Catch up

So I finally finished the first draft of The Remorseless Rise of Man. It took a while, almost a year in fact, but I am happy to have it finished. I do need a couple trustworthy people willing to give me their thoughts on the script; so if you are interested in reading it please let me know. My goal is to get it rewritten and into the festival/contest circut by January so time is of the essense.

I recently read two amazing books on filmmaking. The first was Fast Cheap and Written that way and the other wasThe Power of Movies. It took me a while to get through them because every few pages I would have to put them down as ideas ran rampant through my mind. They were the most insightful and inspiring books on writing and filmmaking I have ever read and I would highly recommend them to anyone who is interested in the craft.

The point really is that they inspired me and out of the dredges of my mind came an idea that has taken hold of me quite tightly. Two things are critical 1) that the script be written in a way that the movie will be poignant and powerful and 2) that it will be cheap and easy to shoot and edit. That means a small cast and few locations. It also means that it has to be super tight. The idea is this:

What would happen if a father knew he was dying and left a set of rules or “Codes of Manhood” for his young son? What would happen if the son only had the first half of the code?

The working title for this script is The Man Code. I am really excited about this project and can’t wait to get into the meat of it.

For those of you who don’t know what a writer goes through, let me give you a little primer:

1. Staring out windows or into space for hours on end.
2. Writing down snippets of ideas.
3. Refer to number 1.
4. Talking incessantly to those around them about number 2.
5. Asking questions and doing research (this includes watching people at the mall and asking FB friends for experiences they have had).
6. Repeat the process of 1 to 5 maybe a couple dozen times (or more).
7. Write the first draft.
8. Throw a tantrum.
9. Swear you will never look at that story again.
10. Put the script down and let others read it.
11. Start the process over again with the comments in mind.

Anyway, I think you get the idea. It differs a little for everyone, but the concepts are the same. I, as you may have guessed, am currently on steps one and two. It is the fun and exciting stage before the work of spilling a story onto the page begins. Now you know that if I am a raving lunatic with bloodshot eyes and nuerotic questions it is really only normal and a part of the beautiful process of writing.

When I disappear from the world mentally for months at a time you will now understand that I am only partially crazed because I am a writer.

Chris

Videos from Morocco

Here are a couple videos from my trip to Morocco. 

The first one was taken from my balcony at the hotel. I was trying to get a panoramic view of the white skyline of Rabat and got something unique and special along with it.  This was taken with my phone so it is only passing quality.  You will have to turn up the volume to hear it though.

The second one was taken with my phone as well.  It was at the restaurant we ate at our last night there. I apologize for the quality, but I was really just trying to capture the wonderful live music that was being played there as we ate.

Hope you enjoy.

Travelogue days 4 and 5

My last day in Morocco and it was a crazy one.  I woke up in the middle of the night coughing and couldn’t stop.  I ended up ordering some hot mint herb tea with honey and lemon to soothe my throat and finally made it back to sleep. 

Morning came way too soon, but I was able to stagger out of bed and get myself ready.  My throat was killing me and I could tell I had post nasal drip. 

I had what had become my usual breakfast here- Olives, cheese, thin sliced smoked salmon, bread and the splendid Moroccan orange juice; though I added another hot mint tea to round it out, and by the time I left to work I was feeling much better and more alive.

The day was busy, trying to wrap up loose ends and get everything tied up correctly and making sense and before I knew it most of the day was gone and I hadn’t had lunch, finished up, or made it to the Souk. 

I was starting to feel a hint of panic that I wasn’t going to finish before the Souk closed, when everything fell into place and I managed to tie it all up neatly and cleanly. 

Salim had our usual driver Tiyeb meet us and we headed for the Souk.  Sa wakas, as they say in The Philippines.  Sometimes the best phrases for what we feel and want to express just can’t be handled with English alone.

Ah, the Souk… it was spilling over with people when we arrived. Crowds of cars and motorcycles and bicycles and people; old and young, black and white and tan and every other color on this great planet mingling together in the beautiful cornucopia of sight and sound and smell imaginable. 

