Sunday, November 21, 2010

Kingdom of the Firebird

[Meant to be a prologue; just something I scrambled to write and haven't bothered editing. If I sort out my details correctly, it should turn out rather awesome. Enjoy!]

PROLOGUE

The young woman ran as hard as her feet would allow her. She picked up her skirts, as her heeled boots splashed in dirty puddles of the bricked walkways up the dark street. Some of her hair stuck to her face with sweat, while the rest flowed behind her in a whirlwind. In her right hand, she clutched a golden locket; its chain jingling against her fingers. She heard a low, loud whisper behind her, as if someone was sucking in a breath. She gasped and turned a quick corner down an alley. She knew these streets like the back of her hand. Up ahead, she knew there was an old warehouse where she used to visit with some friends. Friends who, way back when, didn't care about debutante classes or high society. Time had changed now. She had changed, but the warehouse was still the same.

She swung to the right and arrived at the side door of the warehouse. She pulled the rusted door, wavering on its old hinges, and ran in, slamming it behind her. The warehouse was warm, and the floor was covered in old dirt and hay. The neighbors had used it in the winter to keep the cattle warm. She caught glimpse of a small room that she recognized amidst the dust and debris and scrambled to get inside. She slid into the corner and started digging through the hay. Occasionally, she'd glimpse behind her, looking at the shadows in the room, making sure they didn't move. Finally, she saw the wooden panel and digged her fingernails between the cracks to pry it open. She whimpered hysterically, growing impatient. The Cloaked One would find her soon enough. With all her strength, she pulled away the plywood and pushed it up. She looked down into the darkness. A tattered rope ladder hung on the side, swaying with the wind that entered and swirled inside the passage.

The whisper came again. The woman gasped, tears streaming down her face, and nervously tried to step onto the ladder. She placed one boot, then both, and as she stepped one foot down to make room for her legs and torso, she felt a strong wind enter the room and slam her in the back. She staggered on the ladder, struggling to get in, but then she felt her body being pulled back. Her hand let the locket fall down the passage and she threw the wood panel down, throwing the hay back on top of it. She heard the warehouse door open and slam, and then a plume of darkness enveloped the room. The woman pushed herself into a corner and cried out. "Please, please don't. I don't have it! You're looking for someone else. It wasn't us, I swear it!" As the tears still fell, knowing that no amount of pleading would help, her brown eyes suddenly glowed-turning amber, then gold, as an unseen fire reflected in her pupils. She felt warm all over, hands trembling in front of her to keep The Cloaked One away. The darkness swirled around the room like a cyclone; black gusts that almost resembled wet ink instead of clouds. It happened much faster than she could process. One moment, the fire in her eyes blazed, as a spark of flame came from her warm hands, and the next, an ink clawed hand reached out for her throat and swallowed her up in the night.

Saturday, September 25, 2010

FROM THE ASHES excerpt, rough draft

I thought of this idea a couple of months back and just started putting some work into it. It will essentially be, as most things are, a love story. This is going to be the opening to just set things up. I'm not exactly sure if I'm going to do this as a screenplay or a novel, so pardon the roughness of it until I get up a polished, rather distinguished, grey poupon version.


FROM THE ASHES [WORKING TITLE]

OPENING

A grove of large douglas fir trees high above the ground interlace their branches with their surrounding counterparts. Looking up from the ground, sunshine peeks through the spaces between branches as the canopy waves slightly in the wind.

LACHLAN [VOICE OVER]

Of all things, I remember late spring in the forest; the wind drifting through the trees softly as if telling a secret, the smell of the wildflowers, the familiar smush of the wet dirt between my toes. I miss the feeling of water, both on the ground and from the sky. Water all around me, encircling me in a calm storm.

LACHLAN REEVES, AGE 23, OPENS HIS EYES AND LOOKS AT HIS ALARM CLOCK. THE DIGITAL NUMBERS READ 9:00AM. HIS PUPILS DILATE SLIGHTLY, THEN SHRINK BAC TO NORMAL SIZE. HE SITS UP AND LETS HIS FEET DANGLE OFF THE BED. HE WIGGLES HIS TOES AND TAKES A DEEP BREATH. HIS ROOM IS LARGE, BUT PACKED IN. BOOKS AND PAPERS LITTER TWO DESKS, AND A LARGE, WHITE CANVAS SITTING ON AN EASEL SITS IN THE CORNER BY A CURTAIN-COVERED WINDOW. HE GRABS SOME CLOTHES OUT OF A CHEST DRAWER AND WALKS INTO THE BATHROOM. HE LOOKS INTO THE MIRROR. HE HAS SHORT, BLACK HAIR BUT IS NEED OF A HAIRCUT. HIS BLUE EYES HAVE THE COLOR AND INTENSITY OF A SIAMESE CAT. HE RUBS THE DARK CIRCLES UNDERNEATH THEM THEN WETS HIS NIGHT CHAPPED LIPS BEFORE TURNING ON THE WATER AND GETTING IN.

LACHLAN [VOICE OVER as he completes actions]

I take a shower, five minutes—not longer. For those five minutes, I don’t feel the constraint of sleep and the stuffiness of this house. I walk out to the kitchen and greet my mother. She’s made oatmeal and toast. She eyes me curiously and places a mint green, plaid plate and matching bowl for me on the nook table. As usual, I see endless worry in her face.

JANIE

You’re up early. Who bribed you?

LACHLAN

I have to do the lawn today.

