Earl Yorke

Since I have been working on The Dominance Flush screenplay I have been going through other screenplays in my downtime (and by “downtime” I mean the periods of time at the Oarweed when I have absolutely nothing to do, which at this time in the season is pretty much all the time). I have found, through my reading, that most screenwriters have a specific — and different — method of structuring their work. They all follow the same basic guidelines, but utilize their own creative license to make it fit their writing style. I don’t think that I need to say this, but I will anyway: I like it!

Anybody who has read my work will know that I like to put my own spin on everything, and that goes double for structure. I’ll be honest that, up until now, I have felt as though I don’t know enough about screenwriting to adapt The Flush… this coming after I read the screenplay, “Storm of the Century” by Stephen King. That guy really has a way of making me angry (though he is probably my greatest writing influence). Before reading that screenplay I thought that I had an excellent knowledge of how to write such things, and King’s… different approach threw me off a bit. No disrespect to him, but he does it in a completely different manner than all others I have read since. I now know that I should have followed my original instincts, rather than attempt to duplicate Stephen’s own structuring.

So, that said, work on The Dominance Flush screenplay is still going quite well. I am a good thirty pages into it, and am happy with the way I have handled its adaptation. I will have it to Jeff on time (thankfully!) if I keep up at my current pace. I intend to spend this next week reading other screenplays as I have become quite addicted to them. I have, of course, factored this into my work toward the approaching deadline… and it’s all good. It will all work out fine if I keep going at my current pace. I just finished Charlie Kaufman’s script for “Adaptation”, a film that I have loved for a long time. The screenplay is great! Next I will move on to “Capote,” another favorite of mine.

As I mentioned in a previous post, fall is a time of great inspiration and hard work for me. I don’t know why things work out that way (even through my depression), but I embrace it nonetheless. I have put up more posts this month than any other month this year. I am happy for that, and hope to continue this way. I will say this though… I don’t suspect I will put up any others (aside from dream journal entries) until a week or two into October. I have alot of hard work ahead of me, and if I do my best all will finally work out the way I want it to. My dream will become a reality.

…almost there.

Thanks to all of my fans for your supportive emails. You know who you are!

Photo By Earl Yorke

Congratulations to my step son, Taran Cartony. He turned 14 in July, and rather than ride out the last free summer he will ever have without a job, this kid took a job at the Oarweed as a dishwasher. He had only one goal: to buy a better computer than my own. Well… after countless days where he had to wake up at 6:30AM to get into that restaurant to clean, and after dozens of double shifts during July and August, Taran is tasting the fruits of his labor.

…and yes, the computer you see above is better than my own. Little hippie brat…

Just kidding. Taran, I love you, man!

[Update]

…I am ashamed. He caught me with my own camera… making love to his new computer. Curse you, technology! Why do you have to be so damned sexy?!

Photo By Taran Cartony

Photo By Taran Cartony

…I would do it again! I WILL DO IT AGAIN!!!

No… I’m not saying, “Kung Fu, baby!” This is a clip from ebaumsworld that shows us just how funny infants can be. It definately fits into the “completely random and pointless” category here. Enjoy!

Click for Kung Fu Baby

You all may or may not remember a post that I put up in August of 2005 titled, “A Graphic Novel?”. Well, when last winter came around and I had not heard from my collaborator, Jeff Fitzgerald, on the whole thing, I just gave up on the idea all together. Now, however, it seems as though the whole project will likely take off after all… though with a different story all together.

I won’t say anything about the story, but I will let you know that we intend to start working on the whole thing almost RELIGIOUSLY after Columbus Day, and hope to have the entire project completed by Spring. From there we’ll see where things go. It helps that Jeff knows Kevin Eastman, creator of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles… perhaps he’ll put in a good word for us, though based on what we have come up with thus far I doubt we’ll need it. Hehehe.

Enough for now. I have to get back to work at the Oarweed. Look for more updates on this project and The Dominance Flush screenplay over the next couple of weeks.

Now this one is funny. I can only remember a little bit of it, but anyone who lives near Ogunquit (or any other tourist trap) will surely get a kick out of it. It is not an epic story. Rather, it is one created from all of my summer memories of various Ogunquit rent-a-cops doing just what they are meant to do: absolutely nothing important. I’m not posting this because it has any relevance to my writing… it will surely not appear in any of my stories. I am just trying to keep this dream journal as complete as possible…

I am walking through downtown Ogunquit, Maine as a number of people stand at the edge of the street cheering something that is passing in the road. I assume that it is just some parade… it doesn’t matter. Nothing in this town matters to me…

I am walking for quite some time before I notice that I am cradling my cat, Sammy (Sammantha, Sammy-Gata, Doctor Jones… we call her a bunch of names) in my arms. Am I bringing her to the vet? Was she missing, and I finally found her on the streets of Brown-Town (respectfully… as I can put it… hehehe, I don’t judge though)? I don’t know the answers to any of the questions that race through my head, even in dreams.

