Posts Tagged: screenwriting

the ghostwriter (chapter 12, part 1)

(photo by autumn_leaf on Flickr http://www.flickr.com/photos/_autumn_leaf/) Drew’s life has become hyperbolic and the fact that it all seems somewhat implausible nags her—at a red light, or when the music pauses between songs, in the stillness of dawn before her apartment

the ghostwriter (chapter 12, part 1)

(photo by autumn_leaf on Flickr http://www.flickr.com/photos/_autumn_leaf/) Drew’s life has become hyperbolic and the fact that it all seems somewhat implausible nags her—at a red light, or when the music pauses between songs, in the stillness of dawn before her apartment

what would water do (chapter 11)

(photo by vlpg Too on Flickr http://www.flickr.com/photos/vlpgtoo/) The napkins have resurfaced, the plates have retreated to the center of the table and Lang Westwood is at the punchline of her story:  “And I said, ‘what are my choices?’ to which

what would water do (chapter 11)

(photo by vlpg Too on Flickr http://www.flickr.com/photos/vlpgtoo/) The napkins have resurfaced, the plates have retreated to the center of the table and Lang Westwood is at the punchline of her story:  “And I said, ‘what are my choices?’ to which

the chorus speaks (chapter 10)

(photo by fotorosso on flickr http://www.flickr.com/photos/fotorosso/) A week later, Drew is in the shower in her apartment when the phone rings.   She stands in front of the mirror dripping on the floor as she listens to the voicemail message: Hello,

the chorus speaks (chapter 10)

(photo by fotorosso on flickr http://www.flickr.com/photos/fotorosso/) A week later, Drew is in the shower in her apartment when the phone rings.   She stands in front of the mirror dripping on the floor as she listens to the voicemail message: Hello,

like a junkie communing with god (chapter 8)

(photo by ojoblanco on flickr http://www.flickr.com/photos/ojoblanco/) Framed by the bedroom window and backlit by dawn, the enormous eucalyptus dances, trailing long black ribbons.  This sight hails Lang every morning: the mottled skin of the trunk and silver tongues of leaf

like a junkie communing with god (chapter 8)

(photo by ojoblanco on flickr http://www.flickr.com/photos/ojoblanco/) Framed by the bedroom window and backlit by dawn, the enormous eucalyptus dances, trailing long black ribbons.  This sight hails Lang every morning: the mottled skin of the trunk and silver tongues of leaf

adaptations (chapter 6)

(photo by johnwilliamsphd on flickr http://www.flickr.com/photos/johnwilliamsphd/) Last night Wayne did his customary circuit of the clubs and didn’t find his way back to his own apartment until 4:23 am. He would still be asleep if Mrs. Espinoza hadn’t come at

adaptations (chapter 6)

(photo by johnwilliamsphd on flickr http://www.flickr.com/photos/johnwilliamsphd/) Last night Wayne did his customary circuit of the clubs and didn’t find his way back to his own apartment until 4:23 am. He would still be asleep if Mrs. Espinoza hadn’t come at

crying on cue (chapter 4)

(photo by ::fotorosso:: on flickr http://www.flickr.com/photos/fotorosso/) “My first impression is that you’re just too damn tan for the role.” Lang Westwood has her foot propped rudely up on the desk in front of her. It’s a real handmade boot made

crying on cue (chapter 4)

(photo by ::fotorosso:: on flickr http://www.flickr.com/photos/fotorosso/) “My first impression is that you’re just too damn tan for the role.” Lang Westwood has her foot propped rudely up on the desk in front of her. It’s a real handmade boot made

preparing for a love scene (chapter 2)

(photo by nassau on flickr http://www.flickr.com/photos/nassau/) There is no doorbell and no knocker, just the giant brass face of a lion roaring silently.   Drew glances back over her shoulder between the white columns at the stiff green lawn.  She is

preparing for a love scene (chapter 2)

(photo by nassau on flickr http://www.flickr.com/photos/nassau/) There is no doorbell and no knocker, just the giant brass face of a lion roaring silently.   Drew glances back over her shoulder between the white columns at the stiff green lawn.  She is

What Would Water Do: Chapter 1

                  The hopeful writers who make up her weekly group all have day jobs, but they each take one night a week to resuscitate their little sparks of hope or talent.  This Wednesday the group meets at the Starbucks

What Would Water Do: Chapter 1

                  The hopeful writers who make up her weekly group all have day jobs, but they each take one night a week to resuscitate their little sparks of hope or talent.  This Wednesday the group meets at the Starbucks