Dark Karma

An update and a few statements.

The last time you humored me and checked out this cyberwordspace, I was imploring the cosmos at large for a home.  Not for me, but for a story.

I didn’t do it for myself, not at first.  I did for a friend.  Then I was abandoned.  Not cool or perfect enough.  That friendship, that trust, is gone.  All I’ve got left… is a story.  And dreams, like people, should belong somewhere.

I didn’t think it would happen.  But I found a place.

McMinnville, Oregon.  In the heart of Oregon’s wine country.

Saturday May 14th at 2pm, the Willamette Radio Workshop will perform “Proteus Rising” live on stage at the McMenamins Hotel Oregon, as part of the 12th Annual McMinnville UFO Festival.

I don’t have the words to describe how great this show is going to be.  Talented professionals with experience in stage, screen, and sound are the backbone of WRW.  I work with them often and, well, basically they’re all friends of mine.  At the very least, they don’t burst out laughing at the first sight of me.  So to be fair, personal bias could inform my appraisal.  But the sizes of their audiences and the cross-generational appeal removes all doubt.

But on top of all that, many of them are fans — many more than I expected.  An impetuous, tongue-in-cheek query over pre-Super Bowl brunch has regenerated into another draft of the script and reports of enthusiasm from the group.

They can do it.  They know how to do it.  And they don’t merely want to — they’re freakin’ out.  Or so they’re telling me!

Now here’s the real point.  Hope.  The point of this story.  Of writing.  Of blogging.  Of voicing your thoughts and sharing links in cyberspace.  It’s all self-expression.  You have to share it.   So out it comes.

It’s also communication.  You don’t know who you’re talking to.  Not really.  Therefore you never know what response you’re going to get in return.  Maybe someone lays down a snark or a cheap shot.  Maybe someone accuses you of preaching to the choir.   You can’t affect any real change doing what you’re doing.

But the real value of writing, of any art, comes when someone else really needed that thought — that voice — to come from you.  This world can be a long, hard ride.  And it’s not always easy to clear one’s mind of the many loud voices all slagging you, criticizing you, telling you lies.  So when you write something or post something, and someone else gets it, suddenly you’re connected.  You’re not alone.  You needed that little bit of reinforcement, of validation.

We shouldn’t have to fit in.  We should belong.  Conformity, making oneself less so the collective can become more, is not belonging.  It’s neither improving, maturing, strengthening, or nurturing.  It’s using perfection as a blunt instrument, pounding the vulnerable and the unique into a convenient shape, something easy for the weak-minded to absorb.  It’s breaking a runner’s legs to keep everyone in lock-step.  And of course ee cummings said it better and it’s a cliche now, but the truth remains.  It’s a bitch to be yourself.  And even when you master it, the collective breaks you the first chance it gets and forces you to start over.

That’s the point.  The point of “Proteus Rising.”  Of writing.  Of anything we do that says, “This is me.”  You’re using your voice.  Testing the waters.  Putting yourself out there.

We take the dive with ever changing mixtures of courage and false bravado.  Even the so-called experts.  Even Olivier puked his guts out before every show.  So when someone busts your chops — I mean, knocks you down hard — knowing that someone else relates to you, knowing they like the way you transmit things to them and that they want you to, sometimes it’s the only thing helping you pick yourself off the ground.

For most of my life, I’ve been asked why I write.  I write to keep sane.  To stay myself.  But now I see:  Maybe I’m helping someone else stay sane, to retain his or her own identity.  Something I said resonated, and that was enough to make the soul-killing lies of a false world ring hollow again.  When you preach to the choir, it can be forgiven — if you make the world ring properly once again.

But that won’t happen if you give in to the silence.  If you submit to despair.

It’s not easy.  I fight despair all the time.  I take meds for it.  I seek inspiration and encouragement constantly.  Doctor Who is one of those inspirations, one of those encouragements.  All my life, people have told me not to write.  To give up on my talents or my beliefs.  To be less smart or more smart.  To be less ugly, to be more rich.  To be perfect.  To be a drone like everyone else.  To be seen instead of heard, to give in and join the silence.

Now the silence swallows me up like a whale.  Sometimes I can barely speak.  So I write.  I blog.  I post links.  I preach to the choir.

And somewhere out there, the lies ring hollow for someone other than myself.

And one day soon, for an hour, someone else will hear the groan of ancient engines.

True, we’ll be surrounded by folks in tinfoil.  But I won’t be alone.  And neither will they.