JANIE SOFTLY LAUGHS AT HIS JOKE AND POURS HIM A CUP OF APPLE JUICE. LACHLAN PICKS UP THE NEWSPAPER. THE HEADLINE READS: SCIENTIST DEVELOPS NEW ALLOY TO TEST ON BUILDINGS. THE DATE READS: JULY 16TH, 2036. LACHLAN READS THROUGH THE ARTICLE PATIENTLY WHILE FINISHING HIS BREAKFAST, THEN SILENTLY GIGGLES WHILE READING THE COMIC SECTION. ONCE HE FINISHES, HE WASHES HIS DISHES, KISSES HIS MOTHER ON THE FOREHEAD, AND WALKS INTO THE LIVING ROOM. HE SOFTLY WHISTLES AND A RATHER LARGE DOG COMES STRIDING INTO THE ROOM.

LACHLAN [VOICEOVER]

Rainer keeps some of my dreams alive. I rescued him some years ago, when he was still small, on a trip to Washington State. Now, my half border collie, half wolf hybrid nearly came up to my hips. My mother hadn’t been very fond of him initially, but my father…well, my father considered him a child of his own as well. Soon enough, Rainier showed to be every bit as loyal as my mother saw I was. Sometimes, every bit as mischievous and smart aleck as well; a true reflection of his master.

RAINIER FOLLOWS LACHLAN INTO HIS ROOM AND PLOPPED ON THE BED AFTER HIM. LACHLAN PICKS UP A COMIC BOOK AND READS UNTIL NOON. WHEN THE CLOCK READ 12:15PM, HE WORKS OUT IN THE HOME GYM FOR TWO HOURS. AS HIS MOTHER COMES IN TO USE THE EQUIPMENT, HE LEAVES, GRABS A SNACK, AND THEN TAKES A QUICK SHOWER. TWO MINUTES—NOT LONGER. THE NEXT TWO HOURS WERE SPENT IN AN IMAGINATIVE STUPOR. LACHLAN PAINTS SCENES OF PLACES HE HAD TRAVELED AND MISSED. HE SLASHES HIS PAINT BRUSH ACROSS THE CANVAS LIKE A KNIFE, THE ACRYLIC SHOOTING FLECKS ON HIS SHIRT AND FACE. SATISFIED, HE SPRAYS IT WITH A SEALANT AND SETS IT ASIDE. HE LOOKS AT HIS MATERIALS. HE WAS RUNNING DANGEROUSLY LOW AND WASN’T SURE WHEN HE WOULD GET MORE. HE LOOKED AT HIS CLOCK. IT READS 4:00PM.

HE WALKS OUT TO THE SUN ROOM EVEN THOUGH THE BLINDS WERE PULLED DOWN. HE FOUND A SQUEAKY TENNIS BALL, WHICH RAINIER IMMEDIATELY IDENTIFIED AND BOUNDED OVER. THEY PLAYED TOGETHER UNTIL LACHLAN FELT A TIGHTNESS IN HIS SHOULDER. RAINIER WENT BACK INSIDE ONCE HE FIGURED LACHLAN HAD QUIT AND CURLED UP ON HIS RATHER LARGE BED IN THE LIVING ROOM. LACHLAN SITS ON A SWINGING CHAIR AND LOOKS AT THE BLINDS WITH RESENTMENT.

LACHLAN [VOICEOVER]

I ached for sunshine. I ached for the whispering winds of the Pacific Northwest that had broken my heart every time I left it. I had gone there every summer to visit my uncle when I was younger. I hadn’t been back in over 5 years. My parents needed me. There was no more time for the selfishness of youth. I thought about checking in on my father, but knew that he would be resting. Somehow, I dreamed that this existence would be tolerable if he was capable of seeing it.

WITH SHAKY HANDS, LACHLAN PULLS ON THE DRAWSTRINGS OF THE BLINDS AND DREW THEM WIDE OPEN. A BRILLIANT WHITE FLOODED THE ROOM. LACHLAN COVERS HIS EYES AT FIRST FROM THE DRASTIC CHANGE. ONCE HIS EYES BEGIN TO FOCUS, HE EXHALES A HEAVY SIGH.

LACHLAN [VOICEOVER]

It’s going to be a long 8 months.

PAN OUTà EXTERIOR OF MEDIUM/LARGE SIZE HOUSE, WITH METAL COVERED ROOF AND METAL COMPARTMENTS ON THE SIDES. EXTERIOR OF AREA/LANDàBARREN AND SKELETAL TREES WITH, AT FIRST GLANCE, SEEMS TO BE A SNOW COVERING THE GROUND AND FALLING FROM THE SKY. EXTERIOR OF TOWNà ONLY A COUPLE OF SIMILAR LOOKING HOUSES, THE REST OF THE TOWN IN RUINS, AND SMALL PATCHES OF FIRE SPOT THE TREES AND REMAINS OF BUILDINGS. THE WHOLE TOWN IS COVERED IN ASH, AND IT CONTINUES TO RAIN DOWN WITH SLOW, YET FIERY DETERMINATION. CLOSE UP ON LACHLAN’S FACE AS HE PULLS DOWN THE BLINDS IN ANNOYANCE.

Wednesday, May 26, 2010

While reading, I stumbled along this fantastic quote...

" How to create Character:

Audiences often ask if characters are based on "real people." Indeed, the impulse of the amateur is to write about "who one knows." The professional, on the other hand,understands the impossibility of such a task. The "creator" of the character must know more about the character than one could ever possibly know about a "real person". The author must possess complete knowledge: what the character was wearing on Christmas morning when he or she was five, what presents he or she received, who gave them, and how they were given. A "character", therefore, is a "real person" who exists in another plane, a parallel universe based on the author's perception of reality. When it comes to people--don't write about who you know, but what you know of human nature. "

-Candace Bushnell, via Mary Gordon Howard in The Carrie Diaries