transfer to Moncton. Now, at this time, Halifax is the center of Canadian comedy TV; Trailer Park Boys and This Hour Has 22 Minutes. Part of our plan was to move there when this was done. I saw us walking into Salter St. Films and I don't know...becoming famous?

So I applied for the transfer and moved myself - there was no financial incentive to do this. I basically left what little support system I had in BC to move across the country to escape from my angry producer. Moncton wasn't Halifax, but it was a lot closer than BC. And at that moment, that film was all I had in my life. I carried my 2 goldfish with me onto the plane and a new co-worker allowed me to live in their guest room until I got settled.

Admittedly, I never could get settled quick enough. I had a rebound girlfriend who came out to see me. I had been kicked out of the co-worker's house by her husband and was staying in a hotel. Again, my expense. Then Rebound came out and it didn't go well - I fully admit it was all me. But I'm homeless and Winnie has sent me a letter signed by all them telling me not to do any work on the film. I'm also hemorrhaging money. Rebound left and I returned to a solitary life with a pile of tapes with no future.

I still clung to this idea that I'd edit this movie, send it to her and everything will turn out all right.

It was all I had.

Eventually I rented a small room in a house with 2 girls and 4 cats. The couches had tin foil on them for some cat-lady reason.
I made a few superficial work friends, worked on editing in my spare time. Some days I'd rent a car and just travel around the Maritimes. I'd drive to Halifax and once entered the production offices of Salter Street. Nobody was at reception. So be it. I walked out again. Mission accomplished.

In some weird way, that was all I wanted. I sent her a postcard saying something to the extent of I made it, wish you were here.

Back to the film. My best friend, once bass player turned sound engineer did a score for me long distance. I used the Internet to transfer the file, took a few days off to fly back to BC and spend a few long, long days with him in his basement as we created a scoundscape.

I might have paid him a few bucks. I don't know. Whatever it was, it was pennies compared to what a professional sound edit would have cost. I had no idea how her 'version' was going. To this day I have no idea if she even started one.

It was done, as best as I could do. My producer was no longer able to send me letters or yell at me over the phone. But I missed her terribly. I'd call her store up after she closed, knowing she wasn't there, just to hear her voice in a civil tone. I cursed the film for making me choose it over her. I cursed myself for thinking that once I sold that film and recouped the money for the investors, we'd make up and everything would return to normal. I cursed her again for making me think we could do this.

I sent it off to 2 film festivals - Vancouver and I can't even remember the other one. It was rejected.

I organized a screening in our local university for the cast and crew. Whoever wanted to attend, basically. I rented a popcorn machine and we had about forty people come out. They had some laughs while I sat at the very back of the theater. I felt some satisfaction but also, an emptiness. My producer didn't come. We didn't make up. We never spoke to each other. Some of the cast went out that night and it felt goood. Nobody threw a drink in my face. Nobody said it was awful.

But again, I had to return to my normal life, which was now in the Maritimes. Work was not going well. I was working in a toxic work environment. The 'Heathers' felt our manager was having an affair with her/our regional manager - it was the only thing to explain why she was their manager. It was tough to keep my mouth shut.

I also made some bad, anonymous jokes on our internal internet on the Hamilton base and got caught. I had totally forgotten about the jokes but was given a 3 month probationary sentence. I was completely willing to take responsibility, even offering to go to the Hamilton airport and apologize to everyone. For some reason, they didn't want me to do that. I got in trouble for complaining about not getting any food for an after-hours corporate meeting over intoxicated passengers. Although I wasn't the catalyst (it was more the Heathers) my attitude wasn't appreciated and was told it was in the best interest of the company's bottom line that they didn't even offer to buy the 12 of us a pizza or two.

I think I moved out there in October. I stayed until June. Then, my company announced opening a Halifax base. I immediately applied and was transferred out to Halifax - again on my dime but fine, whatever. I was finally making it to the center of Canadian comedy.

I was still following our (my) quest, perhaps hoping/dreaming things would work out. Little did I know, it would only get worse from here...

In Moncton, I had moved out with my roommate from the cathouse into a 2 bdrm apartment. I gave her my notice, and found a room to let near the Halifax airport - I was a bit better prepared. I packed up my uninsured car, a Honda Accord I bought for a grand and never insured all through the Maritime winter.

