KEEP WRITING

The best- the only- advice a writers needs. Keep writing. All other ideas, advice, changes, breakthroughs, innovations, edits- the whole enchilada, if you will- only happen when you take that first bit of advice.

Read others people's stuff. Write in a journal. Cut the first two lines and the last two lines of each scene. Make sure the character has a flaw. Keep the pace moving.

Whatever.

Just keep writing. Nothing else really matters.

Even when you don't want to.

Especially when you don't want to.

After you have gone through all your excuses, your other things that must be done- walking the dog, watering the plants, calling that friend you haven't spoken to in years, checking the scores, rearranging the refrigerator.

Keep writing.

After you have read what you've got so far at least fifty times. After you've stared at the screen and gone into a sort of coma and snap out of it not sure where in the story you are, or if it is worth anything to anyone, ever in the history of time.

After you've asked friends, family, strangers, everyone in every social network you belong to and anyone else you can get a hold of to read it.

Keep writing.

Tom Wolfe once wrote that in a copy of Hooking Up for me. "Kelly, Keep Writing, Tom."

Taft Miller, the Teiresias of Salinas, was one of the most amazing people I ever knew. He was an actor, a director, a friend, a mystic- a force of nature who had gone blind shortly after I knew him and was quite ill, but always full of energy and life. He directed me in East of Eden. When I wrote a bunch of screeds about whatever was on my mind and called them "Memos from the Underground" and placed them, anonymously, in people's mail slots at The Western Stage, Taft was the only person who immediately knew it was me. And he dug it, told me to keep it up and asked if I needed any help with printing copies.

I loved Taft.

When I got word he was dying, I called his hospital room. Joyce, his lover and another amazing person I was very lucky to have in my life, got on the phone. She was crying, and Taft couldn't really talk- but I heard him in the background ask her who was on the line. "Kelly", she said. And I heard Taft say "Keep Writing".

Last words he said to me in this world.

Keep writing.

Keep keep keep writing.

Amen and hallelujah and amen again.

A NUMINOUS BOOGIE MAN

I'm working on a new script- a pilot for a tv series that for the moment I am calling Boogie Man. It's a  character driven paranormal show that examines America through our many myths and legends. Let's face it- we love horror. There is a reason that thrillers are the most greenlit movies out there. They make money! Hand over fist, day after day, year after year, we fork over our hard earned, meager wages to watch ghosts and ghouls and creepy dolls terrorize what we pretend are average Americans. It is what we do, for the most part.



Don't like scary movies- that's cool, but I hope you realize you are in the minority. And kind of un-American.

One of the things I like about being scared is the rush- the adrenaline ka-pow! feeling when the clown attacks from under the bed, or the decapitated head pops out of the boat. That immediate, in-the-moment realization that for a least this second, I am alive and fear for my life. And then I get the added bonus of realizing that I am in a theatre, or in front of our tv, and not going to be eaten by a zombie anytime soon.

But I think there's more. It seems to me that we recreate our own mythology on a constant basis, a pantheon filled with the likes of Jason and Saw and voracious aliens and gigantic dinosaurs.  We have to- we need to have the Unknown, the mystical, the I don't-what-the-hell-that-is-but-I-know-it's-there feeling. We need the dark. There is something magic, something Other in the dark- and I dig that the most. The Other. The magical things, that fill us with wonder for reasons we can't really explain but remind us there are more things in heaven and Earth than our little lives. I want to make stories that not only terrify, but also remind us of the majesty and mystery of this big freak out called life. I want the numinous.

This is clear if you look at anything I've written. I have ghosts, muses, a woman with a psychic sense of smell, and the trickster god Raven, among other things, in my plays. I am a magic realist. Or, as they call me in Brazil, a poetic realist. (you can find out more about my plays by clicking here or here)

I also want the comical. I want Cabin in the Woods, and the original Evil Dead films. I want people like Tobe Hooper and Stephen King and Kurt Vonnegut to shake me up. I want a horror story where suddenly werewolves are singing Good Morning Starshine on rooftops and it makes complete sense. I want the wide open sky to fill with demons, and the land to be covered with aliens, and then have it be like a huge middle school dance, with nobody dancing and everyone watching everyone else with a mix of desire and contempt.

