Wicked - reading

Finished "Wicked" by Gregory Maguire. It wasn't what I expected it to be, but it was still excellent. As I was reading it, I heard the same thing repeated by others who have also read it. It's the story of Elphaba (which in my head was el-PHA-ba, but in the play was EL-pha-ba) long before and immediately after the events of the Wizard of Oz. I liked the way the author incorporated iconic elements of the Wizard of Oz, yet still told an original story.

Not-so-coincidentally, I saw Wicked (the play) on Broadway right after I finished the book. (Literally hours after.) The two are really different animals. The book was full of subtleties, intrigue, mischaracterizations explained, etc. The play took out anything that might be confusing and simplified it to tell a different story based on the same things, but had an excellent set and costuming. It's rather what I expect folks from Amber might experience going from one shadow to the next.

Walk the Road - The Iron Writer Challenge #80

I signed up for the Iron Writer challenge and was assigned to challenge #80. (See The Iron Writer #80.) After the challenge was over, I got really busy and didn't notice when the stories were posted to the web site, and only got one vote. The top vote-getter got 11 votes.

Anyway, I wanted to share a bit on how I got to the story I wrote, and since it's short, include the first drafts as well.

The elements we were given that needed to be incorporated into the story were the Peel Trident car, Furby, Dr. Pepper, and a lost emperor. At first I hated the list. "Ridiculous elements!" I thought. So for a while after getting the list, I set it aside.

Then I did some research on each and, after discovering the Peel Trident came from the 1960s, when each one came about. The first two were 16 years apart. Then 32. I continued the pattern, and incorporated that into my story.

First Draft (1,063 words)

Ian stared at the passing countryside and listened to the hum of the bullet train as it sped toward Tokyo. His reverie was broken as a train moving in the opposite direction blurred past. He shook his head and looked again at the invitation he held. It was from Emperor Akihito himself.

“Put it away,” his wife Kumiko told him in Japanese. He looked at her, then around at the other passengers, all Japanese. He was the only westerner in the train car. Nodding, he slid the invitation into his coat pocket. Before he could turn toward the window again, she asked, “How do you know Emperor Akihito?”

“I knew his son. At Oxford in the '80s. He's who got me interested in Japanese culture. That was years ago.”

Kumiko said, “The Trout Inn?”

Ian smiled and nodded. “You remember.”

The train slowed, and Ian held Kumiko's hand, excited for what was to come.

Together they exited the train and made their way to the Imperial Palace, where they were greeted personally by one of the Emperor's advisors. He escorted them through the winding corridors of the emperor's private residence. Kumiko's eyes were wide with wonder at every turn.

They waited in a large, official-looking room, the scent of incense heavy in the air, for several moments while their guide announced them in an adjoining room. He returned and beckoned them to follow. In the smaller room was a bed covered in pillows. Emperor Akihito lay in the middle of the bed, looking much smaller than Ian remembered. He still wore a suit, as though he dressed for some important visitor. His familiar, endearing smile appeared briefly. He nodded as though bowing, and with a faint cough, motioned Ian forward.

“Been a while,” Akihito said in Japanese. “Why no visit?” He gave a faint chuckle.

“What can I do for you?”

Akihito sighed. “I'm glad you came. Please, talk with Shigeru.” Akihito motioned at the man standing on the other side of the bed, then rested his head back on the pillows and closed his eyes.

Shigeru bowed, which Ian returned. “This way.”

They followed Shigeru through the estate and into a separate building. The inside looked like a museum, displaying a diverse collection of artifacts, most behind or under glass.

“This place looks like a museum,” said Kumiko.

From the front of the room, Shigeru said, “Naruhito is missing. He was last seen in this room. We believe you can find him. He left you this.”

Ian took a scroll of paper from Shigeru and read it. Written in English, it said, “Ian, I found the road back. Ask Fabi.” “That's not possible,” Ian said. He looked around a moment, then asked, “Are there any other pieces Naruhito collected?”

“This way,” said Shigeru, leading Ian into another large room.

Ian looked around. In the center of the room on a narrow pedestal was a bronze plaque with a quote from Naruhito himself. It said, “I have had a keen interest in roads since childhood. On roads you can go to the unknown world."

Behind it there was a tiny – even by Japanese standards – red car labeled “PEEL” on a giant black sticker across the front bumper, and a three pronged icon between the headlights. He brought out his phone and searched for “Peel car.” Immediately an image of the car in front of him came up. “A Peel Trident.”

He opened the only door, which opened the car like a red Swingline stapler, and found a newspaper on the seat. He picked it up and unfolded it. The title proudly proclaimed The Hartford Courant. Ian's eyes went wide as he read the date out loud: “Saturday, August 28^th, 1902.” It was in pristine condition! The first story was about President Roosevelt being the guest of the city, and driving his own car on his visit.

Ian turned the page and a photograph fluttered out. He picked it up and was surprised to see Naruhito the subject of the vintage photograph, and standing next to President Roosevelt! They were both holding bottles of Dr Pepper and smiling. “What did you get into?” asked Ian with the wonder of a child.