At my going away party - I got a bit too drunk and after my manager raved about how great the 'Heathers' were, I couldn't take it anymore. I told her what they said about her sleeping with her boss. She immediately left. I wouldn't be there for the fall-out that was to come. 

On Moving Day, I stopped at the Moncton Chapters on the way out. I bought some type of red fruit slushie. (this becomes important later). I bought a cigar to smoke on my way east. New cigar, new life. Things will get better. That was perhaps my fourth cigar smoked to commemorate another new life in less than two years.


So I drank the fruit juice. About halfway to Halifax, I stopped on the side of this country road.
It was a nice day. I smoked the cigar. It was sunny and quiet. There was a small creek in the ditch, no more than a few feet across, crystal clear. I felt thirsty. I recall hopping onto this small island in the middle and having this tiny, yet internally humorous debate over which side of the island should I sip from; like if I drink on this side my life will go here - if I drink on that side my life will go there.

It was very philosophical.

So I picked a side and drank a little. It was cold and refreshing. I told myself I made the right choice, the curse of my shitty life had been broken.

Forty-five minutes later I stop at an A&W in some nameless town to go pee. I am surprised to see my urine is pinkish-red and there are bits of dark red solid flakes coming out as well. But nothing hurts so I'm confused. I assume that colour is due to that fruit juice I had earlier. The red solid flakes are... cigar flakes? I don't really know but I shrug it off - after all, I'm off to my new home.

Now I've arranged to sublet a room with an older single man in a small bedroom community twenty minutes from the airport. I arrive late afternoon, he shows me the room. I bring in a few basics, leaving most of my stuff in the car. At eight pm, his cat comes up and jumps on my lap.

An hour later, I'm at the hospital. I had to ask my new landlord if he could lead me to the closest hospital. It's a day hospital, meaning there are no overnight stays. I barely am able to drive there but make it. He goes back home, no doubt wondering what the hell is up with his new boarder.

The admitting nurse thinks I have kidney stones. I tell the nurses looking over me I'm at an 8 for pain level. It hurts worse than anything I've ever experienced. I am given some major pain pills, told to call for a ride and my landlord comes to pick me up (I didn't even know what my street address is yet).

The next day I'm back for tests, the day after that I'm having an operation to remove the supposed kidney stones. This turns into a 4 day hospital stay. I've been given a stent up my uretha and the first time I piss it feels like my dick has been sliced in half, length-wise. I am standing on my tip-toes when I'm pissing, it hurts so much.

Nobody knows where I am except my landlord. I've missed my first two days of work before I'm able to finally call them and tell them what's happened and where I am. All thoughts of movie productions and fame are put on hold. I have many tests.

My kidney stones turned out to be a tumor in my kidney the size of my fist. It's cancer

C'est la vie.

Cancer represented here by Sea Bass.

Artistic Therapy Part 3

Previous Artistic Therapy here.... 



The Credits:

CREW
Me - struggling creative type, wanting to write and direct. 
Winnie - Producer and ex-gf
Mel - my ex DoP
Lester - The New DoP
Ned the Assistant Director
Boris the Assistant Camera Guy
Tony - the Sound Guy

CAST
Herb, the American Jock
Ash, the Quiet One
Tim, the Joker
Demi, the Native Girl
Rachel, the Trophy Girlfriend
Amy, the Angry Woman


Pestilence Part 3.

So, we're now in production. We have a 3 man crew, not including me. I can't recall much of that first week - it's a blur of waking early, driving 45 minutes to the set, lighting the stove in our crew/cast cabin.

But this isn't really a memoir, this is my memories of some of the struggles I went through, most of it after filming so I'm going to skim through most of this.

I recall near the end of the week thinking we were in a deep hole. The cast was great, I was barely holding on to an image of things were going swell. My DoP and I were the only ones who had been on actual film crews before. One of the cast had experience as an extra and wanted to make acting a career.

I called up an old friend from film school who wasn't working at the time and willing to fly up and help out. 'Tony' stayed at my mom's place with me. After his first day he pointed out a shitload of problems I was facing, none of them new to me. It was the reason why I called him. I was taking on too much of the AD role, not through any fault of Ned, just more because I had experience and wasn't able to properly delegate things to him.

