The Eagle Dancers

This story fragment came out of a creative writing exercise in Lissa Rovetch's children's book class at Pixar.  I love her exercises because you have no time to think - you just have to create.  It removes a lot of barriers from the writing process.  For this exercise, we had to pick two cut-out magazine pictures.  I chose these two:

Native American dancers dressed as eagles:

Tent on a river, looks like the Pacific Northwest:

Sometimes we pick the images and then pass them to the writer on our left, but this time she let us keep the ones we chose.  Then, we all had to write an opening sentence.  Then you chose which of the opening sentences from your classmates you wanted to use.  Our choices were:

The island in the distance beckoned.

Fred tried to find a ship to take him there.

He had never opened that door before.

I had the strangest dream last night.

There was dirt on the floor but Molly couldn't find a mop.

I hate wagons.

Cousins cause confusion.

They put the key back in the small box.

So that's it.  Those three ingredients (2 pictures + an opening sentence) and you're off and writing.  And you only have 10-20 minutes or so.  Here's what I came up with:

The Eagle Dancers

The island in the distance beckoned.  Larry and his son Trevor pulled the oars of their canoe.  They were camping out here in the San Juan Islands, off the coast of Washington.  Time to get away from it all.  Larry's wife Madeleine had insisted they take a father-son bonding trip - their last chance before Trevor headed off to college in a couple of weeks.  Larry wasn't thrilled about missing his weekly poker game, but Madeleine had made the "suggestion" in a tone that signaled it was anything but.  So Larry had packed up the Forerunner to the gills with everything a modern man needed to survive in the wild: a cooler full of Natty Light, some Costco steaks, and a cell phone signal booster so he could stream movies at night while his son communed with Nature or something.

Trevor was always a bit strange to Larry.  He was an Eagle Scout, loved the outdoors.  He was up out of the house every chance he got.  Other than the occasional grunt and nod in the hallway, Larry didn't see much of his free-spirited son.  Which was just as well with him, as they tended to get on each others' nerves if they were in close quarters.  It hadn't always been like that.  When Trevor was his little blond boy, he'd fly him around like an airplane, blow bubbles at his nose, and teach him how to hold a fishing rod.  Those days were long gone, thought Larry as he elbowed the fishing rods to the back of the canoe.  Now it was just him and Trevor and the lapping of the waves as the sun set.  Goddamn it was so quiet out here, away from it all.

They reached the shore and struck camp.  Larry tried to help but he mostly got in the way.  So he pretended to go off and hunt for kindling while Trevor whipped up the tent in no time.

Larry tried to tell Trevor a couple of ghost stories around the campfire but he kept butchering them.  Trevor laughed in all the right places, which only pissed Larry off.  They made excuses about being tired and retired to their separate tents.

Larry awoke to the sound of Trevor urgently whispering.  "Dad, come here."  Larry grumbled and groaned, but Trevor was insistent.

Trevor led Larry to a break in the tall pines.  There, in the clearing, three Native American men did a war dance in full eagle regalia.  "I thought you said this island was deserted," said Larry."It's supposed to be," said Trevor.  "How did they get here?  There's only one dock."

They soon had the answer to their question.  With one beat of his wings, the War Chief transformed into a real eagle and shot into the sky.  His braves followed suit.  "Did you see that?" asked Trevor.  "How much beer did I drink last night?" asked Larry.

<got cut off here>

Postscript: So I rushed the last paragraph or so because we had our two-minute warning and I really wanted to get to the transforming eagle guys.  But the exercise waits for no one.  Besides being fun, the other good thing about the exercises are that you get story fragments that may inspire you to write a longer piece someday.  Anyway, it's fun and drives home how little of a start you need to get going.

CineStory

There are a lot of screenwriting contests/retreats out there, but only a handful are worthwhile.  CineStory is one of them.  It's a contest combined with a retreat.  If you place as a semifinalist or higher, you get invited to the retreat.  This ensures that everyone else at the retreat is a serious writer and lets them gear the sessions for more advanced writers than a typical conference would.  The retreat takes place in Idyllwild, a fun and kooky mountain town a couple of hours outside of L.A.  The other great thing about CineStory is that it's small - only around 20 writers and nearly that number of mentors (industry pros).  That means an excellent ratio of writer to mentor.  And they rent out an entire inn that is the focal point so it feels like a temporary community.

