Friday, June 18, 2010

Scar Tissue-Short Screenplay

[This screenplay was written for my Write to Publish class in my senior year of high school. It had to be a minimum of 20 pages and a maximum of 30 pages. We could choose what we wrote about, but we had to turn it into our portfolio and it was graded on quality, not the fact that we did it. So if Stover(teacher) hated it, he would give us low marks. I'm not sure on my grade exactly since it was handed back the last day of school for the sophomores and juniors (not seniors, so I wasn't there), and I didn't pick it up. But since I got an A in the class, I assume I got a good grade. It's been edited and revised MULTIPLE times since then, so here's the first scene for y'all.]

LIAM, a late twenties man, is sitting on his sofa, a bottle of vodka in his hand and he is staring at the wall.  The lights in the apartment aren’t turned on, not from lack of electricity, just apathy. The TV is turned on but the volume is a low hum in the background.  The wall is blank, but Liam continues to stare.  The camera pans around the apartment and the apartment is lacking in personality.  Clothes are hanging on the lamp; a used towel is in the middle of the floor.  Everything is out of place and disheveled.  LIAM takes a swig of vodka and doesn’t even wince when it goes down his throat.
There is a KNOCK on the door. CUT TO: INT. APT. DOOR


CUT TO: LIAM, still staring at the wall.

S’ open.

The door opens.  Camera zooms in on LIAM and his blank face as he takes a swig.

Hey. (Pauses awkwardly) Long time no see.

CUT TO: Source of voice, AUSTIN.  He is a tall, slender man in his early twenties with a pinched, know-it-all look.  He’s dressed in clean, crisp khakis with a button-up shirt and a messenger bag on his shoulder.  He’s well educated; college graduate and looks very out of place in the dark void that is LIAM’s apartment.  His face is grave and sad.  He’s standing there, awkwardly, on the threshold, awaiting LIAM’s response.

CUT TO: LIAM turns his head to look at AUSTIN and blinks once.  He turns to look back at the wall.

I thought I made it quite clear that I didn’t want any contact with you people.

Yeah, well, family tends to ignore those kinds of requests.

AUSTIN attempts to laugh.  It dies quickly.

Why are you here?

I go to school here now...and I was thinking, “Hey, wouldn’t it be nice if I paid my favorite cousin a visit?”
AUSTIN walks over to LIAM and looks at the half empty vodka bottle.

You’re drunk.


LIAM guzzles from the vodka bottle, and wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand.

Uninvited, AUSTIN crouches in front of LIAM and takes the vodka bottle away from him.  LIAM protests half-heartedly, but decides against it and reaches for a half empty beer can on the cushion next to him that looks like its been sitting there for a few days.

So...your mother gave me your address.

Good for her.

She told me to find you-and I’m supposed to bring you back. (pause) You know, back home.

There’s a moment in which LIAM processes it all and AUSTIN looks at him, not quite sure what to do.  LIAM drops the beer can and focuses on AUSTIN, his expression confused outrage.

Why is my mom using you to find me, invade my privacy, and then up and tell me I need to go back to that little piece of crap I have the misfortune of calling home?

AUSTIN gives LIAM a poignant look, one that is both pained yet determined, as if AUSTIN doesn’t want to give him the answer but knows that he is entrusted to deliver it. 

[Aaaaand that's all folks! The next few scenes that have the necessary exposition for the plot aren't quite at the polishing stage where I'd feel comfortable putting it on a blog. Just give it time.


Okay, so this story is a bit dead. Actually, it's almost completely dead, except that I have some attachments to it and can't seem to delete the blog. So instead of it being a blog concerning just one story, I'm going to consolidate the two writing blogs I had into one. I deleted the other since it had less than mediocre writing on it and am going to see if I can resurrect this one.

Since most of my writing nowadays consists of memoirs or screenplays, I'll keep the posts short as screenplays can get lengthy. After extensive editing of certain scenes in my screenplays, I'll probably post them to get feedback. Or just to have it out there in the universe. Or whatever. Yep.