We Americans have no idea what we are missing by not having a bazaar or souk or palanke in our cities.  We don’t haggle, we don’t barter, we don’t enjoy the triumph of feeling when you win or the unease of feeling like you may have just been had by a savvy and experienced merchant, but most of all we don’t get to become one with the world around us when we leave a stall with something we want happy and content because we feel like we just made another person’s day while letting the other person feel exactly the same way too.

I have been in so many open air markets and they all have something in common besides the cacophonous sound and sight.  The Smell.  It hangs in the air, a terrible miasma that sticks in the nostrils and the lungs.  Overpowering for a while all of our other senses until we can grip it and push it down and pretend to ignore it. 

That was not the case in Rabat.  As we pushed and jostled our way through the crowd and stepped through the gate of the maybe 1000 year old wall that housed the souk, we were indeed meet with an over powering smell.  The smell of food and spices and flowers and herbs, it took my breath away, mouth watering and nostrils trembling, it sent me into olfactory paradise.  Cumin and oregano, and basil and cinnamon, turmeric and cardamom and who knows what else banging on my senses; demanding me to pay attention to them and only them.  It was heaven. We walked by whole cow heads and lambs feel and slabs of meat and entrails but my nose could only smell the wonderful odiferous fantasy that wafted from the stalls of spices and herbs and flowers.  I couldn’t believe that it was true.  A market with all the noise and bustle and perfection of any true market, but with the smell of heaven instead of three month old rotting meat and worse. I was truly in haggling heaven.

Tiyeb had been given instructions to help us negotiate prices with the sellers, but I soon found that I couldn’t resist and in no time I was smiling and moaning and feigning disinterest, walking out of a stall only to be called back for one last round of negotiation.  I think my companions though I was mad.  I had so much fun, so much pent up desire to haggle that I couldn’t stop.  Went from stall to stall looking and digging and testing and trying until finally, they dragged me kicking and screaming back to the car, bags in tow, Tiyeb straining with the weight, and me grinning like a madman before his execution.

My haul was large and bountiful.  No buyer’s remorse here. I longed to stay but I had one more treat that I was looking equally as forward to: our farewell Moroccan feast.

We made our way back to the hotel dropped off our newly acquired possessions and met Salim out front of the hotel.

He took us by the King’s palace (closed for the night), past the Royal Mausoleum and into the heart of Rabat.  We park and he leads us through a patio, up to a flight of narrow winding stairs into a dark and lush dining area with couches and low tables; tiled ceilings and terra cotta tiled floors.

We find a place in the corner and watch the little hideaway restaurant slowly fill up while we devour the delicious Moroccan olives and bread.

The waiter comes by and takes our order. Salim does most of it in a mix of Arabic and French then tells us we are going to love it so sit back and relax and enjoy.

First, they bring the soup and eggs and dates.  The soup is a wonderful mix of lentils and chick peas and lamb and carrot and tomato into which we squeeze fresh lemon and sop with our bread.

Next, is the “salad” course which consists of six plates of pureed vegetables in unique blends, a plate of spiced cooked carrots, and a wonderfully fresh plate of cucumbers mixed with vinegar and some basil leaves.

Salim, showed us how to use our bread to pick up the vegetable puree and eat it, and then we set to devouring it all.  It was wonderful, I could pick out an eggplant mix, a sweet potato mix, a tomato mix and three more that were delicious, but unidentifiable by me. It was immensely satisfying to relax and laugh and eat wonderful exotic and sumptuous food.

Our main course arrived well before we could polish off the salads, so reluctantly we said goodbye our new delicious friends and welcomed with open hearts and mouths the fare provided by our generous friend the tagine.

Here is where I write my “Ode to the Moroccan Tagine”, that wonderful domed and glazed orange clay pot that so succulently combines all the flavors introduced into to it for the culinary pleasure of those souls lucky as me to open the lid and consume the steaming symphony of taste contained within.

For me it was olives and tomato and lemon rind and lamb’s tongue.  There was more, of course, but after my first look and whiff I found that I no longer cared WHAT it was, only that it made its happy way to my tingling taste buds.

