[Thanks to Karen "Kay" Ross for suggesting I illustrate my story and compare it to other works. In my defense, I really do know better, but you see how that worked out.
Inspired by my own travels, our protagonists' odyssey takes them from coast to coast on the trail of 'On the Road,' with stops along the way in Chicago, New York, Laramie, Santa Barbara, and various Arcadian idylls. But what begins in familiar territory shades into magical realism, ending up in the mythic space occupied by little gems like 'LOTR' and 'Star Wars.']Finishing up a novel I wrote with a film adaptation in mind. Thanks for any (polite) suggestions.
The golden age of rock is receding. Reagan is on the horizon. All seems lost, but then an epic journey begins.
_______
Youth
On the run from the police in the back streets of Paris last night, holed up in the west of Ireland today, posing as a student abroad... Books, papers and backpack for camouflage, an anonymous American in a village from the Middle Ages. Waiting out the rain by an open hearth, a fugitive in flight, stealing time, thinking what to do. Trying to set this down while memory is green and I can hear myself above the muttering of distant thunder, muffled by mist and rain.
§
Warm light flowed in through high windows. I lay quietly, propped up in bed with a book in my lap, wandering a realm between waking and dreaming. A wayward breeze parted muslin curtains - torn, makeshift shades like sails, billowing now on a sudden gust, scattering shadows. Prompting me to look up from long neglected reading.
A woman I once knew lay blissed out beside me, beer breath moving in recurrent sighs. While I tried to decipher a mystic logician who let fall the offhand remark: the mystery of the world is outside the world.
Sunshine daydream do da-do... The stereo playing low in the living room.
Awake, awash, not wholly alone, already a few miles down the road, then, when out of the blue a car pulled up in the drive, followed by a gentle rap tap tap and the back door creaking open. I figured it for one of my brother's friends.
But that was actually when Jack made his entrance. A bit of a start, that - the room hushed while time held its breath a moment. I hadn't seen Jack in years. And now this abrupt appearance, this all of a sudden visitation - the form of my old buddy illuminating the doorway, like Adam in the morning.
"Whoa! I guess the party can start, now!"
"Whatcha doin', Guy?" Jack whispered back, so as not to disturb the woman by my side.
"Contemplating the nature of being."
"Do tell."
Jack stood framed in my brother's door, handsome as the day, blue eyes wide, beholding the spectacle of my youthful debauch. ("A debacle unequaled in the annals of universal squalor," quoth the bard, Bonzo.)
"Mind if I crash on the couch? "
"Sure thing! What's goin' on? "
"Tell ya later! Go back to sleep! "
"No way! "
Meaning highly improbable.
Hey, Brian Flanagan! Thanks for sharing this on the Authoring Lounge - I definitely think you'll find more members who will contribute here.
What other films would you see your book ultimately looking/feeling like? How would your film be different? I think if you begin to articulate your story in visual comparisons, people will begin to see it in their minds.
Also, did you see that we're offering book-to-screen reviews? I think you'd highly benefit from it: https://www.stage32.com/scriptservices/coverage/buy?id=66&affid=mjm
Karen "Kay" Ross
Thanks again for your thoughtful suggestions. As to paying for a review...
Three execs from Disney came to Iowa City to talk about a contest at the Writers Workshop.
Things quickly turned tedious as panelists and writers went round and round about who was eligible to enter.
I finally had enough and asked how we might proceed with them should we have no interest in their contest.
The woman on the panel asked me, in an arch tone, whether I'd been thru the Workshop.
I put on a sorrowful expression and explained that I'd been too talented for the Workshop.
The audience laughed. She squirmed. The tedium resumed.
So I sharpened my question, pointing to a youngish gent who'd worked on 'Diner,' asking how we could get a hold of him.
Dead silence. Impasse.
He then explained that, if you can write, you hold the ultimate power in Hollywood, and that they were forbidden from receiving any work on their own say-so.
You could feel the ground shifting in the wake of that little revelation.
I was rather proud of myself for speaking up. As you know, I'm typically a shy and reticent sort and so these kinds of outbursts do not come naturally to me.
_____As it happens, I did take classes at the WW's undergraduate level. DeWitt Henry of 'Ploughshares' told me I was at least as good as any grad students he'd taught. I remember his words clearly because I had to soak my head for several weeks afterward.
Jeff E. Gregory
Thanks for your gracious offer.