And so begin the new renovations.

Tuesday, July 8, 2008

At the Request

At my brother's request, Tom will now be known as Melvin. Yeah, it is more bizarre, but he wanted that changed a long time ago and I need something to do. So I'll be working on that edit on my Microsoft Word version of the story. But to create less confusion, Tom=Melvin. Got it? Okay, good.

Thats all for now.

Thursday, July 3, 2008

A little blurb to keep you all busy...

So I haven't been very diligent in my writing of this story. So sue me. Well, don't. I have no money to my name and have too much debt. So instead of about giving me money? No? It was worth a shot...

Right, the little blurb. I was writing in my Brand Spanking New Awesome Journal Just For Writing AKA the BSNAJJW...or the NAJ...and I was trying to stimulate my brain and started writing a random scene. It takes place before Kaylee and Tori have their fight, so this around the autumn time in mid October. Keep in mind this might not even appear in the book, but I thought you would enjoy it.

Ding Dong

"Tori, could you get that?" my mom shouted at me from her room. Of course, pick on the child. I huffed and ran down the stairs to get the door. It must be one of my mom's students. I opened the door not expecting anyone I knew. But lo and behold there was Emerson wearing jeans, a casual t-shirt and a very sheepish smile. I smiled suspiciously and opened the door wider, wondering why in the world he was standing at my door.

"Hi," was all he said.

"Hi," I said back to him. I bit my lip and was about to ask him what he was doing here but he began speaking before I could get it out.

"I was just wondering if you're doing anything..." he shrugged. I could tell he was very uncomfortable. I didn't see why. He came for dinner almost every day and we were friends. I shook my head and raised my eyebrow.

"Nope. Why were you wondering?" I was really curious and I wanted to know what was going on in his head.

"Oh, well, actually it can be you or your mom. See, I need--" just then my mom's voice came drifting down the hall and to my ears.

"Tori, who's at the door? If its a student, just send them right down, I'll be there in a minute!" Emerson's face tensed a little more, which was amazing as I thought it couldn't get any more tighter.

"Uh, Mrs.Jackman, its me. Emerson. I had a question to ask you or your daughter," his voice cracked nervously when he said daughter and I couldn't help smiling. He was really nervous. I heard my mom's footsteps go down the hallway and then down the steps. In seconds, she was standing next to me and put her hand on my shoulder as she looked at Emerson. I mimicked her face and looked at him too. "Okay..." he started again. "Well, I've been in need of a new table since the leg of mine broke about half a week ago and I was wondering if of you...could help me find and haul the table back to my place," he finished and sighed softly. I watched my mom contemplate the situation and looked at me. I looked back. I really wanted to go and I tried communicating that to her through my expression. She seemed to read it or she was just too busy to go herself because she said the magic words.

"I think Tori can do that for you. I'm waiting on students and she doesn't have anything else to do. It'd be a good service," she smiled and squeezed my shoulder. I pretended to be a little disappointed that my boring afternoon was going to be filled with service. Thankfully it was her and not my dad that was making this decision. He definitely wouldn't have let me go into a car with a single adult male.

"Really? That'd be great! Thanks, Mrs.Jackman!" Emerson looked at me and smiled. I smiled a very small smile back.

"You're welcome, Emerson. And you two had better be back by dinner," he looked at me and then looked at Emerson, who nodded. "Alright, well, have fun!" and she walked away. When she was gone both Emerson and I breathed a sigh of relief.

"Well, that went well," I said. He just shook his head and waved his hand at me.

"Go and get your things. I know you like to have a purse with you at all times."

I laughed. He knew me well. I went and grabbed my things and was out the door in less than a minute and was sitting in Emerson's car, amazed at my luck. "So, where are we going?" I asked as he started the car. He gave me a guilty look.

