November 2006 Archives

Congrats to the many who've made it through or are on the verge of crossing the finish line! (oh math, from hell's heart, we stab at thee. For hate's sake, we spit our last breath at thee.)

If you haven't already shouted out, or you have last thoughts to share that you were holding back for fear of spoiling endings and such, you've come to exactly the right spot. Thanks to all for an excellent 'march and most especially thanks for your high patience with me, and my, well, let's just say imprecise posting habits this time around. I should be much more on the dime when we tackle The Monster aka Thomas Pynchon's brand-new book, Against the Day. Deathmarch to start in mid-January. And may God have mercy on our souls.

Next week: Can you hear it? That sound? The whirring of machines, the gathering of magnetism? Watch this spot for...a magnet preview....

-Cecil

Our second mic-less open mic is coming up a week from Saturday. This time around, Blacksmith Cellars has offered to pour a pair of their fantastic wines. Should be a lotta fun, whether you're sharing your work or just luxuriating in that world-famous Alameda hipster vibe while sipping a glass of award-winning grape.

Here's the scoop, straight from the flier:

Come join us Saturday, December 9th as Wilmot's Books hosts an old-fashioned mic-less open mic, featuring local writers plus fine wine courtesy of Blacksmith Cellars.

We'll keep things moving at a brisk yet mellow pace – 3-5 minutes per reader, just enough time to give folks a taste and leave them politely requesting more. "But no!" you'll say – "you'll have to wait till the next Wilmot's Old-Fashioned Mic-less Open Mic!"

• All manner of prose and poetry welcome.
• Sign up at 7 pm; words at 7:15 pm.
• Directions: 510.865.1443.
• Questions, or to sign up ahead of time: openmic@cecilvortex.com.

Wilmot's Books: 478 Central Avenue, Alameda

"Fractions" -- it's just division for extremely lazy people.

What's 3 divided by 4? I'm too damn lazy to figure it out. In fact, I'm wiped out just forming this sentence. How about we call it 3/4 and you let me go back to sleep?

Fractions for geopolitics would look like this: "Say, what's the solution to the problem in Iraq?" "Oh, that's easy. It's problem-in-Iraq-solution."

Fractions for getting a large boat into a bottle? "In-bottle-big-boat it!"

Fractions for keeping a dog from eating your ham? "Dog-not-eat-ham him."

Please. Don't waste my time. With fractions.

"He's breaking all the time!"
our cabbie says.
He's what?

"The cab in front of me is breaking all the time!"
Oh my lord. Somebody stop him. 
We need time!

And then of course I realize it's 
just that it's late and I'm 
skating along. 

"He's braking all the time" 
is all that other car's doing.
His backlights flash and flash and flash.

Our taxi scoops around, passes on the right.
Bright white bolts of drizzle slam into the speeding road
streaming it back out behind us faster than we can parse.

All part of 
that necklace I wear made of 
night trips home from the airport.

Munificent.

Folks who've made it through the previous deathmarches can attest to the fact this one has been exceptionally botched on my end, but you've all done a great job putting up with it. And it looks like collectively the group is spitting in the eye of math -- 19 comments this near the end is mighty mighty.

If you've missed commenting one week because of the jumble, not to fear. Everyone gets one mulligan on this 'march. Post on all but one, finish the book, and verily ye shall be magnetized.

This here would be the place to comment on everything up to Part III, chapter 2 (e -- you were right about that error in last week's target....).

Wednesday Nov 29: Let's meet up at the back cover of the book for a wrap party, replete with "extreme fatigue."

We've all used the old "behind you!" trick to get someone to turn around. Was a time, that was a real effective hustle. The mark turns, you pocket his change. Done and done. But word spreads. Stuff gets incorporated into TV movies. And then one day you notice nobody's buying it any more.

Tonight my six-year-old son executed an exciting new take on this old chestnut that I thought was worth sharing with the rest of the grifting community.

So, he's trying to tickle me but, frankly, he can't, because I'm just too fast and canny. Then he says: "Look, behind you. Momma's trying to give you a potato." I turned to look. No potato.

Later, after he'd gone to bed and I could find some time to think -- to think! -- I sat down and puzzled through why this had been such an effective swindle. It came down to two key elements: (1) who runs a grift with potatoes nowadays? Just about nobody. And (2) why "trying"? What was that about? He'd hit on just the sort of extra detail that fogs a mark's mind.

Anyways, all you grifters out there, enjoy. And to the rest of you, please don't spread the word by incorporating this technique into a TV movie.

I've been working on a sitcom script for the last little bit and that's meant wrestling a lot with dialog. I know good dialog starts with being a good listener, and I've been trying to get out a little more to coffee shops, dude ranches, laser tag emporiums, and other places where "real people" hang out, to hear how they speak and to pick up language I might not have used myself.

I'm also trying to come up with a handful of basic working techniques that'll help me get more consistent and credible results. I thought some of the folks who drop by this site might be interested in sharing techniques we've been taught or figured out. If you're feeling generous, add a comment to this post -- no technique too small, too cheesy, or too obvious.