The retreat is mainly made up of "informals" and one-on-ones.  The informals are Q&A sessions on a variety of topics.  Everyone's lounging on couches and a couple of mentors riff on a topic and invite questions.  It's much more laid back than a typical lecture.  More like hanging out in a room and listening to pro writers/managers/producers give their perspective on the industry.  During the retreat you have three ninety minute one-on-ones with different mentors.  And they actually read your entire script beforehand so they are prepared with notes and career advice.  The one-on-ones are incredibly helpful but can also be quite intense.  It can take weeks to process everything from the retreat and I wasn't sure how I felt about the whole experience for a while, but now I'm glad I did it.  It's kind of like getting notes on your script but also getting notes on why you want to be a writer and doing a gut check to see if that's what you really want to do.  No one's there to stroke your ego, they're there to help you get better and improve your script.

Pretty much all of the informals were good, but now now I'll talk about some of my favorites.  The most fun one was The Photo Challenge.  You drew a random photo from a hat and then had to make up a pitch on the spot about the image.  It was helpful for teaching you how to pitch on your feet and people came up with some really entertaining pitches in a short amount of time.  There were also some great Fly On the Wall pitch sessions where other mentees pitched and we got to listen in on the pitch and hear from the mentors on what went well and what didn't.  Any informal with Phil Eisner or Joe Forte was always entertaining and informative.  Phil is a bit of a wildman and has some crazy stories about the business and a unique perspective on life.  Clea Frost and her dedicated staff do a great job of choosing sharp industry pros and interesting topics.

The best part of CineStory were the nights after the official day's work had concluded.  All of the mentees and mentors had dinner together and then drank wine and played pool (or at least a game involving a pool table - sorry, inside joke).  Then the walls came down and it was just people hanging out.  My buddy Jason and I had fun drinking bourbon and smoking cigars with producers and managers and just shooting the breeze.  That's when you realize that these pros are just people - funny, smart people.  Same goes for the fellow mentees - a group of bright, driven writers who crack each other up.  I still stay in touch with many of the writers I met there.

So if you're looking for a screenwriting contest/retreat that gets you facetime with industry pros, honest notes on your script, and the opportunity to make great new writer friends, you want to apply to CineStory.

http://www.cinestory.org/

What Really Happened To the Dinosaurs?

This is from one of the first children's books I wrote, in 2009.  It's called "What Really Happened To The Dinosaurs?"  It's about an imaginative boy named Owen and his struggling paleontologist father.  Owen spouts colorful theories about what really made dinosaurs extinct while his Dad tries to rein him in.  It's a bit rough since it's one of my earliest attempts at a children's book.  There are several things I would do differently today.  But in the interest of showing the creative process, I've posted it here.

I had the pleasure of working with the talented Austin Madison on this project.  He's a multi-hyphenate, as in: story artist-animator-artist-illustrator-actor-improviser-teacher and probably seven other things.  I contacted Austin because I needed an illustrator for this project and knew he loved dinosaurs.  I met him while taking an acting class at Pixar.  It was a blast to work with him, as he's a bundle of ideas and energy and always coming up with new things.  Usually he harnesses this power for good, as on his always entertaining blog: Austin Translation

The cover, which illustrates one of Owen's theories that dinosaurs left Earth for a distant planet:

A two-page spread showing one of Owen's theories: a cooties epidemic wiped out all the dinos.

Here's the story.  Note: Anything in parentheses is a description of what the eventual images would be.


1. (A camp site in Wyoming.  Owen (8) eats breakfast with respected paleontologists in a mess tent.  Owen's young Dad bursts in with a fossil.)
Dad: "I've got it!  I found something!  You know how everyone thinks an asteroid wiped out all the dinosaurs?  This fossil shows dinosaur bones after the ash layer.  That means some dinosaurs survived."
Bald Digger: "Your fossil's upside down.  And you call yourself a paleontologist.  "
Gray-bearded Digger: "Yeah, a real dinosaur scientist would come up with a new theory."

2.  (Dad paces on the outskirts of the campsite, picks up fossils and discards them.)
Dad: "I have to find my theory."
Owen: "Don't worry, Dad.  You can borrow one of my ideas."
Dad: "Thanks, Owen, but..."
Owen: "That ash layer's not from an asteroid, it's from a..."