"Actually, I should tell you something. My table never broke. I just said that to win your mom's favor. But I do want to check something out," he said the last part with a tone that justified his blatant lying to my mom. I gaped at him.

"You lied? Wow, Emerson, you surprise me!" I laughed and shook my head. "What do you want to check out exactly?" I was expecting something unsafe like a monster truck rally or a shady store downtown. But I wasn't expecting this...

"An antique store. I saw an ad in the paper that said their baseball cards and antique books were on sale today," he adjusted a few things in the car, put it into drive, and pulled out into the street. Again, I gaped.

"You go antiquing? Thats two surprises! You could've told my mom that! Geez!" I laughed and stared at Emerson who smiled his sheepish smile. I nudged him in the arm. "You like antiques..." He just smiled back and pushed me away.

I never knew Emerson had a shopping gene in him. Yet when he told me we were going antiquing I was mildly intrigued and wanted to know any more random facts about him. So there we were driving in his car, driving to the nearby antique store. He chatted away excitedly about his many excursions and the rarities that exist in the shops. It was easy to forget my annoyances at Kaylee and at life in general when he was around. His energy was infectious and I found that the more I got involved in his story telling, the more I wanted to hear him speak and tell me more of his tales. It was nice to sit in his car and forget about life for a while.

When we got to the store there was an old-time feel to it, which is expected at Antique stores. It reminded me of the many vacations to my grandma's house and my explorations through her junk-filled basement. Emerson's energy was so vibrant that I found I couldn't stop smiling the entire time.

"Whats the grin for?" he asked at some point while I was looking at different things.

I shrugged. "Its just good to get out of the house once in a while," I smiled at him and he exhaled while wiping his forehead. I gave him a quizzical look.

"Well, that's a relief. For a second I thought you were thinking of becoming a hardened criminal!" He pointed at something in my hand and I looked down. To be honest, I had no idea what I was holding. I read the title and my eyes widened in shock. It read 101 ways to Commit the Perfect Crime. After examining it for a few more seconds I saw that it was just a spoof book that boys in the 1920's could buy to scare their parents or teachers. I chuckled and put the book back on the shelf.

"Not today. I was actually thinking of being a butcher," I took a book called How To Quarter a Cow from the shelf and pretended to leaf through it with mock interest. He laughed heartily.

"Yes, yes. Tori the Butcher has a nice ring to it," he punched me in the arm and turned around to examine some display. I stared after him and felt that yearning to be just a year older.

Thats all I have today. I left it hanging because it'll draw me to finish later. See? There is a method to my madness. Anyways, I hope you enjoy that. Nice little gift for the 4th of July. Happy Independence Day!

Tuesday, May 6, 2008

oops. Ignore this...

Tuesday, April 29, 2008

New Writing...not really chronological.

So I was looking through my old notebooks at the random writings I put down at the spur of the moment, and I decided that I'd write them down so that they can be fresh in my mind and I can let them fester until I feel they're perfect. Anyways, this story needs SERIOUS editing! And I should probably print out a hard copy of all the chapters to nit-pick at. Anyways, here goes:

[this section was found in the back of my math notebook. How bored was I that day?]