Here are a few of the things I've been messing around with:

backstory-a-licious: The clearer the character's backstory and driving motives, the more personal their reactions to any situation. This week I finally figgered out the backstory for one key character in the sitcom. It was a pretty simple sketch of a backstory, but even that really helped turn his words from "generic Cecil banter" to something more specific.

messing up the tennis match: I find I too easily get into dialog volleys of "Ingmar, what'd you have for dinner?" "Well Dave, I had tacos for dinner. How about you?" Dialog can start to get into this predictable back and forth as I race toward a particular plot objective (for example: "feed Ingmar and Dave!"). The aforementioned backstories help remind me to stay focused on what drives the characters, not just the plot point that's driven me to write this particular scene. I've also been encouraging characters to interject more tangents, and I've been occasionally allowing them a genuine word fumble -- something that'll surprise the other characters and hopefully the audience.

keying in on key phrases: for some characters I focus in a phrase or two that they use. They don't even have to actually use it in the piece, it's just something I keep in the back o' my mind as I write their lines. For example, in this micro-musical I was messing around with, there's a character whose voice keys off the phrase "How 'bout that?" (stolen from a kid who played Tom Sawyer at Disneyland -- as he walked away he called out to my kids with a light twang: "I'll come back later and we'll go look for treasure -- how 'bout that?") Whenever I thought I was getting off track on that character's voice, I'd ask myself "is this the sorta thing my 'how 'bout that' guy would say?"

So that's a few from me. How 'bout that? And how 'bout you? -- any dialog tips/techniques/tricks you'd be up for sharing?
-Cecil

Other boys stay out late and smoke.
They use bad words.
They worship false gods.

When they ask me to come along
I say I'm busy.

I'm keeping my hands clean.
It's been hard work, really really hard work
keeping my hands clean all these years.

I do not live in a glass house.
I am not one of those people.
I've earned the right.

And now I'm throwing rocks at you.

Who was the maroon who scheduled a Deathmarch right in the middle of election season? Oh yeah, I was the maroon. Sorry to all excellent Deathmarchers. I've really punked it up this week, missing Week 4 on Wednesday and remaining behind on my reading. But heck, I'm just one marcher. Fortunately, there are a lotta the rest of youse doing a great job staying up-to-date or near it. So let's charge on. With only two weeks to go, hopefully I can get my act together by next Wednesday.

Comment-wise, this would now be the place to post on anything up to the end of Part I.

And speaking of next Wednesday: I hope to see ya at the end of Chapter II, Part II, just past "an extraordinary face!"

Chicken and eggs lobbed
from twelve feet away keep him
fed. They comb his mane when
he's sleeping. They clean his chin with a sponge.

Planted in someone's garden next to
the tulips.
Cool dirt and pebbles
pack up tight against his belly down

below
below.

They let him roar when he wants to roar.
Why not?

It's comforting to know we still have fire fighters amongst us -- people dedicated to finding fires and then fighting them. Fire needs to be fought.

There are other primal forces that need to be fought, of course. I'd like to be a wind fighter. I'd go around putting out dangerous winds. Or perhaps a dirt fighter. Or I could combine both, and I'd fight hazardous dirt-wind constructs, like dust storms. But there doesn't seem to be a market there. It's hard to fight wind and dirt, sure. But also, maybe we just don't fear wind or dirt as quite much as we fear fire. Certainly, we don't fear them as much as we should.

We have disease fighters, and we call them doctors, nurses, researchers. We have crime fighters, and we call them police or detectives. Some people call them "bobbies."

It's different with fire. It's a different kind of fear. Our fear of fire makes us smaller, crouching, even cold. We need to be reassured straight-shot with a steady gaze. A roundabout word won't cut it. We need to be told yes, there are fires. There will always be fires. But have no fear.

There are fire fighters too.

In which young students are prohibited from engaging in activities that move their lower bodies. That what? Yes, that move their lower bodies. Like soccer.

In which bass-heavy music is banned.

In which children are scolded for singing "Brick House" in school. And I'm not making that up.

I ask you, if the children don't sing "Brick House," who will sing "Brick House" in the 22nd Century? In the 24th Century? Do they really think Lionel Ritchie will live for ever? Ridiculous.

The Waldorf Schools: The world's largest independent and nondenominational school system, founded by Rudolf Steiner back in 1919? Or an unnecessarily complex plot to deny future generations the pleasures of "Brick House"?

I say both.

Never let it be said that I didn't post the thread for Week 3 before midnight on Wednesday.

Never!

Still, this is really just a placeholder. Life -- what with elections , Halloween, and all the time I've had to spend anticipating the release of the Borat movie -- has overflowed into my Deathmarching time a tad, so this will be an unacceptably thin soup of an entry, hopefully replaced tomorrow with heartier fare. I will say this: loving the book. And this: digging the conversation this week -- especially the back and forth re Mr. Ramsay.

Next Wednesday: Let's meet at the end of Part I, where rumor has it she's triumphed again.