3.  Owen: "Dinosaur Chili Cook-off!  The dinosaurs ate so much chili they started breathing fire."

4.  Owen: "Then the knights thought they were dragons and killed them all off to impress yucky girls."

5.  Dad: "But dinosaurs couldn't breathe fire."
Owen: "Ooh, this fossil looks like an icicle.  I have an Ice Age theory.

6.  Owen: "It was freezing cold and the dinosaurs were having so much fun playing in the snow that they forgot to put their winter coats on."

7.  Dad: "I've been digging fossils since before you were born - there's no record of dinosaurs wearing coats."
Owen: "Don't be ridiculous.  Like their parents would let them go outside without one.  Hmm, I bet all that ice melted and there was tons of water around.  And then something caused a flood:  Brokyo... Brakkyo..."
Dad: "Brachiosaurus?"

8.  Owen: "Brachiosaurus Belly Flop!"

9.  Owen: "And all they found were their swim trunks."

10.  Dad: "Owen!  Dinosaurs are just like any other animal - they don't wear clothes.  If anything, it's more likely they were wiped out by disease."
Owen: "Ooh, I know of a deadly disease.  It can claim seventy-five percent of a population within fifteen days.  It has no known cure..."

11.  Owen: "Cooties.  Malia Robinson must have gotten her grubby mitts on a time machine."

12-13.  Owen: "Those poor dinos were right in the hot zone..."

14.  Owen: "Ooh, this fossil looks like a spaceship, maybe aliens..."
Dad: "Cooties aren't a real disease!  These are ridiculous theories."

15.  Owen: "I'm just trying to help."
Dad: "I'm sorry.  Please tell me about your spaceship theory.  No?  Okay, I'll do it.  A spaceship flew in and blasted away all the dinosaurs."
Owen: "You watch too much T.V.  Everyone knows that the main weakness of dinosaurs is their walnut-size brains.  And that makes them very poor spellers."

16.  Owen: "The aliens obviously came to Earth to challenge the dinosaurs to an intergalactic spelling bee.  They flew the dinos back to their planet and made them try to spell some really tough alien words, like: borkintrite and zeebleflozz and glamorous."

17.  Owen: "The poor dinosaurs are still there, trying to spell the words.  They couldn't fly back because they don't know how to drive a spaceship."

18.  Dad: "Interesting.  So you're saying maybe the dinosaurs couldn't migrate - they were trapped and that's why they went extinct?"

19.  Owen: "Yeah, Dinosaurs were trapped in school and turned to stone from boredom."
Dad: "Why do you think they couldn't migrate?  The digs indicate..."
Owen: "Right, they tried to dig all the way to China and accidentally buried themselves."

20.  Owen: "Or the Organization of Woodland Mammals were sick of being food and rose up to overthrow their reptile overlords!  Raargh!"
Owen: "No, I've got it.  A Dinosaur Mad Scientist created robots to make life easier.  But of course the evil robots turned on their masters..."

21.  Dad: "Why couldn't they migrate?  Maybe there's a real theory there..."
Owen: "Yeah, they migrated to a..."

22.  Owen: "Slumber party at a velociraptor's house.  It was the most awesome slumber party ever: no bedtime, all the sticky treats you could eat..."
Dad: "Oh, yes, maybe some dinosaurs migrated.  Which means...  some survived."

23.  Owen: "Everything was cool until the trouble-making Triceratops tossed that first pillow..."
Dad: "But where did they migrate to?"

24.  Owen: "Feathers flew everywhere - you couldn't even tell they were dinosaurs..."
Dad: "They didn't migrate to a place... maybe to a new species..."

25.  Dad: "But what species?"
Owen: "And that's how the dinosaurs turned into..."

26-27.  Owen and Dad together: "Birds."

28.  Dad: "That's it!  That's our new theory!"
Owen: "Yeah, the asteroid took out some of the dinosaurs, but most survived and turned into birds.  That's what really happened to the dinosaurs.  I knew it all along."

29.  (Still life with image of Owen and Dad's hats on a hat rack next to a Golden Fossil trophy for "Best New Theory.")