Tender. Sweet. Tangy. Bitter. All perfectly meshed into the flavor of Heaven, bursting to glorified life in my mouth. At that moment no more perfect amalgam of flavors never had more filled a human’s mouth than that did at that time for me. It was… It was gone.  It was gone and I wasn’t at all sure when it had fled to.  My perfect meal had disappeared before I could understand what had happened.  I looked from my fork to the bread in my hand, to the empty tagine and wondered who had stolen my bliss. I looked up forlorn at my companions and they smiled that sad smile; the one that says “I know my friend. I know.  It is gone. Placed within the temporary confines of your belly and nothing you can do will un-eat it. Put down you fork, put down the bread and mourn the passing of a great meal.”

Slowly, with eyes downcast, I placed my fork reverently on the table and closed my eyes in soft silence until Salim asks, “Chris, my friend, are you ready for Moroccan dessert?”

No more welcome words have ever been spoken.  How did he know I needed the solace of dessert to help me cope with the untimely demise of my meal?

It was a glorious re-awakening of my senses, it was perfectly timed.

Again he orders for us and again we fall into pleasant conversation and wait for the final portion of our culinary journey into Morocco.

As we wait, a band begins to play. Softly at first, the sounds of Moroccan guitar and fiddle begin to waft through the air, then drums and voice. It is exotic and captivating and mournful. The sound of it tears at my soul and I can feel the pain and love longing in the call of it.

Our dessert arrives; thin sliced oranges with cinnamon and a light dusting of sugar. I could not think of a more fitting end to a wonderful stay in a magnificent country. The sweet and succulent Moroccan Orange. Perfecto.  Tres bien. C’bon and au revour.

Long past the time I need to be asleep I crawl into my hotel room and realize I still have to pack, but if I do it sufficiently and quickly, I may get 3 whole hours of sleep before we have to leave for Casablanca and our imminent departure back to Dallas.

Somehow I manage, somehow  I sleep and somehow here I am on this plane two hours from Dallas and wondering how I’m still awake enough to write anything at all, I guess I will know for sure when I re-read this later, but until I do… I think I will try to sleep and dream of African beaches and Moroccan food, and the people I would love to share it all with.

Travelogue- Day 3

Today I was up a bit earlier feeling pretty well and ready for the day.  Somehow, I have developed a little sore throat and a touch of a cough that is driving me a bit crazy.

Breakfast was a nice affair with french style waffles made with batter that closely resembled pop over batter when cooked, eggs, chorizo and apricot preserves.  Washed down of course with freshly squeezed orange juice.  Yummy. Tickles my taste buds just remembering it.

The morning was the normal fare for  a third world country, we waited until our driver showed up (45 min late) and headed into do a bit of work.

I plowed through the morning and soon it was lunch.  Salim drove us out-of-town to the ocean where we ate at an incredible place called Malimar where we ate looking out at the rugged African coast. The waves pounded the rocky break and sent water pluming into the air, while Moroccan children played in the safe and calm water just inside the break.  The beach was more rock than sand and tide pools were sure to be in evidence once the tide receded. 

We ate a sumptuous meal of fish (of course) and salad and olives and watched the water batter the rocks with unyielding ambition.

Sadly we determined it was time to leave and set back off to Rabat where we finished the day’s work and then headed back to the hotel. 

I have been tired and worn out since this afternoon. Not sure why really, but we decided to that we would fend for ourselves and I ordered room service and tried to catch up on some things only possible with good access to the internet.

I skyped the family and ate my lamb tagine but have been plagued by this unfortunate cough all evening. 

The pics are downloading as I write this and I should have the chance to upload them in the morning before are out to finish up the trip here (not before we hit the Souk though).

I suppose I will try to sleep and see how I do.  Wish me luck.

Chris

Travelogue- Day 2

Whew, here we go hold on cause I don’t know if you can keep up otherwise. 

I finally got about an hour of sleep in Madrid good thing to cause we didn’t get to Rabat and the hotel until about 10:30. It was a long long day for me.  We flew Royal Air Maroc from Madrid to Casablanca it was a much better flight than the one from Dallas to Madrid. They did sell cigarettes after the meal though.  It was kinda weird.  They wheeled a cart full of different brands of cigars and cigarettes up and down the isle and sold them.

Our ride, we’ll call him Steve, wasn’t there when we showed up so we had to wait for a bit for him to find us.  We realized later that he was one of the people that the police were throwing out of the waiting area when we walked out; and later still we found out from our contact here that he had shown up at the airport at 8 am instead of pm so this was his second 3 hour round trip to Casablanca from Rabat.