So I patiently listened as he told me everything wrong. It was tough to sit through and not lose my shit. I knew all the problems. I needed someone to hold the boom and be an all around grip. Ironically, by the third day Tony had severe bowel problems and came down with the flu, causing him to hole up at my Mom's for a day or two.

Days later, Tony and Les the DoP ge in a huge shouting match one day, far from civilization. I don't know what it was about but it was just another small thing to try and mend. They managed to stay civil to each other for the rest of the script but you bet your shit there was tension building between 'them' and 'us'. The us being me, Winnie and Tony, who was guilty by association. I have no doubt there was a lot of shit talk after we'd call it quits for the day back at Herb's basement suite. Why? Because it's human nature to bond over things we are mad about and here I am, trying to make them famous through an indie film during a typical Canadian winter.


I recall one day Winnie came to help. I was especially tired. She was wearing snow pants. They swished when she walked, like a pair of corduroy pants. I wanted to tell her she was setting herself up for ridicule from the others. I get why she was wearing them but I think it's better that we all experience the same shit - if my cast was cold, I was cold. If they didn't have gloves, I didn't have gloves. Plus, she couldn't move when we were shooting as the swish swish of her pants could be heard on the boom. I wanted her learning on what to do after we were finished shooting - the promotions, the entries into film festivals. By that time, I admittedly didn't want her there with her swishy pants and throwing ideas at me like 'we have a dream sequence where X is in a car with two naked women - I know a couple of girls who will take their tops off - and they go through a car wash'.
True story.

Then... the Big Fight.



To me, it was a trivial matter, one of those 'I can't believe we are seriously fighting about this' but that's because I'm selfish. One day, we finished filming about an hour early. We were waiting for Winnie to come with dinner. Talk started going around but going somewhere warm to eat. I agreed, thought it would be a good idea so we piled in our cars and went for pizza. We passed Winnie coming out. I had left a note back on set telling her we went for pizza and to meet us there.

She never showed. When we finally met that night, she lit into me, saying I was ignorant and rude and her and I were over as a couple. We'd get the movie finished but then she didn't want to see me ever again. I reiterated I left a note but that meant nothing to the situation. She was feeling excluded from the set, from the shooting. I felt bad for her - I knew I was excluding her but justified it by believing she was learning more about the producer role - production was probably the easiest part of the process.

But she was pissed off and no matter how I tried to justify it, it was my fault. I couldn't fight this. I just wanted the shoot to be over. I was cold, tired, losing weight (in the month I lost 28 lbs) rapidly. I felt I was barely holding onto my sanity. In the end, I agreed with her, and just begged for her help in finishing the shoot. I confessed the problems I was having, why I didn't want her to know. She finally cut me some slack and listened. I would have given anything to not have even started this. If I had a choice between her and the movie, it would have been her but I felt I had all these other people, including the investors counting on me. I had no choice but to finish the movie.

This is what she wanted to hear, I guess. I wasn't having any fun, I wasn't enjoying this dream come true. We briefly made up at the Wrap Party but that argument was simply foreshadowing of the bigger fight to come.

It's been over a decade and I only have a few specific memories of filming, troubles that we had to work around.

Wardrobe continuity - This was humorous in it's own way. One day after filming, "Tim" took off his sweater at my parents house. The next day at set, we can't find it. He doesn't know what happened to it. We search everywhere. No luck. So, we continue on without it. Later we find one of my parents picked it up and put it the wash. Quick fix is we later added a scene where he's taking off the sweater on a sunny day. Nothing much but it helps continuity.

Then we have 'The Flare' discussion. My idea is to shoot this scene in the dark, using only a road flare, one of those ones that glow and spit red flame. My DoP insists it is not going to show up on film. I think it will. We go around on this for a little bit before he finally relents to give it a try. It works totally as I wanted.

The Underwhelming Totem Pole. Okay... this was more than frustrating. We paid the local theater special effects guy $500 to make 2 things; a severed head and a human totem pole. I didn't think either would be too hard. On one of the cold days, the guy came over and did a cast for the actress's head in question. Then we started filming, a few days behind schedule and I didn't check up on him again.

My bad.