Winter

This is my Venice moment.  Like when my wife was fine on our week-long trip to Italy till the last day when we were on a water taxi and she saw a baby rocking in his stroller and broke down crying out of nowhere, missing our two-year-old back home.  I had no words but could only hold her hand.  Now I am having the same moment, flying back from Austin to Oakland after a long weekend away.  There's a girl in the seat in front of me, kitty corner, with a lilac blossom woven into her hair.  And the tight lid I've been keeping on missing my daughters has slipped.  It's hard to even talk to them on the phone when I'm away because the sound of their little voices sets my heart to breaking.  But I push through it and they don't hear the waver in my voice because they're little and have no concept of such things.

The girl with the lilac blossom swings her little legs on the edge of her seat but I can only see part of her head through the crack between the headrests.  Like with my daughters, I can only see part of their beauty at once, sideways, because the full thing is too overwhelming.  Tiny dimples on their knuckles, a pigtail sprout too tiny to even be called a pigtail, pink tutus spinning to invisible music.  The way my 8-year-old Branna runs and tackles me when I get home - throws herself full force into my love with no reserve - confident that her Daddy will catch her but I'm not sure I can hold it, not all that love.  But she trusts me, so I try.   Try not to let any of it spill out but it does.  It blazes out with a radiance.   But some of it goes in a secret chamber in my heart, where I store it up like a squirrel gathering nuts for winter - the winter of her teenage years.  The years I dread because I don't think I can handle it.  No more "Daddy!"   No more launching herself into the air.  My sweet flying girl, this missile of love aimed right at my heart - my most vulnerable part.  I'm afraid I can't contain it - that she'll pierce me straight through and we'll both fall to the ground.

I think of her now, my Branna.  She looks up from her book with her hound dog eyes.  Loyal like a great dog, loving like all dogs. "Hazel buddies," we say.   These are the first of things we share - our eye color.  Reading buddies, soccer buddies, dimple buddies.  There will be none of this in the coming winter.   There will be slammed doors and shouting.  No more super snuggles, no more sloth hugs, no more horsey back rides, no more leg bugs.  Just the empty space between us.  I hope that isn't true but I know it is.  Because it's the same space I gave my parents in my winter.  I thought I hated them (I was wrong.)  Or would have thought that if I thought of anything besides myself in that time.  And I know that we never really got back to that place - to that unreserved, unabashed love when I was the missile.  But the love sneaks out in quiet, unexpected moments, like when someone accidentally brushes against a wound you forgot.  My Mom used to do that to me.   But she's Mom now, not Mommy.  And I know the same is coming for me.   But right now, I just got home and I'm still "Daddy! " and my girl is in the air - she's flying to me and my arms are wide open and I'm ready to be pierced.  And I'm storing more nuts for winter.

Poor Pluto

I wrote this short story in wonderful Lissa Rovetch's class at Pixar.  It's a story about Pluto getting kicked out of the planets club for being too small.  He decides to start his own club and has to deal with some unexpected results.  This story was inspired by two things:
1) I grew up with Pluto as a planet and am sad to see him demoted from being an "official" planet.  That must suck.
2)  I heard a story in one of my storytelling classes about a younger brother being excluded from his older brother's friends' club and it stuck with me.  I'm the oldest bro but I've seen the pain on my younger brothers' faces from being excluded from my awesome karate dojo for being "too undisciplined."

The artwork was done unbelievably fast by the super-talented Pixar sketch artist Dan Holland.  One of the many benefits of working at Pixar is that you're surrounded by great artists.  Every night we had class, Dan was constantly sketching.  I don't think he can turn it off, which is how I feel about writing.  He did a couple of two-page interior spreads to communicate the look and feel of the images.

Dan's artwork:
Jupiter playing cometball with Pluto:

Pluto wandering the solar system after being kicked out of the Planet Club:

Poor Pluto

by Mike Sundy

phastman@hotmail.com

              1  - Deep in the Milky Way, a planet named Pluto loved to
               play cometball.  He never got to play with the other planets
               because he was so small.

               2 - But today was different.  Three planets were out and you
               need six to play, which meant--
               "Aww, we have to let Pluto play," said giant Jupiter.

               3 - Jupiter hurled the huge comet toward Pluto.  VISHHHH--
               Flames crackled out from its tail - KRKK-POP!

               4 - Pluto caught it in his orbit.  But he couldn't hold it -
               ZANG!  It broke free and zapped into--

               5 - A black hole.  "PLUTO!" shouted Jupiter.  "That was my
               favorite comet!  You ruined our game, Stupid."

