I spent all day yesterday doing an extensive intensification of North of the Grove. I went through the whole thing, even the synopsis (the latest was in the first post). The constant thunder and rain outside was a blessing. I used that and acid jazz with a dark edge to really get me in a foul mood. From there, the torture of Howard Capelton, the main character, commenced like a mug. Kevin Hart could never have luck this bad; I slowed dude up with flat tires, frustrated him with exploding pens in the pockets of brand new button downs, hit him in the shoulder with basketballs by neighborhood thugs at a basketball court (who punk him by daring him to do something about it)… The onslaught continues. He now gets a reverse wedgie in a dream by his jealous wife and overly aggressive fantasy girl in a way that will have folks cringing. I would work for two hours or so until my head began to spin, take a thirty minute cat nap and come back clearheaded and grinning with another cold-blooded addition to throw in. The added anxiety attacks help expose his teetering mental state. His self-hating, middle class nerves are frayed like a toothbrush too worn out to polish shoes. I am determined to make Howard hate me with a passion.
All’s fair in the name of making my protagonist suffer for the sake of the story. The age-old rule slips the mind when trying different genres and formats. I have been so gassed about filmmaking that I forgot about it. Took care of that, though. I’ve sent my synopsis off to a possible producer (the first step in getting it developed). In order to keep myself going while waiting to hear back from them, I’ll keep tweaking scenes. Being left in limbo, being stagnant, powerless in a sense, requires remedy. Since I’m forever on a quest to improve anyway, that just means the script, the heart of it all, will be on a constant upgrade. That much is within my power to summon and craft at will. God help Howard if I think of anything else in the mean time.