STIATF February 28, 2013

Seven Things I Am Thankful For:  March 1, 2013

EDITOR'S NOTE:  This is not a motivational diatribe...  If you are looking for purpose in your own life, I would look elsewhere (ideally inward, or around you).

1.  My Father
My father is a kind, generous and hardworking man.  He is also a big inspiration to me.  As an English teacher, and the son of of English teacher, he (and my mother) also bestowed a reverence for reading and the written word in me from a very early age.  I am very lucky to have such a solid and steadfast motivator and inspirer providing me with a constant impetus for consistently striving to better myself as both a writer, and a person in general.  My dad also grows a little older today - Happy Birthday Dad!

2.  Jim O'Heir as Jerry Gergich
Parks and Recreation is a great show.  It is easy to focus on the breakout performances of Aubrey Plaza, Chris Pratt, and especially Nick Offerman's Ron Swanson, but it is Jim O'Heir's Jerry that is the unsung hero in my mind.  Tonight's replay of this year's Halloween episode provided a great example of just how relevant the perpetual underdog was to me:  when he had a (SPOILERS) heart attack punctuated by excessive flatulence, I laughed - and quickly grew worried.  Speaking of which...

3.  Halloween
There is no better "holiday" and no better "season" in my mind, than the inherent spookiness of Halloween, and the dry decay of late autumns in Northern Ontario.  Halloween is the only day I can think of that emanates throughout the work of my favourite auteurs.  John Carpenter's film is one of my favourite (and most watched) movies of all time - and while Rob Zombie has always embraced the basis, he also missed the point.  To me, Halloween is a state of mind, and a seasonal presence that is more evocative than Christmas itself!

4.  Thom Yorke
I have long been a fan of Radiohead, and always realized that their quirky, droopy-eyed singer was a big part of the buy-in I experienced.  I have seen Radiohead in concert multiple times and revere both their artistry, and their commitment to the obscure.  I know people who were passionate fans of different "eras" of Radiohead music that can no longer tolerate the band's elasticity.  It is that very elasticity that keeps me engaged with them - they are one of the only bands I can think of who constantly strive for musical evolution.  I am listening to Thom Yorke's Atoms For Peace side project "AMOK" as I write this.

5.  Finding Old Things
Today I found an old note from a man who was voted as "one of the most important people in the history of Canada" by Maclean's magazine.  That note is featured in the photo at the head of this entry.  That is an impressive title, and it was bestowed upon a man for whom I have a great deal of respect and reverence.  I also hope to be working with him on a short film project in the coming months.

6.  Producing Short Films
There are two reasons why I love producing short films.  The first reason why I really love producing short films, is because I don't have time to produce full length ones.  The second reason why I love producing short films is because it has provided me with the confidence to start working on my first feature length film.  For me, film and life tend to be a juggling act.

7.  Jane Espenson
Not only has she been a part of some of my favourite pieces of entertainment (seriously, look her up) but it was one of her frequent WRITING SPRINT challenges on Twitter that inspired me to post this tonight.  It was that same kick in the butt that lead me to realize I have had a great deal of traffic to my blog despite the fact that my last post was on October 31 (Halloween) of 2012 (see #3).  I need to increase my posts, and I will thanks to one of my favourite entertainers:  Jane Espenson...

See you all again soon -

Mike

Where Does Inspiration Come From?

Inspiration is everywhere, you just have to look.

 "Where do you get your ideas?"

That is one of the most common questions I am asked about my writing and films.  To be honest with you, it is a tricky question because it can be both very easy to answer, and very difficult.

I'll start with the easy answer.  Inspiration is all around us, and by extension, ideas.  The photo above is a good example of inspiration.  It would make a great shot in a movie for sure, but that one simple photo could also inspire a half-dozen stories with very little meditation:

1.  What lurks beneath those floating leaves?
2.  The frog prince who was too clumsy to reach the princess two pads over.
3.  The daily bloom and collapse of the water lily.
4.  The painter who strives to capture the strokes of the great impressionists.
5.  The person who nearly drowned in the youth, finally drawn back to the water by a beautiful flower.
6.  The man who is certain a beautiful mermaid lives in his lake.

Those are six stories I could easily write based on that one photo alone.  So that would be the easy answer:  I get my inspiration from life, and I constantly seek out the stories around me.  Anything can inspire a decent story.  Any decent story can inspire a satisfying film.

The harder answer is in fact a bit of a non-answer.  Where do I get my ideas?  Sometimes I have to sit down and plot them out.  I have to map out the characters and arcs, and major plot points in order for the story to solidify.  Writing longer narratives in particular is a bit like making Jello: You have to keep stirring the ingredients until they all start to come together, then you have to let it chill until the character, plot and themes solidify.  When I am writing a novel, that is usually how I will start.

Sometimes you just have to go for it.

With my shorter pieces though, it is more like a brief possession.  I will sit down with very little idea about what is I am going to write.  This is never more true than with my "Story-A-Day" project.  With each of those 400+ stories, I start by selecting a photo, and the stories almost seemed to write themselves.  I try not to go back and edit them, which leads to some embarrassing spelling and grammar errors, but I like that they are all very much stream of consciousness efforts.