We get to the final day of shooting - the Totem is the cliche 'gruesome discovery'. I'd envisioned about a 10 ft pole created by body parts. The head would be at the top. I arrive to see the 'mound of body parts is maybe 5 ft tall. It barely came to my shoulders. The guy simply stacked body parts together, no back pole, anything. So much for my gruesome, symbolic discovery. The head could have simply been a mannequin head with a wig for all the realism we paid for. It was like an elementary school art project. I should have given him a sketch, in hindsight. It reminded me of that infamous Spinal Tap bit about stage props.

But then - film school to the rescue. Eyelines and POV!

I had the actor look at where the 'head' should be. Then I had the DoP basically lay on the ground and shoot up, spilling light up the 'pole'. It made our 5 ft totem look a lot taller and ranked right up there with 'creative problem solving'.


The martini shot was of Tim and Demi in the cabin, staring off into the horrifying night, an ambiguous ending. The rest of the cast had started drinking in the cabin - even Lester. It was only Boris and me, in the dark, up to our knees in a snowbank as he slowly pulled out to show the two in the window, surrounded by darkness. Over by the cast cabin, beers were flowing around the campfire. So as my two survivors stared out the window into the darkness Boris pulled back focus, and because of the dark, it made it look like a long reverse tracking shot. It was a nice shot.

And Cut. I recall thinking I wish I had Winnie to share this moment with but instead, I had nobody but the ass't. camera guy who I barely knew. I thanked him and told him to go get a beer.

How I felt throughout filming.The shoot was over. I lost my girlfriend, her respect and 20+ lbs in less than 30 days. Little did I know, the biggest troubles were still a couple months away. 

Artistic Therapy Pestilence, Part 2

They made a movie about a killer snowman so...

Recapping the failed launching of my cinematic career.

Here's what happened last week;

-I talked about pre-production, of losing Mel and getting 'Lester'.
- we held auditions and casted.

Here are my players so far, using pseudonyms to protect all concerned, although many I have lost track of.

Winnie - Producer and gf
Mel - my ex DoP
Lester - The New DoP
Ned the Assistant Director
Boris the Assistant Camera Guy

The cast with names changed even from the script

Herb, the American Manly Man
Ash, the Budding Hero
Tim, the Comic Relief Guy
Demi, the Native Girl
Rachel, the Trophy Girlfriend
Toni, the Strong and Angry Woman


Let's move on to Production.

It's winter, early March if I recall. I solved that one problem of the DoP, which I thought was due to 'schedule conflicts' but turned out to be drugs. I've booked a month off to leave work and go shoot this horror flick in a winter setting.

Usually, the weather during this time is around 0 to -10. Nothing too bad, snow is melting. I come back to town, storyboards in hand. I've arranged cheap flights for those that needed them. Herb has offered his place as a crash pad for those out-of-towners.

I am pretty excited to meet my cast and crew altogether for the first time. Winnie and I run out to the film set, talk about glorious things and feel somewhat nervous but good. We're about to shoot a movie!

Foreshadowing...
I meet the cast for one last read through. It is there I find out that the assistant director and Ash have rewritten some of the script.

um....

Okay, so this doesn't usually happen. Or should ever, to be honest. Yes, there are rewrites involved and I'm all for input but it doesn't tend to happen without some discussion with the director. Writers get screwed like this all the time; if you ever see a multiple credit  in the 'Written by' segment, that is usually because someone else has come in and re-worked it. It is the whole 'it takes a committee to make a camel out of a horse' mentality.

Filming is collaboration and I recognize that but in this situation I felt ambushed. Keep in mind, even if the changes were better, my prep is done with my shooting script. While it might not read like it, I have had a 'vision' in my head and on paper for months of how this was going to look.

So, I had to quickly assert myself in that situation and say 'Yeah, that ain't happening.' To be clear, I was more annoyed than mad at Ned and Ash. Maybe if they had talked with me before this, told me where they had problems with the script. Also, in hindsight I should have done some table readings with them together, to find out what they did and didn't like.

We gave a small amount of money to a woman in my Mom's neighbourhood, who was into fashion. She became our wardrobe lady and she went out with the cast and they collaborated on what they would wear with Winnie. That was the only time I saw her. I think we spent about $300 on wardrobe. we took the cast shopping for make-up and other necessities.