               6 - Jupiter called the other planets together - they whispered
               and glared at Pluto.

               7 - Jupiter towered over Pluto.  "You're kicked out of the
               Planet Club."

               8 - "But-- you can't do that!  I've always been a planet,"
               said Pluto.
               "We have new rules for being a planet," piped Earth.  "One:
               no funny orbits.  And two: you must be big enough."

               9-10 - Pluto knew the angry planets would never accept him.
               He drifted through the asteroid belt--
               Past the ecliptic plane--
               Beyond the scattered disc.

               11 - He drifted so far the Sun grew dim and cold.  He curled
               up at the edge of an icy rock belt.

               12 - "What's wrong?" said a voice.  Pluto turned around.  It
               was someone a little smaller than him named Eris.

               13 - "I'm not big enough to play cometball," said Pluto.
               "What's that?  Sounds fun," said Eris.

               14 - "It is fun.  But you need a comet to play, and they're
               hard to find--" said Pluto.
               Eris zipped away and back-- with four small comets!

               15 - So Pluto showed Eris how to pick up a comet - SHUCK.
               He showed her how to spin - ZUUU-ZUUU.  He showed her how to
               throw - VOOOM.

               16 - Pluto found he was great with the smaller comets - they
               were just right for his orbit. Some Kuiper Belt Objects (KBOs)
               came to watch them.

               17 - A tiny KBO approached Pluto. "Do you think I could play?"
               "Sure.  Anyone can play," said Pluto.
               "Anyone?"

               18-19 - Pluto looked at the dozens of KBO's now gathered.
               "What if you have a wobbly orbit?" said a lumpy KBO.
               "Anyone can play," said Pluto.
               "What if you have strange colors?" said a purply-green KBO.
               "Anyone can play."
               "What if you don't have any moons?" said a moonless KBO.
               "Anyone can play."

               20 - "Yes, anyone can join the Plutoid Club," said Eris.
               "I want to be a Plutoid.  Me too!"  said the KBO's.

               21-22 - Soon the club had thousands of players.  FHWOOSH!
               ZHOOMP!  WUH-RRANG!

               23 - A bumpy KBO fumbled a comet near the Belt's edge.
               When Pluto went to get the comet, he was surprised to see
               Jupiter hiding in a nebula.

               24 - "What are you doing here?"  said Pluto.
               "Tell him to spin more before he releases," said Jupiter.
               "Tell him yourself," said Pluto.

               25 - "You'd let me play with you?" said Jupiter.
               "I thought you had your special Planet Club," said Pluto.
               "We kicked out a couple more planets.  But then there weren't
               enough for cometball," said Jupiter.

               26 - By this time, several KBO's had gathered around.
               "Can I play with you?" asked Jupiter.

               27 - "Anyone can play," said Pluto.

               28 - "Hooray!" said the Plutoids.  Jupiter was good with the
               small comets, but Pluto was the best.  They lit up the sky
               with their fun.  ZING!  ZANG!  KA-ZOOM!

                                         THE END

Overview

I'm going to be detailing some of my previously written projects. Then I'll start posting new writing (some of which may be incomplete). I hope to use this blog as a way to showcase my writing and share the journey of an aspiring screenwriter. If only I could get Blogger to stop embedding crazy HTML tags and jacking up my font. I'll bend you to my will, Blogger, mark my words. You'll rue the day.

SANTAGATE is an AFF Finalist!

SANTAGATE is a family comedy script I wrote over the course of a couple years.  I started it in the amazing Tim Albaugh's UCLA Online workshop.  After I wrote the rough draft, I pitched it at my first Austin Film Festival in 2010.  Not being the best pitcher, I was shocked to tie for third in the Pitch Finals.  Two years and seven drafts later, it makes the AFF comedy screenplay finals. http://www.austinfilmfestival.com/news/2012-screenplay-teleplay-finalists/  Many thanks to my fellow writers in the UCLA Online Workshop and Pixar Screenwriters' group for all the great notes.

Logline: A kid reporter obsessed with the truth struggles to uncover the greatest grown-up conspiracy of all time: the secret of Santa.

Awards:
2012 Austin Film Festival Finalist in the comedy screenplay category (top 5 scripts out of 2000)
2012 Austin Film Festival Semi-Finalist for Enderby Entertainment Award
2011 BlueCat Quarterfinalist (older draft)