This could well be the end of our wretched fanboy saga.   The script is complete.

Technically, the first draft.  But I’ve made so many edits and major plot revisions while writing it that it feels more like a third draft.  Every time I took a significant detour from the treatment, I saved it to a new file.  Three detours.  Three files.  The third time’s the charm, they say.

I was aiming for a 45-page script.  The plot as outlined would’ve been longer, maybe twice as long.  Scenes were combined, condensed even more beyond the treatment stage, or simply cut.  And after all that, this completed draft is roughly 60 pages.

But it’s all a moot point.  Unless someone actually performs it.

So if anyone — anyone — anyone out there is reading my nonsense, speak out.  I’m attaching an Abode Acrobat file (PDF) of the Proteus Rising audio script. If you read it, I’d like constructive feedback.

And nicely.  Spambots, trolls, and other defective brain cases need not apply.  Causing trouble will only provide me with a data trail.  And some of my friends don’t wear white hats.

And of course, yet another disclaimer for writers, producers, and anybody working with the BBC.  We’re talking about an unproduced Doctor Who story.  This isn’t for your eyes.

And obviously, I’d love to hear from anyone interested in actually performing this thing.

I mean, c’mon.  Say hi.  Or  “cool!”  Or even the perennial “I laughed, I cried, it became a part of me.”

Because that’s what I was shooting for.

We return to our horrific tale of fanboy obsession and computer keyboard intrigue.

This is the second or third draft of this posting.  It turned into a loud, bitter rant.  But this should be about the story, not the noise or the foolishness that distracted from it.  So let’s get back to that.

I went through a lot of wrangling to hammer out the basics of this new version.  And even in the scripting change, I’m still banging on it.

Writing isn’t about perfection.  Writing is about getting the ideas out.  Get it all out.  Out of your head.  Outta yer system.   Screw perfection.  Put it down on the page.   Do it now.   All the clean-up — the tightening of bolts, the caulking of plot holes, gritting your teeth, cutting out the stuff you love but doesn’t work or moves too slow — that’s editing.  Edits come later.  Write it down first.

I point this out because of the shaky nature of this treatment. A synopsis is a quick sketch, summarizing the overall plot.  An outline can be done several ways, sometimes as a list of key plot points, or a scene breakdown that narrates key events.  A treatment is usually more detailed than all the rest, written like a short story, spelling out the drama.

If you’ve been following this blog thread from the beginning, you already know about the distractions that brought me here.   This treatment was written under the pressure of those distractions, in the hope of stripping all the rathole ideas and audience pandering that was holding the story down.

And even with that, it’s still kinda messy.  Writing.  Getting the ideas out.  So I’m going to throw in commentary, the sort of stuff people say when their place is a mess and they weren’t expecting guests.

And again, this is a Doctor Who story.  BBC employees, writers, and producers of a nervous disposition should be mindful of this.  But knowing that, and if you’re still interested, follow the jump: Read more »

I was going to say, “Here’s a quick update.”  But this little addendum only brings you up to 2008.  And if you’ve been reading my posts, by now you’ve figured out that, for me, quick means a few thousand years — I mean, words.

“Eternity Calling” started in 2002.  Crashed and burned.  Everyone moved on to other things.  Six years later, Neil buzzed me about the old story.  About doing it again.

Apparently Jon Blum was going to be in Boston again, and Neil suggested re-recording the story.  More Seventh Doctor, only he wouldn’t get to say, “Aaaaaace!”  Apparently the fan who played the Seventh Doctor’s on-air companion Ace wasn’t available.

So they couldn’t ramrod a Time Rift reunion into the prison rape cluster[BLEEP] of my poor, battered ‘n’ beaten story idea that had to walk through the snow both ways before getting run over by a Good Humor truck.  Real frickin’ shame.

Not that I’m bitter or anything.  Phfft.  Hell.  Tap my leg like a maple tree and you’ll get a bucket of Angostura.

I tried not to make a big deal out of it, but it came through all the same.  Neil and Jon wanted to re-rewrite the script to use another Seventh Doctor companion, Benny Summerfield.  And I didn’t exactly dance a jig:

You guys do what you need to do.  All that’s really left is an idea that was once mine.  If I can help it along, I’d appreciate it if you could gimme a holler.