I immediately begin walking in the reverse direction that I had come in, back toward my home, which is a good 1 1/2 miles away… if not more. Conveniently, as soon as I turn around I find myself face-to-face with a stereotype; a rent-a-cop straddling a mountain bike, clad in spandex and a gray-collered shirt boasting the “Ogunquit PD” logo just over his left nipple. Great… what could I have done to attract his attention?

“A cat in public, and without a license,” he observes, giving me that whole I’m powerful look.

Since when did I need a license to carry my cat through “public”? Have any of you ever watched the Blue Collar Comedy Tour? Tater Salad! I say nothing. I wait for him to continue his little power-speech.

“I’m gonna do you a favor,” he says, running a hand up through his high-and-tight hair. He produces a chain-like bracelet from his side-arm holster and places it around my left wrist. I find it funny now that he didn’t actually carry a pistol there. Most rent-a-cops aren’t allowed to carry one. He locks the bracelet with a heavy pad-lock and then pushes me aside, making his way past me down the street.

Am I the pet in this dream? Is that why he attached this bracelet to my arm? What a silly thing to dream about.

Talk about completely random and pointless… this very interactive site cracks me up! It is all centered around “Virtual Stan,” who can be transported to places like Middle Earth, Italy, Hogwart’s School of Wizardry (I hate Harry Potter), and even an Apple Store where he is intent on purchasing a pair of iSocks. There are a number of things that you can make him say using three different emotions: happy, nonchalant, and angry. You can also have him say these things from inside of his box. While I don’t find the box ones to be quite as funny, the angry ones are priceless!

I’m Earl now…

Check it out if you want a laugh.

Here is a bit of it… the entire opening scene. I hope that you all like it, and I welcome all comments.

Here we go:

Part 1
The Circle of Souls

Act 1

FADE IN ON:
1 EXTERIOR: THE PINE HILL WOODS, COLONIAL CAPE NEDDICK, ME (HELICOPTER SHOT) – DAY.

THE CAMERA follows the treetops of the DENSE PINE FOREST in a short helicopter shot, moving slowly until the trees open up to a MEDIUM-SIZED FIELD. THE CAMERA begins to slowly DESCEND toward the field. THE WIND WHISTLES, and a flock of SEAGULS enter and exit the shot.

2 EXTERIOR: EDGE OF THE FIELD

A man of about 50 or 60 years-old in TATTERED CLOTHING breaks through the trees, HIS BACK to THE CAMERA. This man is WILLIAM RYSHER. RYSHER’S LONG, MATTED, GRAY HAIR flies about wildly in the wind as his dash changes to a MARCH of sorts as he realizes that he has EXITED THE FOREST. THE CAMERA moves forward, following RYSHER as he makes his way toward the LARGE ROCK at the edge of the field where the PINE tree-line picks back up.

3 EXTERIOR: FIELD

As THE CAMERA comes within five feet of RYSHER, it immediately focuses on the IRREGULAR PISTOL that he is carrying in his LEFT HAND. His march SUGGESTS that he is DELIGHTED ABOUT SOMETHING, KICKING HIS FEET out and SWINGING HIS RIGHT ARM to and fro. The only limb that DOES NOT MOVE is his LEFT ARM AND HAND… they remain MOTIONLESS throughout his MARCH. He noticeably TIGHTENS HIS GRIP ON THE PISTOL.

WILLIAM RYSHER speaks with a heavy Irish accent as he marches along. His VOICE is SCRATCHY, giving the impression that he had gone for quite some time without water. THE CAMERA remains focused on THE PISTOL, we do not see RYSHER’S face as he speaks… not yet.

WILLIAM RYSHER
(sings)

As I was goin’ over the far-famed Kerry Mountains, I saw Captain Ferrell as money he was counting. I first produced me pistol, I then produced me rapier. I said stand and deliver o’ the devil he… the devil…

THE CAMERA rapidly moves upward from THE PISTOL in a 360 DEGREE SPIRAL around RYSHER’S body, settling on his face. Patches of DIRT appear on his cheeks and chin, and VEINS OF OTHER FILTH run across his face along the lines of his WRINKLES. Just as THE CAMERA stops GREAT FEAR spreads across RYSHER’S FACE.