There was a herd of goats just outside the airport grazing on the grass there and that was about the last thing I saw because he was driving so fast.

An hour and a half later we get delivered to the Sofitel in Rabat and I finally get to sleep.

This morning was much more relaxed we ate a breakfast of amazing olives and capers and lox and cheese and pastries; just what I need to trim my waistline and went to work. 

The people here are kind and generous and very hospitable, but they drive like they are possessed by Beelzebub himself. They even park on the sidewalks or any patch of ground not occupied when they drive up.

We were carted around and introduced to millions of people and were treated like we were stars (well I am but how could they know?).  I won’t bore you with the details of work but it did occur.  I promise.

The city is typical of any 3rd world country city, it is packed with people, the poorest sections are butted up against anything that will hold their weight and it is noisy, lively  and for the most part very pleasant. 

I saw some great areas that I would love to explore as we were driving from place to place, and I have been promised a traditional Moroccan feast before I come home. 

I had dinner at the restaurant here at the hotel tonight; it was a nice blend of fresh vegetables, cheese, lox, olives, capers, tangine (vegetables mixed with meat, tonight it was fish, and olives and who knows what else and cooked in a clay pot until it is perfect happiness in your mouth), and amazing custards and pastries.

Tomorrow is work again, but Wednesday we have been promised a trip to the Souk (outdoor market) for some real Moroccan fun.

I have pics that I will upload from my phone and post on there so that you can have an idea of the gorgeousness and old world Moorish architecture that is Rabat.

One thing that is sort of hard is the language barrier.  Not many people really speak English (not that I expect them to), and my French and Arabic are literally non-existent; so communicating is a little difficult.

I have become fairly proficient at a few phrases and it has certainly re-enforced my desire to learn a 3rd language.

Well, I guess that is it for the day.  I will come back with more tomorrow! 

Live your dream.

Chris

Travelogue- Day One

The morning was so busy.  Had to get all my stuff packed, get some groceries for the fam, get Mayat to choir practice for Jubilee, then get here to the airport. Oh yeah, all the while knowing that tomorrow is Sheerah’s birthday and that I am going to miss it while traveling  to a couple of places that she has been dying to get to (sorry Sheerah).

 On the way to take Mayat to choir I had a great idea for  a screenplay; what could happen in 8 hours on a layover in a foreign country?  8 Hours in Madrid.  The possibilities are endless.

I am at DFW now writing this and trying to flesh out some ideas for a plausible plot.  My mind is reeling with the amazing flashes of story that are striking my mind. Brilliant little  flashes of lightning in a moonless night.

I excited for the smell of a new place, the barrage of sight and sound and taste that accompany a new experience…

Well, I am in Madrid. They won’t let us leave the airport here but I have taken some good pictures and I have eaten some wonderful tapas.  I had some of the thin sliced ham that comes from the dark pigs here that only eat acorns.  SO good.  They served fresh squeezed orange juice with the tapas, and if Moroccan oranges are better than they will be amazing.
 
The Airport is so beautiful. The architecture is so organic and flowing.  it is about 12 pm here right now and all of the interior lights are off because of the copious amount of skylights.  

I can definitely tell I’m in Europe. The people have a different look to them and attitudes are definitely different. Personal space is defined differently here.

It smells like dried cedar.  I know that’s random, but it’s true. Really. I already told you I love the smells of new places.
 
I have no cell service at all  (No Verizon I can not hear you now). No 3G or anything. 

We are about thirty minutes from Madrid so we can’t see the city.  It is cloudy and green with soft rolling hills spattered with old trees.

The flight was cramped and noisy and I haven’t slept since last night.  I know I should be crashed since I have about 8 hours here (yep my brain is still running wild with the possibilities of  8 Hours in Madrid), but everything is just so new and fascinating that I can hardly stand to close my eyes.

Someone is supposed to meet us in Casablanca and drive us to Rabat and it will be late by the time we get to the hotel so I will put that part of the trip on tomorrow’s post.

I guess I will go for now and try to get some rest.