To be fair, Jon Blum was patient and thoughtful about it (something I’m not used to):

Go right ahead and give us your ideas on messing with it!  I’m not out to take over the project — I’m approaching it as basically being Neil’s (and your) baby…

BTW, I’m sorry about the rewrites at the time — the re-recording after the opening bit was wiped was an act of desperation based on which actors we could get back together!

See, he was trying to be nice about it.  But it was clear that, in their minds, I was only there for the ride.  This was a courtesy call.  They could’ve gone and done it without a word to me.  Again.

We exchanged ideas back and forth.  Some enthusiasm.  A few lame jokes, mostly mine.  Plot points and images were bandied about.

Then nothing.

At least for another two years.  Then we can honestly say we’re up to date.

After a series of blogging prohibitive encounters (i.e. life — more on that later, much later, perhaps one day), we return to the sordid tale of fanboy obsession and behind-the-scenes intrigue.  After the jump:  “Eternity Calling.”

Read more »

Right, back to the tangled roots of the Doctor Who audio project called something-Proteus-something.

You might remember the background.  Neil Marsh and I were working on a fan audiodrama where the Doctor was female.  Fanboy dickering drove the project into a ditch twice before.  A big popularity contest.  Sort of like high school, only shorter.  We moved on to Afterhell after that.

The worst of it faded into the background noise of the scriptwriting process.  Unfortunately that was an even bigger mess.

I started on a full outline of the whole storyline, cliffhangers and all.  Then Neil sent an e-mail, panicking.  Forget the outline, he said.  He could really use a script, something to show people.

I wrote the first few scripts based on what I had.  Then he grew concerned about the plotting.  Stop the scriptwriting.  He wanted the outline after all.

I went back to the outline, only to get more e-mails begging for scripts.

And so on and and so on.

Neil was always nervous.  Never satisfied.  Whatever I gave him, he needed more.  All this while writing Afterhell.  Yup, he had me writing two radio series at the same time.  And like an idiot, I went through this vicious cycle a few times, back and forth.  Recipe for burnout.

Anyway, after the jump,  this is the rough but completed outline for “I, Proteus.”

Read more »

We continue this sordid tale of scriptwriting and fanboy intrigue. Reader discretion is advised.

For the sake of context and clarity, we’ll briefly cover the history of the project. Details behind the BBC writer/producer story-protecting jump:

Read more »

Let me start with profound apologies to anyone who cares about this here empty space of mine, my personal blog. The last few years have been turbulent, full of all those things, as John Lennon once wrote, that happen while you make other plans. Personal and professional conflicts. Illness. And family losses, including my father. I wish I knew how to juggle blogging and all those other things at the time. But I’m here now.

And Facebook is one hell of a time sink. Hello, Facebook, by the way.

I return with a mission. I’m stuck with a story that probably won’t ever be produced. Two reasons. One, it’s a Doctor Who story and their writing assignments are by invitation only. The second reason: The exec producer of this fanfic project, Neil Marsh (not the showrunners of the actual BBC production), is into passive-aggressive behavior. He has run away. Rather than abandon this project yet again, I intend to finish it — here on this blog.

The next several postings will feature the work in progress. If you were ever curious how a story or a script is written (or how I write them), maybe they’ll be interesting. Normally, copyright concerns would keep me from doing something like this. But Doctor Who is a BBC property and I wouldn’t claim otherwise. This is partly an exercise to begin with, playing with somebody’s else concepts to see what can be done.

But I also wanted to prove the work was being done — and that it’s worth doing. Enablers and apologists can dismiss the work and the worth out of hand, I’m sure. They almost have to. Otherwise they’d have to re-evaluate who and what they’re enabling and excusing.

Therefore, all and sundry are on notice: If Neil insists on abandoning this project, it won’t be for lack of a great story.

Because it’ll be here, true believers. Stay tuned.

Snarky remarks have been made about my recent cat-related blog postings. Awfully sorry to whine about friends dying around me. And on my own personal blog. How selfish of me.

Here’s a little change of pace. Let’s talk about global warming.

A few months ago, I worked on a radio adaptation of John Campbell’s classic short story “Who Goes There?” Most people remember it as The Thing From Another World and The Thing. I set the script in the modern day, which referred to a frozen island that was now a mile further away from the coast of Antarctica than it had been a year before the story began.

I was never sure how controversial that little snippet of backstory was — within the cast or the audience. There were questions about some other science bits, but not that.

This afternoon I stumbled on a news item. Here are three articles:

Here in the fact-based world, the Wilkins Ice Shelf didn’t lose one or two measly square miles. It lost 160 square miles.