THE CAMERA shakes violently to simulate the MENTAL STRAIN that RYSHER is feeling as a PHANTOM VOICE finishes the song in his head.

PHANTOM VOICE
(voiceover)

Or the devil he may take ya!

RYSHER screams, violently POUNDING on his head with his RIGHT FIST. His LEFT HAND remains motionless, still clenching THE PISTOL. He falls to the ground, sitting INDIAN-STYLE with his LEGS CROSSED. He continues pounding on his head. His fit doesn’t last long before the sound of WAVES BREAKING in the distance reaches his ears. His eyes begin to dart all around the clearing, searching for the beach, but it cannot be seen through the trees that surround him.

PHANTOM VOICE
(voiceover)

Just keep going… only a bit further along now. Do you hear it… the ocean? I have a jolly idea! Why don’t you just march on down to that harbor and throw yourself into the sea? Perhaps you’ll find Molly under those crashing waves… what’s left of her anyway!

WILLIAM RYSHER
(woefully calm)

Please, demon… please don’t speak o’ Molly!

RYSHER remains completely still, TEARS beginning to cascade down his cheeks, collecting FILTH from his DIRTY SKIN. The liquid turns DARK, like running mascara. He is trapped in this moment until –

4 EXTERIOR: TREE-LINE WHERE RYSHER EXITED THE WOODS

THE CAMERA sees RYSHER from a SHORT DISTANCE, STARTLED at the sudden ¬SNAP OF A TWIG. He is NOT ALONE.

5 EXTERIOR: FIELD

PANIC spreads across RYSHER’S face. His head moves WILDLY around, SEARCHING for the source of the sound as he isn’t entirely sure WHERE it came from. All he knows is that he HEARD SOMETHING. His head stops moving, and he hastily stands up. He SPRINTS toward the opposite edge of the forest atop the LARGE ROCK at the end of the field.

6 EXTERIOR: FORREST EDGE

RYSHER THRASHES through the branches of several pine trees and enters the woods. The field that he had just crossed can be seen from atop the LARGE ROCK. There is NO SIGN of his pursuer.

7 EXTERIOR: FORREST

THE CAMERA follows RYSHER in an action shot as he dashes through the woods. He DUCKS beneath several PINE, MAPLE, and OAK branches. He LEAPS over numerous JUNIPER BUSHES, and avoids tripping over ROOTS until suddenly –

In a CLOSE UP shot of RYSHER’S feet, his LEFT FOOT becomes temporarily caught beneath a tree root that is ARCHED slightly, leaving space between itself and the ground. RYSHER’S momentum leaves him unable to stop, and in a sickening CRACK he falls into an entanglement of JUNIPER BUSHES.

WILLIAM RYSHER
(screaming in intense pain)

Yeeeeeeeeeeoooooooooooooow!

PHANTOM VOICE
(voiceover - singing)

Mush-a ring dum-a do dum-a da, whack fall the daddy-o!

RYSHER rolls around, not seeming to acknowledge the PRICKLY GREEN THORNS of the juniper bushes that he has fallen into. Despite the intensity of the pain he is in, he still clenches the PISTOL tightly in his LEFT HAND.

RYSHER composes himself a bit, and attempts to sit up. He carefully lifts his RIGHT LEG, bringing his foot away from the ROOT that it had been caught in. His RIGHT FOOT is TWISTED in a way that is quite obviously NOT NORMAL. He sighs, a look of utter DESPERATION sweeping over his face. His JAW begins to QUIVER, and the TEARS return again. It doesn’t take long, however, for RYSHER’S dismay to quickly turn into FEAR.

THE CAMERA slowly moves BACKWARD from where it was focused on RYSHER’S FRIGHTENED face. It continues until it focuses on a VERY MUSCULAR, HUMAN LEG with a DARK, COPPER-COLORED TAN. The buttocks of this person are covered by a RAGGED ANIMAL HYDE. JET BLACK HAIR extends down to the man’s waist. He is quite obviously a NATIVE AMERICAN. His FACE is not seen.

8 EXTERIOR: JUNIPER BUSHES – RYSHER

THE CAMERA rushes toward RYSHER’S FACE, stopping in a close-up shot that makes his UNBEARABLE FEAR quite easily noted in his facial expressions.

PHANTOM VOICE
(voiceover)

It’s a… savage!