Winnie's aunt did our craft services, which was a real blessing. I never met her but I think receiving fried chicken, lasagna and other warm meals on a winter's set was amazing. We had a table of snacks and every day Winnie would drive in from town to drop off our lunch and get an update. I will talk later of the whole should they/shouldn't they have producers on set argument...

That weekend we went to our first location; about a half kilometer deep in the woods, with my Dad's house providing the warmth and comfort beforehand. We hiked out in a beautiful blue sky but cold day. The temperature was -19 Celsius. I still remember that for some reason. Ned, the AD had a friend, whom I will call Boris, who offered to be camera assistant to Lester; Awesome! The more the merrier.

The first scene was of them being lost in the woods, trying to find their way to 'the cabin' with a poorly drawn map. DoP did his own camera and I asked for the shots but didn't review the takes from his angle, more only eyeballing it from what I'd seen. We didn't spend much time on rehearsing or blocking out in the woods. It was pretty cold.

We shot as much as we could, then called it. It was way too cold and Lester was worried about his camera freezing up. We went back to my Dad's house, warmed up and felt pretty good about it, all things considered. The cast and crew went off to Herb's basement suite, the unofficial clubhouse where Lester and Tim were couch-surfing for the shoot. From the sounds of it, lots of laughs happened there. I wouldn't know, I was never there. Insert sad emoji face.

Instead I was at my mother's watching my first dailies and doing production meetings and relationship things with Winnie.

During those dailies I saw a pretty big problem immediately in the casting. Ash, who was meant to be the 'weak one' was already too cool for the movie. He looked more like an American hero than someone who would go from filler in the background to fighting the Evil Dead (tm). Wardrobe decided his character would wear a straw cowboy hat, jean jacket, and Elvis glasses. I believe he also had mutton chops. It was difficult to not focus on him in the scenes. He was a cross between Keanu Reeves in the Matrix and Brad Pitt in his 'cool guy' movies.

Something like this guy but whiter. So this, coupled with the script coup, made me decide to recast Ash. I didn't know the guy on a personal level. I told Winnie the problem and I left that unenviable job of firing him up to her. I still feel bad about that. I've since learned more about him; he married an old co-worker of mine and he's quite funny in his own way. Perhaps in another life, we would have worked on something else together or shared more laughs.

But at that time, all I saw was someone who tried to take over the script and was taking over the focus, just by his presence. I could have taken him aside, explained to him what I envisioned better... you know, director things. Instead I told Tim, aka my best friend, the problem and he knew someone else who he thought would be perfect. And again, with limited input from Winnie, I said, Bring him in.

Again, I didn't want to tell her that I felt I was in over my head. I had this all under control, believe me. Yes, I saw the pattern here but felt I needed be the rock and not ask for help, something I still have difficulty with.

And luckily, Ash 2 did work out. He wasn't imposing, wasn't intimidating. He's a pretty good-natured guy in reality and that played well with his character. So instead of a weak to strong character arc, we'd do the easy-going guy to serious arc.

I think we waited two extra days for the cold snap to pass. During that time, I don't recall much of what I did. Hung out with Winnie, kept going over the shooting script. Met and talked over some scenes with Ash 2 and the others. Winnie informed me she had a friend who would donate time on his helicopter if we wanted any air shots.

Now, as an indie, low budget filmmaker, that is a huge added value to your shoots. Ask any wannabe filmmaker if they want a helicopter, you bet your ass they will say yes. The better able you can give your shots a professional, big budget look, you do it.

My big problem was now to figure out what would be the best way to use a free helicopter.

Behind the Curtains of An Indie Author

If you came here from Reddit or any of my writer forums, welcome to the show.

If you came here from Facebook, welcome back.


In the interest of anyone thinking of self-publishing or already are a self-published writer I have decided to write about a subject all of us dread to think about but must be acknowledged.

Sales.

On the forums I lurk and participate in, it feels like talk about Sales goes one of two ways; either someone is humble-bragging about what they've done or, and this is far more common, someone is panicking about not having enough sales.

Now, to be honest, the self-published books I've read tend to be either a) pretty bad or b) close to pretty good.