The monotony of school was beginning to be set in place from the very first week. It was a daze of filling out forms, getting to know my classmates and understanding the homework patterns of the teachers. Not to mention the ample heat days. When Labor Day came rolling around, it was a breath of fresh air! I set my alarm clock for 10 am, thinking I was going to sleep in for the first time in five days. So it came as a surprise when I heard the shrieks of my mom.
"Tori! Come on, get up!" My door opened frantically and I sat up straight in my bed, muttering something about potatoes.
"Huh? Wazza matter mom?" I yawned and stretched and noticed that my window hadn't yet lit with the morning sun. Oh great, I knew Labor Day was too good to be true! Those school board Nazis took that away from me as well!
"You need to get up!"
"Stupid no good Nazis..."
"What was that, dear?" She questioned. She pulled down my blinds and looked out at the peaking sun. I sat on the edge of my bed and scowled.
"Those stupid administrators are making us go to school because of all the heat days, right?" I asked, not thinking I'd need an answer. I already knew those administrators hated kids.
"No, hon. There's someone moving in down the street that needs help. He's by himself and asked the neighborhood to help. Plus, he's providing breakfast," Mom smiled at me, expecting me to be pleased. Yeah right.
"Well, good for you and dad!" I remarked, hoping she wouldn't catch the fact that I left myself out.
"Tor, you're helping too. What did you have planned anyways?"
"Catching up with my friend, Mr.Sleep," I fell back on my pillows and buried my head.
"Oh, no you don't," She snatched the pillow from out of my hands and gently yet firmly pulled me on my feet.
"Mom! How could you do this to me? I hate service!" I grumbled.
"You'll be thankful later," She kissed my cheek and left the room. "I want you out here in ten minutes!"
I looked at my clock. 7:15? I shook my head and pulled on some jeans and a t-shirt. After fixing my hair in a pony tail and brushing my teeth, me and my parents trekked out onto the street and made our way down to the end of the street. I knew what house the new person was moving into: me and my friends thought it was haunted when we were younger and eager for an adventure. We used to sneak inside and look for goblins and ghosts. Now the house would be occupied by someone I was sure I'd be resentful at for the rest of my high school career.
When we arrived, there were a few people already there, drinking coffee and moving boxes and small tables into the house. I looked for the new face, but didn't find it.
"I guess we just pick something up and move it," My dad said, stuffing his hands in his pockets.
"Wouldn't the mover want to know where it was going?" I said, kicking at a rock on the sidewalk.
"Do you know where he is?" My mom asked, looking around. Just then, someone emerged from the moving van, and I knew my face instantly became red, but not with anger.
"Hey neighbors!" Emerson waved cheerfully from the edge of the van and let his eyes linger on my for a second longer than my parents. His smile brightened and he made his way over to us. I tried to act nonchalant, but I was never good at the casual attitude when I was obviously flustered. "Thanks for helping! Would you two mind if you could get started on the kitchen boxes on the far left?" He nodded at my parents, and they graciously accepted, and I noticed how he divided me from my parents. Emerson then turned to me, and his friendly facade turned to slight embarrassment.
"Hey Tori," He gave me an awkward smile.
"Hey," I said, leaving out his name on purpose. Maybe if I pretended that I didn't remember his name, then he wouldn't think that I replayed our conversation over in my mind constantly. He nodded at me, signaling me to follow him up to the moving van. I followed, trying to think of something interesting to say. Suddenly, he turned to me, his face screwed up in concentration.
"Listen, Tori, I wanted to apologize for embarrassing you the other night. I didn't mean to do all that..." His voice cracked at that moment and he took that second to compose himself. I lifted my eyebrow and stared at him.
"Why are you apologizing again? What is there left to apologize for?" I knew perfectly well why he was apologizing, but I felt that feigning ignorance would make things less awkward for us. He rubbed his neck, chuckled a bit, then moved around me to a piece of furniture and grabbed the end.
"Well then never mind. Consider it forgotten. In the meantime, you want to help me move the big pieces of furniture?" He waited for me to move to the other end and grab it. I took the end and we began moving out of the truck. "So, how's tennis going?" He asked staring at the entrance of the house.
"How did you know I played?" I asked incredulously.
"Besides the tennis racket pendant around your neck," He looked at the pendant which lay precariously on my sternum and I blushed lightly. "Your brother just raves about you." He smirked.
"Well, in that case, tennis is doing fine. We play a tournament next week," I tried not looking at him and paid attention to the obstacles through the house. When I chanced a glance, I was suddenly aware of two things: how intent Emerson's gaze at me was and how heavy this dresser we were carrying was becoming. I tried shifting the weight into a more comfortable position and then smiled awkwardly when it failed. Emerson must've realized that I knew he was staring because he shook his head and backed into the doorway of the room the dresser was going to be in.
"I assume you're pretty good?"
"Huh?" I inquired. I was distracted by his staring and the weight of the dresser that I forgot what we were discussing.
"At tennis,"
"Oh yeah. I mean, I'm decent. You know, I'm no Maria," I smiled sheepishly. I hated talking about my abilities.
"Maria Sharapova. She's a tennis player," I trailed off, not wanting to get into a long discussion about my tennis obsession both on and off the court.
"Oh. The only tennis player I know about is Pete Sampras," He shrugged and looked around the room. "Over there," He nodded to the corner of the room and I sighed in relief. No more having to carry this heavy hunk of wood. We set it down and I flexed my worn muscles.
"Tired already?" He chuckled and brushed off his hands. I smiled back weakly.
"Just a bit. Not used to carrying around objects like that," I turned my back to him and walked out the door. Just as I felt safe and calm again, I felt someone rush and stop next to me. Knowing it was Emerson, I begged myself not to do something stupid.
"Listen, Tori," He grabbed my arm and pulled me aside as other people filed in, carrying various objects. I swallowed and stared at him as he stared back. "I was sorta hoping we could..." He paused, probably searching for the right words. I waited. He remained silent.
"What?" I egged on, the anticipation too much for my already tired body. I wasn't going to get my hopes up for anything, but still, I wanted to know.
"This is going to sound lame," He warned, squeezing my arm lightly. He sighed. "I was hoping...we could be friends," He bit his lip and took both my arms in his hands. I began bursting out laughing, despite my promise to myself that I wouldn't do anything stupid. The people walking by stared at me, but I couldn't resist. Here I was, standing here, expecting nothing less of a proposal by the way he was going about things, and all he wanted was to be friends. The look on his face wasn't helping things either. It was a mixture of perplexity and concern. Finally, I calmed down enough to keep a straight face and put my hand on his shoulder.
"Of course, Emerson! No need to ask. What grade are we in? Second?" I burst out laughing again, but this time I was accompanied by Emerson. He pulled me into a walk again and we continued laughing the entire way back to the moving van.
I don't know what happened that day but all the invisible barriers that existed the first night we met slackened, almost to the point of completely breaking down. But not completely. Some rules still need to be obeyed. And that was going to be the hardest part.