Anyhow.

Here's what I have for the show. Jack Cro'Haven is the obnoxious host of a paranormal reality series called Boogie Man. In the pilot, a young gay couple are killed by the Ghost Bride of Cumberland Falls- a real life legend in Kentucky. The Boogie Man show investigates. Jack and his crew hold a town meeting, just like they do in every episode of Finding Bigfoot. During the time meeting, Jack meets Casey, a deeply religious, painfully shy young woman who, quite unbeknownst to herself, has amazing psychic abilities. At the same time, a bunch of fanatics similar to those morons who go to soldier funerals with signs that say things like "God hates fags" shows up and do what they do. Things get ugly. Beliefs are tested, shook up, shattered, and put back together. Casey has her world shaken up by Jack. Jack is given a glimpse of the numinous by Casey. By the end of the episode, the murder is, if not solved, dealt with as best as can be. Jack and Casey set off to see what more they can do for each other, and what other monsters, myths, and legends they can explore.

It might be great. It might suck. But I'm in.

PS- if you are a studio executive reading this- contact me immediately and start paying me money for this stuff. I will be able to write more often if I get paid for it.

FINDING IS LOSING SOMETHING ELSE

That's a quote from Richard Brautigan, who was this writer. My mom loved that particular quote. The whole line, which she said often, was "Finding is losing something else. I think about, perhaps even mourn, what I lost to gain this." I don't know if that is the actual quote. That's just how Mom said it. She also would often say "From the Mud Grows the Lotus." I think that might be the title of my autobiography. Of course, that implies that I have achieved lotushood, which is not really up to me to say. I, like Popeye, am what I am.

For those keeping score, you have no doubt noticed that I am writing on this blog a lot more. There are several reasons for this. First, I feel better when I write- in my journal, with my scripts, on this blog. It purifies my soul somehow. I often think of all these thoughts in my head as living beings, that if I don't get out of my head and onto the page/screen will die inside of me and poison my system. So I do it to stay alive.

Also, there is no shortage of other voices out there saying all sorts of things- and I think that is good. I prefer a species that speaks its mind to a society of statues.

Today, I was going over different images I want projected onto the back of the set for the upcoming production of Honk! at Reel Kids. I was googling this and that, looking at semi-cute drawings and such, when I thought of this painting of a field at the Met in New York. It's one of my all time favorites. It's a sunset, and there are workers in a hay field, and this one is standing and looking at the sunset, with her back to us. She is just so caught up in the sunset or whatever is on her mind, and she is part of the sunset and the field and it's beautiful. Whenever I'm at the Met, I go to see her, along with Joan of Arc and this one Socrates that is my buddy Jack's favorite.



So anyway, I decided that all the projections will be Impressionist paintings of farms and fields and
water lilies. And for the Cat's place, I'm using one of Vincent Van Gogh's bleak paintings of a sad little room. It feels right. I think I am an instinctual creator first and foremost. I leap in, then find form and clean up after. It's how I roll. How I shake and rattle too, for that matter.

I find things, I lose things, and hopefully grow from the mud.

SOMETIMES A GREAT NOTION

So this morning, at the sort of early Eight-thirty call time, my young cast of Honk! at Reel Kids was looking bleary eyed, half-asleep, and in need of some energy. Usually, we start rehearsals with a quick physical and vocal warm up, followed with some improv. That way all three of our basic tools- voice, body, and mind- are ready to work. (Part of my training at San Jose State University, which we all had drilled into our brains, was that an actor's job is to "create a believable character in a given situation using their voice, body, and mind)

But this morning, it was clear something different was called for- something new and fun and that would knock us all out of ourselves. Too often in this life, I think we all sort of sleep walk our way through the day, barely aware of all the wonders that surround us. Yes, I know, there are plenty of mundane things out there, so try and keep your eye rolling to a minimum. There is magic in this world, numinous experiences patiently waiting for us to get with it and live in the moment, even if it's just for a few seconds.

Just across the street from Reel Kids there is this park with a path encircling the grounds. It's about half a mile long. I decided to forgo the usual warm ups, and we all went for a walk on the path- and sang the first several songs from the show. It was great. We took a walk together. We sang in public, and I don't know if it was the novelty of the moment, the weariness of the cast, or their bravery- but nobody seemed the least bit self-conscious about performing songs from a musical based on the Ugly Duckling.