Across the room, sitting on a chair that sat next to an archway leading down into darkness was a small plush toy. It looked like an owl. Ian looked once more at the note left for him by Naruhito that said, “Ask Fabi.” “Furby?” he wondered aloud.

Before he could traverse the room and inspect the toy closer, someone came into the room and whispered to Shigeru. Ian watched as Shigeru visibly slumped. He nodded and the other man left. “Now you must leave with me. The Emperor has died.”

“What? No!” Ian protested. “If the Emperor is dead, that means Naruhito is the new Emperor. I need to find him!”

“He is not here.”

“I don't think he's gone far,” said Ian. With renewed enthusiasm, he walked to the Furby in the chair. “Hello, Furby.”

Ian was shocked to hear Naruhito's voice come from the toy's speaker. “Name the year and walk the road.”

Ian thought back to the newspaper. “1902?” Furby sang a song. He was wrong.

“Name the year and walk the road.”

Ian took out his phone once more. He looked up Furby. He looked up the Peel Trident. He looked up Dr Pepper, and Roosevelt's visit to Hartford. He studied each, taking notes. When Naruhito-Furby said, “Name the year and walk the road,” Ian wrote them in chronological order: Furby, The Peel Trident, 1902. He grabbed the registration on the car. It was from 1966. Furby was first made in 1998. He squatted next to the chair the Furby sat on and mumbled his way through some quick calculations. “2014 to 1998 is 16 years; 1998 to 1966 is 32 years; 1966 to 1902 is 64 years. 128 years before that would be...” He stood up. “1774!”

The Furby emitted a gleeful, “Ha HA!”

Ian wasn't sure what changed on the walkway, but it looked subtly different to him. He looked back at Kumiko and Shigeru and said, “I'll be right back.” Then he turned and walked down the walkway. “I'm not sure where you are, my lost Emperor, but I'm going to bring you back.”

Walk the Road - Final Draft

Ian, the only westerner in the Imperial Palace, straightened his suit as a palace official approached. Ian showed his invitation. The official bowed and said in Japanese, “I am Shigeru. This way.” Ian was escorted through the winding corridors of the Emperor's private residence, his eyes wide with wonder at every turn.

“How do you know Emperor Akihito?”

“His son and I attended Oxford together in the '80s. Although we first met at 'The Trout Inn' pub, he taught me Japanese culture.”

Moments later, they stood in a small room containing a bed covered in pillows, heavy with the scent of incense. Akihito lay on the bed, looking frailer than Ian remembered. His familiar, endearing smile flashed, then faded. He mocked a bow, and with a faint cough, motioned Ian forward.

“Been a while,” Akihito whispered in Japanese. “Why no visit?” A faint chuckle.

“Tenno.” Ian bowed. “How can I help you?”

Akihito sighed, weary. “Glad you came.” He rested his head, eyes closed. “Shigeru will show you.”

They walked to a separate building that held a diverse collection of artifacts, most behind or under glass. “This place looks like a museum,” said Ian.

“Naruhito was last here. Now he's missing. He left this.”

Shigeru handed Ian a scroll of paper. Written in English, it said: Ian, I found the road back. Ask Fabi.

“That's impossible,” Ian said. He explored the room. In the center stood a narrow pedestal with a bronze plaque: On roads you can go to the unknown world. – Naruhito

Behind it was a tiny – even by Japanese standards – red car. “Is that a Peel Trident?” He pulled the only door, which opened the car like a red Swingline stapler, revealing a newspaper on the seat. He unfolded The Hartford Courant. A vintage photograph fluttered out. Ian retrieved it while reading the newspaper. “Saturday, August 30^th, 1902. President Roosevelt a guest of the city. Pristine!”

The photograph showed Naruhito standing with Roosevelt! They were smiling, holding bottles of Dr Pepper. His mouth gaped! “How did you get there?”

Across the room, a chair sat beside an archway leading down into darkness. On it was a small, owl-like plush toy. Naruhito's note said ask Fabi. “Furby?” he wondered.

Just then someone entered and whispered to Shigeru. Shigeru's shoulders slumped. He said, “The Emperor has died.”

“What? No!” Ian cried. Then, “Naruhito is now Emperor!”

“He's gone.”

“But not far.” Renewed enthusiasm quickened his steps. “Hello, Furby.”

Naruhito's voice replied from the toy: “Name the year. Walk the road.”

Ian thought back to the newspaper. “1902?” Furby sang a song. Wrong answer!

Ian looked up each item in the room. When Naruhito-Furby said, “Name the year. Walk the road,” Ian put them in chronological order: Furby, 1998. The Peel Trident, 1966. The newspaper, 1902. He mumbled his way through some quick calculations. “2014 to 1998, 16 years; 1966, 32; 1902, 64. Subtract 128...”

“1774!”

Furby emitted a gleeful, “Ha HA!”

The arched walkway looked subtly different to him. He said, “I'll be right back,” then walked through. “I'm not sure where you are, my lost Emperor, but I'll bring you back.”

Sycamore - 48HFP Practice

Using the 48 Hour Film Project practice script generator, Jess and I did a full-scale practice for the 48 Hour Film Project. It involved getting the specifics at a set time, writing the script, shooting it, editing it, scoring it, and everything in between.