[So thats it. I have more still, but I'm tired. Ta!]

Saturday, March 29, 2008


As you have probably noticed, I removed the last post. Tamara was kind enough to tell me that I finally crossed the line that most authors shouldn't cross when writing a book based off of real people: I made her so neurotic that she didn't even recognize herself. But, funny enough, Steven did! So maybe I wasn't so far off after all...just kidding, Tamara :-).

Anyways, I do have a lot of things written down to put on here, its just that I can't seem to find the time to type it up. But I've also been contemplating this story. It'll be very on and off, as usual. So don't think I've completely abandoned it. But I do have an interesting new idea:

1. Instead of me writing events as a day-to-day thing, how about I do something like using the prologue as the present and I'm remembering landmark events in the past and write about them, using dates, months, etc.


October 12, 2007

School was a drag that day...blah blah blah blah yadda yadda...


the memories of that day still flood my memory...

January 5th, 2008

This day was particularly eventful...


This would make my life lots easier. I can focus on landmark events and not have to find filler between those things. And it'd be more interesting. But I'd have to completely ALTER the beginning and start all over again(relatively speaking). What do you all think?

Current Blogspot Quiz

You Should Be an Artist
You are incredibly creative, spontaneous, and unique. No one can guess what you're going to do next, but it's usually something amazing. You can't deal with routine, rules, or structure. You're easily bored. As long as you are able to innovate and break the rules, you are extremely successful. You do best when you: - Can work by yourself - Can express your personality in your work You would also be a good journalist or actor.