And the audience at the live show thought we were scary. Sleep tight, kiddies.

Yeah, I know. It’s been a while. I’ve been meaning to get back to the dreaded blog thing, only to be undermined by circumstance. The modem is willing, but the flesh is weak.

Anyway, I’ve been saving up several things to post here. I might rush through ‘em a bit, so keep up:

Afterhell
We’ve made a lot of progress since we last met; some of it, of a dubious nature. (Ooh! Cryptic. That’ll keep him in their seats for another second….)

All the roles were cast at the end of April, and we’ve had two rehearsal sessions. And at each one, we were short one actor. The first time, I guess one guy got tied up with work and schedules and things. I don’t think he deliberately flaked. He was sufficiently apologetic when he joined the second rehearsal, so I didn’t glare at him too hard. On that rehearsal, I knew we were going to be short one actress, so I was ready for that.

Either way, all our local actors haven’t had a single rehearsal together, as a unit. A moment while I mumble and get the frustration out of my system….

On the bright side, the performances have been fantastic. The actors we got are wonderful. On the second rehearsal, we got yet another actress sign on to play a bit part and fill in, basically a glorified understudy and utility infielder. But the minute I heard her, I really wished I had a bigger role for her. She ran some lines for our missing Assistant DA who goes mad in this ep, and delivered an impish, bloodthirsty psychopathy. Man, she knocked everyone’s socks off.

Frankly I was tempted to sack the lady I’d originally cast. But that actress put up with some of my rantings on things almost totally unrelated to AH during her audition, even as her allergies were kicking. If nothing else, I keep her in the role by way of thanks and politeness. I couldn’t live with myself if I screwed someone over for my own profit.

Screwing someone over because they’re jerks, I can do….

Anyway, AH now enters an awkward phase. Our studio date has gotten pushed back to June 28, so we have to sweat through the next five or six weeks. Jamie and I are trying to put together a few pick-up rehearsal sessions for any castmembers. She’s combing through dates and e-mails, looking for times where more than two actors are going to be at the same place at the same time. It’ll keep them focused and it’ll give our sound engineer a chance to get a feel for the voices and performances.

Oh great, now he shows up. He never made it to any of the other rehearsals. We made damn sure he was in the loop for those, too.

I suppose now I’ll have to show how adaptable and quick-thinking we are. If I knew there was gonna be a pop-quiz, I’d have cut to the chase and just flunked.

Monkey’s Audio
Goofy name, amazing tech. Monkey’s Audio is audio compression freeware. I tried it a while ago, wasn’t thrilled with the results, but I think it’s improved a lot.

It doesn’t always compress audio as tightly as MP3 or Ogg Vorbis, but it has one advantage over them. It’s loss-free compression. It doesn’t shave data off the original sound to conserve space. You lose neither quality nor data. Not only is it great for archiving, but it sounds exactly the same compressed as uncompressed. You can save hard drive space and keep the original sound quality.

Anyone who knows me for more than a few days knows I’m a music junkie. I listen to MP3′s made from my CD collection while I work, but if I know a certain song by heart, it doesn’t sound right in that format. The music’s been changed. That little bass thump at the start of the third chorus feels wrong. Stuff like that. Monkey’s Audio has provided a handy compromise.

I just hope iPods can read it….

Beware of Trojans Bearing Crap
Lastly, I’ve had the ignominous pleasure of working all day yesterday to get a stupid virus off my computer. This time, there was no pimply-faced sex-starved script kiddie behind it. It was from a corporate entity. Yahoo/Geocities. You can find a brief description of it here: Boycott Yahoo/Geocities

On the bright side, I was able to beat the little bugger and get it off my system. I’d downloaded five or six different anti-trojan programs that day. Only one did the trick: The Cleaner by MooSoft.

Blogging tools
Well, can’t get much more self-referential than that. For the last month or so, I’ve been using a blogging client that lets me access my hideous manifestation of net-presence with a double-click and nothing more. It’s called w.bloggar. Very nice. And freeware.

Frequent readers of this blog (all four of you) will notice the changes I’ve made to the look of the ol’ blog here. w.bloggar made it easier, but what made this change a real breeze was StrangeBanana. It’s a webpage that randomly generates new styles suitable for any blog. Refresh the page and you get a whole new look. If you like it, copy it.

Hence, Dark Karma get a face lift and my lazy little teeny-weeny brain didn’t have to crunch nearly as much code as it first a-feared. As for whether the new look sucks….