Here's what the generator gave us:

Your 48HFP Trial has the following specifics:

Name: Isaias (male)/Ivana (female) Heckler

Occupation: Soil Conservationist

Prop: washing machine

Line of Dialogue: I was wondering if you know anything that I should.

Genre: Fable

The script follows:

-----

INT. ISAIAS’ HOUSE - BEDROOM - DAWN

Isaias Heckler is getting ready for the day: turns off ringing ALARM CLOCK, gets out of BED wearing UNDERWEAR; brushes teeth;

ISAIAS:

(Looking into the mirror, disappointed with himself, toothbrush in mouth)

Greed makes you compromise.

Isaias gets his UNIFORM from the DRYER (next to WASHING MACHINE); gets dressed; puts WORKERS GLOVES in back pocket

INT. ISAIAS’ CAR - MORNING

Isaias gets into his HYBRID CAR, parked in his driveway.

ISAIAS:

(Looking in rear-view mirror)

Greed makes you compromise.

His CELL PHONE beeps as he receives a text.

CELL PHONE (ECU):

ADDRESS: 3434 Sycamore Lane.

Golden, CO 80401.

North East corner.

EXT. SYCAMORE LANE - DAY

Isaias stands in front of a large TREE with a CLIPBOARD in hand. He kneels in the dirt and picks some up letting it fall between his fingers. He pulls out his WORKERS GLOVES, puts them on and inspects the tree - runs his hands and fingers along the trunk.

TREE:

(Giggling)

That tickles!

ISAIAS:

(continues to run his fingers)

What about here?

TREE:

(Laughter)

Oh ho-ho stop. I can’t take it anymore.

Isaias stops tickling the tree. He looks up at the full branches.

ISAIAS:

How old are you? 70?

TREE:

(Mock offended)

Where is your bedside manner? I am 93 by human years. Would be just a child in my family’s eyes, if they still lived.

Isaias looks around the lot and further. Sees subdivisions and malls, various buildings and construction.

ISAIAS:

Yeah.

TREE:

(continuing)

Humans say, “She’s just a tree!”

They don’t realize what I see

I’ve been here for a century or two

There is wisdom in my glade

Take a seat here in my shade

It’s rare for man to hear me as you do

It was not that long ago

I grew up without a foe

One as young as you won’t believe it’s true

There were aspens, maples, pines.

Sometimes covered up with vines

Sunbathing, drinking in the morning dew

At first humans weren’t bad.

Stayed with us and made us glad.

We should have paid attention to the clue.

They tattooed our bark with names

Cut us down, burned us in flames

A shame our numbers now are far too few

You’re not like them, I can tell

Before I bid you farewell

Know this: Your heart will tell you what to do

ISAIAS:

I can’t deny what you say. Perhaps I should show my real talent today.

TREE:

You’re new to rhyming, aren’t you?

ISAIAS:

Yeah. Good thing that’s not my real talent.

TREE:

I was wondering if you know anything that I should.

ISAIAS:

I’m here to see about your future in this world.

TREE:

I’m fine with whatever you decide.

INT. BUILDERS OFFICE - AFTERNOON

Isaias walks into the office with his GLOVES still on. Builder is looking over some PAPERS and her PHONE.

BUILDER:

Are you Isaias Heckler?

ISAIAS:

At your service.

BUILDER:

I trust you have good news for me.

ISAIAS:

Good enough.

BUILDER:

Excellent. Come. Let us drink.

Builder gets up from her DESK. Isaias walks toward her. Builder pours two DRINKS and hands one to Isaias. Builder clinks GLASSES and drinks. Isaias does not drink. He puts his CLIPBOARD down on the desk, the drink next to it.

BUILDER:

Are the papers in order?

ISAIAS:

Nearly.

BUILDER:

Have them for me Monday and you will get your payment.

ISAIAS:

I don’t want to seem greedy, but you should really pay me half now.

BUILDER:

(Pauses to consider a moment)

I can agree to that.

Builder walks behind the DESK and grabs a BRIEFCASE.

BUILDER:

I was a bit worried, never having worked with you before.You soil conservationists are a bit picky, but you came highly recommended.

Isaias unravels a length of WIRE, securing it around his hands.

BUILDER:

For now, here is half in unmarked bills, as we arranged.

Builder crosses the room to stand in front of Isaias.

ISAIAS:

These trees are in distress.

BUILDER:

Yes, and I’m here to put them out of their misery, with shopping malls, and houses, and parking lots. There will still be green. Just a different kind of green.

ISAIAS:

Have you heard the story of the Bull and the Goat?

BUILDER:

Yes, yes, it shows an evil disposition to take advantage of a friend in distress. But you’re not in distress, are you?

(She proffers the BRIEFCASE OF MONEY)

ISAIAS:

No, but you are.

Isaias lunges forward, strangling the builder to death.

ISAIAS:

Hard to breathe, isn’t it?

Builder gasps and then dies.

All in all, it was not great. The script wasn't that good. The shots we got were not good, and the edit was noisy, choppy. But hey, it was a first attempt!

I would link to the video, but it's really just not good. Ask me again in a few years.