For me, most are too 'wordy'. If I had to take a guess, I'd say many of these fellow Indie writers are in their twenties, as I was as well at one time. That's okay. But I'm a talk and plot guy, not a preach and describe the scenery guy.

Back in my twenties, we didn't have the ability to push out whatever we chose without having to go through the hoops or getting a professional opinion. If you wanted to be published, you had to rely on someone else's opinion, a gatekeeper so to speak. You had to submit it and wait weeks, months for a letter.

I once received a form rejection letter from a publisher that I had no recollection of contacting, much less whatever it was I submitted.

It felt like a preemptive rejection and quite rude, to be honest...



For those who may fall into the b) category listed above, I usually want to say 'hey, let me help you trim this a little'. But then it is probably too late and perhaps a little rude. After all, they have already published and moved on to checking their sales stats, Kindle listing, book 3 of their fantasy epic trilogy, etc, wondering when the gold will start rolling in.

So with that said, I'm peeling back the curtain on my book sales to explain why you don't see a Tesla in my driveway. Maybe it will help some of you indie authors feel better about yourself or at least not as alone and worthless, as I sometimes feel.

Click that little 'read more' link below to continue.


First, I'm in my mid-forties. I've been writing one way or another for a long time. I've done some journaling, written some overly-complicated long emails and the occasional short story (about twenty so far if I guess). My first full-length novel was a symbolic story of heartbreak in the guise of a traveler crossing the Sahara, a lost Indiana Jones. I was about twenty at the time. I don't know what happened to it but it was probably pure crap. It was the longest thing I ever written until then. I spent many hours hand-writing before typing it out, back before the days of word processing.

Five years later, Windows Word changed my life forever. I did another book crossing young angst, religion and wrestling at the end of the grunge area; Duff Ragwell and His Amazing Channel Changer.

I submitted that to a publisher who sent me a very nice rejection letter stating they didn't see a market for a 'wrestling' book. Little did they know the WCW and WWE were about to go for each other's throats. I never resubmitted that anywhere else.

I then switched to magazines. I wrote, reported, edited, wrangled stories, met advertisers, published and distributed this for two years. It was a soul-sucking experience that was amazing.It's incredible what you can do when you don't know how to do it. But eventually, it ended. I started with a car and four roommates and it ended with me taking a bus to advertiser meetings and living alone in a subletted apartment for a few months. Burn-out.

I backed away from public writing for another five years. I continually worked on a love story of childhood romance, despite having only bad experiences in this department. Then I started another book, based on my experiences during a summer sabbatical in a small mountain town. More on that later.

Then Y2K happened.



So let's speed things up by 10 years - self-publishing became an emerging reality and I took advantage of a 'sale'. I pushed out that story on the small mountain town. It was an awful experience, the book was sub-par, full of typos (even on the cover which I am confident wasn't there when I submitted the files) and frankly embarrassing. I now know this would be called my 'first draft' in publishing lingo but honestly, I rewrote that about three times.

Now I've since rewritten that first book about 10x. I've self-published it and I've also published two other books. I am very proud of them all.

But this is about Sales.

I have sold about two dozen books personally and gave away about the same number. I had a specific floater copy which is out there somewhere, with the caveat that if you read it, you must write a few words in it on the inside cover. I'd be interested to find out where that one went to.

For your convenience I will split my sales between Internet and Personal.

Internet Sales
For self-publishing I used Createspace, a subsidiary of Amazon. I get paid once my royalties are over $100 US. I earn 35% of the list price. So if the book is $10, I get $3.50 of that. As of now, with four physical books published, my royalties through Createspace/Amazon is just over $10.

Last year I made $16. I have sold six e-books through Kindle ebooks. Seeing as how I published my first novella on Kindle back in 2015 that's a stellar two books a year at .99 cents each.

if only I self-promoted more...Now, as I write this, I just did a self-search on Amazon. It lists only one published book out of my four, despite Createspace saying it is available. WTF...

{Temporary thirty minute break to add the other books to my Amazon page which will show up in the next five days. I also create an Author's bio. I'm not smart enough to figure out how to add an RSS feed from this blog to my author page. And yes, I need a better profile picture} 

Anyways... moving on to the much more satisfying Smashwords.com e-book sales.