With my films, there is a little more thought put into narrative crux, character motives, and audience lures, but they tend to start off as very simple concepts as well.  From the concept stage, I then reverse engineer the story and it is often the twist or reveal that defines what the remainder of the story will be.

Stories are everywhere, which makes me truly fortunate because all I have to do is collect them and tell them.

And where does inspiration come from?

It comes from everywhere.  Inspiration lurks in the darkness of night, it flourishes in the beauty of nature, it falls and rises through the fragility and strength of humanity, and it explodes outward from all the stories that came before.

That is where my ideas come from.  If you are looking for inspiration, all you need to do is look.  It is everywhere...

Story-A-Day #315: How ' Bout Lunch?

HOW 'BOUT LUNCH?

He sat alone at a table for four, surrounded by noisy, smoking French women.  Their husky voices swirled and melded into a cacophonous symphony of guttural barks and bleats, a barnyard of confusing conversation.  Aimlessly, he picked up his fork with his left hand and sketched out anonymous forms on the cottony white surface of his napkin as he watched a soft, white cloud drift across the cerulean blue sky outside.

It was a beautiful day, that perfect beautiful day that only ever seems to happen during the first couple weeks of summer.  The air was warm and clear, yet invigorating.  The leaves in the trees were slowly unfurling and darkening, from the fresh, light green of Spring into the richer hues of summer.  The sun shone brightly in the sky above, beaming down upon all creation.

“That looks nice,” he whispered to himself.

A woman sitting at a nearby table turned and peered inquisitively at him.  He smiled crookedly at her and she quickly looked away.

"Good-bye," he breathed.

The door of the restaurant opened with the merry jingling of bells and, with a deep, expectant breath, he turned towards it.  There she was, standing there in the doorway, glowing in the backlight of the mid-afternoon sun – an ethereal beauty.  She quickly scanned the room before stepping into the smoky room and walking purposefully across to the table where he sat.  All the men in the restaurant watched her with desire.  All the women watched her with envy.  Sitting at the small table for four, he watched her with love.  She sat down across from him and smiled, a warm and innocent smile.

"You have a gorgeous smile," he informed her.  "It makes me happy."

"Thank you," she replied.  "That is a very nice thing for you to say."  Her smile widened, igniting the twinkle in her eyes.  They were the same colour as the summer skies outside, only cooler, deeper and richer.

A busy waitress bustled over, scrawled their orders onto a tattered notepad and disappeared as quickly as she had arrived.

He gazed longingly across the table at his companion; she was beautiful, perhaps even beauty defined.  She was the stuff of epic poems and angst-ridden ballads.  She was inspiration and inspired, the very definition of what the world should be.  With every effortless smile, her eyes twinkled like summer stars.  She was slim (though she'd hate to be told so) and she had the uncanny ability to put everyone around her at ease.  Even the people who did not know her best immediately felt soothed and comforted in her presence.  She had a boyfriend but that didn't matter.  Friends could love couldn't they?

The waitress returned and delivered their food; typical fast food that they ate around mouthfuls of profound conversation.  The food was greasy, but to them it was divine, a feast of the finest flavours and most sublime textures that no master-chef could hope to usurp it.  They ate slowly, a subconscious attempt to prolong their time together.  Fries saturated with oil and big, juicy burgers; bite by bite it disappeared.

Like all things, however, their meal was not destined to last forever.  The waitress ran over as soon as they were done and delivered the bill.  A busboy trailed in her wake and was quick to clear away their dishes.

Rushed, he thought.  They want us out of here.

He peered across the table at her, suddenly feeling the weight of awkward uncertainty looming over him.  Oblivious to the shadow, she peered back at him and smiled.  There was a degree of finality in the glance that passed between them, a quiver in the faint static current.  There was something that he wanted to tell her.  He’d be meaning to for longer than he cared to admit but there always seemed to be a reason not to.  Today was different though.  Today he was going to tell her how he felt.

“You know,” he began, “you look really real today.”

“Thank you,” she replied.  “So do you.”

“That’s not actually what I wanted to say,” he stammered.

“It isn’t?”  She sounded sincerely confused, as though what he had said made perfect sense to her.

“I, uh, I guess what I meant to say,” he was fumbling, trying to find the right words.  He looked at the floor, hoping to somehow find them down there, scattered about his feet.  “I find this... hard to say, but I guess I should just say it.  I love you.  I always have and I always will.  And I know you already knew this but I just wanted to say it.  To make it real.”

He looked up to see her reaction.

He looked up and she was gone.

She had disappeared in a moment that lasted no longer than the blink of an eye, the shooting of a star, the beat of a lover's heart.  His dream had faded in a swirl of mystery.

He looked up and found himself alone.

EDITORIAL NOTE:  This story inspired our latest short, now titled:  MISSING.  More to follow on that shortly.