9 EXTERIOR: FOREST – NATIVE

THE NATIVE slowly raises BOTH HANDS, indicating that he means RYSHER NO HARM. THE CAMERA is still BEHIND HIM. His FACE is not seen.

10 EXTERIOR: JUNIPER BUSHES – RYSHER

PHANTOM VOICE
(voiceover)

Kill him! Kill him, Timothy! Quick, before he kills us!

RYSHER looks to the PISTOL in his LEFT HAND, then back to the NATIVE. He looks back to the PISTOL, then back to the NATIVE again. He repeats this several times until –

This picks back up where I left of with “The Beach Dream,” but I have titled this second part “The Motorcycle Dream” for reasons that are waiting to be discovered below. Enjoy… I am glad to finally get this one out of my head…

I approach the rest of my family; my grandparents, mother, and aunts. I am fuming, my fists clenched so tight that had it been real I probably would have been drawing blood from my palms. I stop in front of them and begin to speak in a powerful voice that rises over the loud crashing of waves behind me.

“What is wrong with you guys?!” I roar, “How can you sit there drinking while dad and uncle Jeb are beating me down over there?! Don’t you even care?!” My arms flail around violently as I speak… like I am some psycho. I might as well have been one. I was crazy in that dream… that’s the only explanation I can come up with. “Don’t you even care?!” I repeat, jumping up and down like a child throwing a tantrum.

I turn and look down the beach to where I had been assaulted, and find that my father and uncles are no longer there. They are no longer on the beach at all. I relax my clenched fists and take a deep breath, beginning to walk toward my sobbing grandmother. I decide that I am going to apologize to her, then get on my motorcycle and drive home on Shore Road. I don’t own a motorcycle in reality, nor do I know how to operate one. I would like to learn one day I suppose.

She says nothing, just continues to cry. I look down, noticing the rosary that she is holding in her right hand. She is rubbing the crucifix between her thumb and index-finger. I’ll go on the record right now, saying that religious symbols that happen to find their way into my dreams really freak me out. My anxiety flares again at the sight of the crucifix, and intensifies even more as my eyes settle upon a large, hairy, VIOLET-colored spider crawling up my leg. Anyone who regularly visits this site knows very well that I fear spiders more than anything else I can think of.

I panic, swatting the arachnid off of my leg. I run toward my father’s abandoned towel and cooler. I need to calm my anxiety. I feel like I am on the verge of having a heart-attack as I open his cooler and remove a bottle of Yellow Tail brand Pinot Grigio. Dad has already popped the cork, so all I have to do is bite down on the protruding nub at the tip of the bottle and yank it out with my teeth. I spit the cork into the water and tip the bottle straight up, chugging the wine as fast as I can. I will take this moment to clarify that I have never done anything like this in real-life. The thing about this dream that really rubs me the wrong way (above all other things, and there are many) is the fact that alcohol in-and-of itself seems to manifest itself as just another character in it.

I have never been drunk in a dream before, and up until last night I couldn’t even imagine that it was possible. I was wrong. This is where things became very frightening for me. To mix the overall randomness and unpredictability of a dream with a slower state of mind within was… harrowing… especially after what happened next…

Much to my surprise, I do not hurt myself while climbing the rocks. I step onto the street and my eyes settle upon my motorcycle, parked on the Cape Neddick bridge. I don’t know what make and model it was, not that that even matters. It is colored red and black with my trademark skull and crossbones insignia on each rim. There is no doubt in my mind that this bike bel0ngs to me.

I turn to see him climbing up the last of the rocks. He steps onto the pavement. In his right hand is an open bottle of Pinot. He comes toward me as I straddle the motorcycle and prepare to kick-start it (as if I actually know how to do such things!).

My second attempt to get up is a successful one. I amble towards my father and take the bicycle from him, placing my hands on the handlebars and walking it down the street for a bit. I listen to the click, click, click of the derailleur, each click letting me know that I was further from the beach. Soon I am ready to get on the bike, despite my dazed state of mind. For some reason I thinkt myself capable of keeping my balance on it. That doesn’t matter though…

As soon as I swing my right leg over the bike and sit down on the seat I hear it. Before I can even start peddling, the roar of my motorcycle reaches my ears… but that is not all that I hear. Ear-piercing, hysterical laughter rises ABOVE the sound of the engine. I place my feet on the pavement, straddling the bike, and turning to look behind me.

The screwed up thing is that I didn’t wake up there… I still had a few seconds to see them riding off before I came out of the dream. It was insane. There are so many hidden meanings in that dream that I hardly know where to start picking it apart. Any ideas?

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