I don't know if this was brilliant or boring. But I felt alive. I think we all did. And that was groovy.

WORK WORK WORK

So I am busy a lot. I direct shows all over, write as often as I can, teach in many places, and am actively pursuing selling my screenplays.


Right now, I am directing the musical Honk! at Reel Kids, and next week I start a production of Avenue Q there as well. (slots are still open, if you are a teen ager and want to do a show with dirty jokes, puppets, and awesome songs) I am also in pre-production for Lend Me a Tenor with Inspire/Creative in Parker. This is a show with adults, and my first full production down there and I am very excited. I am also gearing up for a production of the Drowsy Chaperone at the Wolf Theatre at the Denver JCC which starts in September.  I am also getting ready to create a brand new show with a group of young artists at the Logan School, where I will be teaching this coming year. And I will also be doing a Glee inspired show up at StageDoor in Conifer to round out my fall/winter session.

Writing wise, I am working on a new pilot called Boogie Man, a paranormal series that is part homage, part parody of all the semi-reality based shows out there about ghosts, Bigfoot, Aliens, and the like. I am also adapting my book for the musical Rose Red (which was just produced in Ohio, making a total of four full productions so far) into a screenplay. I am also currently shopping my feature screenplays Burning the Old Man and Ghostlight to managers, agents, and production companies. There have been several script requests, which is awesome- but no solid offers yet. I stress the yet.

Teaching: like I said, I will be teaching drama at the Logan School, as well as doing a multi-media class at The Finest High School, an alternative high school in Evergreen Village. And I will also be teaching film at Reel Kids. Oh! Almost forgot- I'll also be directing a production of The Little Mermaid there this Fall. And there is a good chance I'll be doing some playwriting workshops for the Denver Center as well.

Delicious.

What is there to do, but take a walk with the dog everyday, take advantage of my three free months of Apple Music and listen to as much music as I can (already doing that and have found lots of good tunes, like Le Femme D'argent by Air, Elevator Operator by Courtney Barnett, and Astral Weeks by Van Morrison), read some good books (currently on a Patton Oswalt kick) and watch good movies like Me & Earl & the Dying Girl, and good tv shows like Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell, and hold my wife a lot, and breathe, and remember this is the only life I get and it is way better than being born a bit of dust out by Pluto or something.

Poem I Wrote for Jack

Sometimes, I think my brain is like that scene in Poltergeist when Craig T. Nelson takes the paranormal investigators to the kids room- the one where one of the investigators tells him that he once, on a time lapse video, got a sponge moving several inches- to which Nelson looks extremely unimpressed. Nelson then opens the door to the kids room, the room where Carol Ann disappeared, and the investigators see all sorts of debris flying around the room- books flapping like birds, a kids vinyl LP that connects with a writing compass and impossibly begins to play, a light bulb that flies into the socket of a lamp and turns itself on, and a Hulk doll riding a toy horse like he's a little Teddy Roosevelt on San Juan Hill.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_detailpage&v=fntf6IpPOVI

That's my brain. All these disparate items, flying in a funky, magic, sort of malevolent vortex, creating crazy-logic that is both amusing and creepy.

Anyhow.

So Halpin me a poem the other day and I sent one back.

Here 'tis:

Could you find me?

Anew, anow,  anonymous

And wondrous and full of daffodils

I walk walk walk to the empty old barn, 

Remnant of times past but not dead, no

Not dead, alive with the imagined ghosts 

In the fragrant Oldewood 

And sword fights on the library sign 

With limbs from the local peach trees –

Falling backwards in the 

BlossomLandTime

Of Slurpee cups and that Book

Of Cryptozoological goodness

The sky is always blue always cloudy

always always always always always

Playing a Van Morrison song

I've never heard and know by heart and I

am there and I am here and we are

the walrus we are the night we are always are

dancing leaping smiling frowning

I have the Sword of Shannarra!

I they we you you you where did it go

where are those peach trees now

where are those mad members of

the secret society of forgotten forms–

the wild ones? 

And we go marching on.