Now, for those who know, my hard-cover books are full of footnotes, little jokes and whatnot. Footnotes are a bitch to format for Smashwords. That formatting actually felt like work and often my manuscript was sent back for revisions. I do want to point out that Smashwords customer service is great. They helped with the problems noted and gave me stellar advice.

Smashwords also keeps track of partial downloads, which gives me a better idea of how many people actually acted on any Internet promotion I do, usually through Reddit or Facebook.

I'm just starting to learn more about Twitter so have yet to do any self-promo on there. Instead I lurk on other indie author sites and wannabe comedians. Although common practice states to push your works only a little on Twitter, otherwise you're just spamming.

On Smashwords I have published my two novels and three novellas. My price again is .99 cents. I'm obviously not in it for the money but for the long-term. I want exposure, a grass-roots audience.

But apparently this is what happens if you self-publish 'erotica'For this site's reports I actually need a calculator. I have a firm sixteen sales but more importantly, over 700 downloads sitting in people's e-readers, waiting to be discovered. That definitely feels good.

Smashwords royalties are the same, at 35%. It's pocket change and as such they pay into my PayPal account every year. I don't look at the total, for it's nice to find money in those unexpected places, like a $20 bill in your old jacket. PayPal is my old jacket and I found I have just over $20 sitting in there.

Okay, so there are my Internet sales. Now don't you feel better?

Personal sales 
Obviously the most profitable way is to sell directly. I keep 100% of the profit, after figuring out how much I paid per unit for shipping. I guesstimate my expenses for shipping as about $9 per book. I take donations from friends and family, whatever they want to pay. Not too many ask about them which is okay. Families and friends first, critics later.

Of course, the more books I buy at once for myself, the cheaper the shipping is but I can't justify having boxes of books sitting in my house. It would be too depressing stepping around them every day to get to the computer.

So I order one box at a time.

Now as an experienced book shopper on the low end of the income bar, I find most new books over-priced. My tipping point to purchase a new book is $10 and I can't recall the last hard-cover book I bought that wasn't on the discount table. I love thrift shops and garage sales. But I can't sell for $10 although all I want is to cover my expenses and hopefully break close to even. Because of that, my  book price is $15, figuring in a 60-40 split with the book seller. Again, I'm not in it yet for the money, just the exposure.

Now my small town has two book stores. One is in the mall and the other is downtown. One is a chain, the other a brick and mortar front for the area's distribution company. Both have 'local interest' sections which is where they offered to place my book(s).

No offense, but I'm not a fan of having my book in 'local interest'. The other books are mostly local trail guides, history and non-fiction type books. However, until I grow a bit more confident and request my books to be moved into general fiction, that is where they sit.

Downtown, I've only sold one book from that outlet. I blame it on poor visibility for their local interest section is in the very back of the store, in the middle. Sales 101 states your most popular sales areas are at eye level along the outside of the store (think grocery store), and close to the check out counter.

At the Mall, the local interest is close to the counter. When I first went there, I was surprised as to its location. I asked with trepidation if they would put my indie books on consignment. I thought they'd say they wouldn't, that needed some type of distributor/publisher behind me but to my relief, they didn't.

I waited a couple months before snooping back in to check if anyone picked up a copy. And happily, they were gone. The lady said head office would send me a royalty check in the next month. I gave her a couple more copies and the process repeated itself.

I admittedly am not the greatest on following up on my sales. They're spare change and I treat them as such, for fear of  being one of those guys who post on Internet forums asking why their books aren't selling.

But I do go to the mall every couple months and am surprised to find my books gone. So then I have to go back home, get more copies and return.

Obviously I can't sell my books if people don't see them but I've sold eight copies there and I guess they've gone pretty fast considering the surrounding books are still there.


I think my covers help. Do your research on what you think will make your cover stand out from the rest.

For the record, I have yet to see a royalty check from head office but the consignment lady said she would look into it.

So there you go. If you are interested in any of my books, I've hidden links throughout this post to where you can buy or download them. You can also help out a little by leaving kind, truthful reviews on any of those sites.

Or you can help out an indie author and reach out to me by email, facebook or twitter and I will send a signed one personally.

Who knows, one day they might be worth something...

jay