Cusp of Adventure

Here I am flying to Dallas using the free wi-fi that SouthWest offers to those poor souls like me that fly way way to much. It’s kinda cool. What I am excited about yet dreading is the fact that I have to get on another plane tomorrow at 6 PM and head to Morocco.  I can’t wait to smell the foreign air and see the fantastic sites, but I wish there were some way to get there without sitting on a plane for 30 hours. I’m sick of planes. Sick of people who don’t feel it is necessary to bathe before flying or think it’s ok to elbow me in the ribs or whack me with their bags, or wear inappropriate clothes or (insert rude behavior here).

I have a book waiting for me at home with all the cool things to do and see in Morocco. I have to pack, got to work, go to Best Buy AND spend time with the fam.

WHEW…What a couple weeks this has been.  Three weeks on the road and just under three days at home.

I am VERY excited to see Casablanca, and Rabat and Madrid.  I have every intention of posting pics and a travelogue of my adventure there.

If any of you out there have any suggestions or ideas for things to see and do let me know and I will try my best.   I really want to get invited to someones house for a traditional mean.  I hear the food is amazing and the people kind and giving.

It has been years since I haggled in a market.  Since I was in The Philippines in fact.  It is a rush and very rewarding when you both feel like you have won.

I am going to have to leave room in my luggage for bringing goodies home.  

I have always thought there was something magical about setting off on a long journey.  It is the closest we get to our own rites of becoming.  It is liberating and empowering to know that you can make it all the way across the world and survive. It is soul expanding to witness and experience life in with a different culture. It is humbling to realize the blessings we have here in this country, but acknowledge the blessings and history and beauty in the far away and hidden corners of the earth.

I decided at the beginning of this week that it was time for me to learn another language.  2 and half has been good up to now, but I think I need to add number three.  I love the feel of Tagalog rolling off my tongue.  I still dream regularly in it.  I love the cadence and nuance of it, but I need more I belive.  French? Spanish? Arabic? Chinese? I’m not sure, but I would be open to suggestions and reasoning. I will be tri lingual by the end of the year.

I don’t think I will be able to, but I really want to see the huge Universal Studios there in Morocco.  I don’t think I will get that opportunity though.

I guess I have to go, we are getting close enough to ABQ that they are making us shut off our internet, so until Sunday when I will be in Morocco; take your life as it is and seize the chance to live a beautiful life.

Chris

Time will tell

So here I am stuck yet again in another airport and questioning my sanity.  I think that my idea to write my Rules of Travel is a good idea. Maybe I will start compiling them and put them on here.

I got the news today that I will be going to Morocco next Saturday.  I am really excited, but yet again I will be subjecting myself to the rigors and trials of travel (mainly other people and airport food). I will also miss Sheerah’s birthday and Mayat’s play and Gaelyn’s first flag football game this season.  Not too happy about that.

I will though try to thoroughly document the trip and keep everyone updated, cause it is going to be awesome.

Sometimes it is hard to be excited about anything because the things we do don’t get us much closer to the things we want.  We work and struggle and fight to reach our dreams and then watch as they wiggle and leer at us just beyond touch. I wonder as I sit here surrounded by lonely people just wanting to get home or to vacation or their next job what they are struggling for or with.  What would make their lives better and more meaningful?

I can actually see the pain in some of their eyes and faces. I can see the feeling of hopelessness in others, and occasionally like a bright burning spark in the dying embers of humanity, I see hope and happiness and love.  That rare and elusive state that we all long for.  Where does it come from? Success? Family? Simply belonging somewhere? Or is it a deeper rooted thing that only a few of us can even attain?

I think it is a choice. Plain and simple.  Can I be happy with who and where I am? Can I find peace in just living my life?  I promise you my life has not been perfect and still isn’t. I am haunted by the fact that the only thing I have ever loved doing doesn’t monetarily love me back. I have to travel and bust my booty just to feed my family. Am I less happy because of it? I don’t think so.  I miss them, but I would do anything for them. They are more important to me than dreams of fame and fortune. Now don’t get me wrong, I would love to meet the person or persons who belive in my talents and dreams enough to give the funds I need to finish producing The Normal Life, or Marvelous Marvin, but it won’t stop me from taking pleasure in my life and family or stop me from doing the things necessary to take care of them. 

One day I will triumph, but for today I will just smile and write and fix words and problems while I watch  lonely people pass me by one airport at a time.

Chris

Big Head

I’m sitting in Iowa in my hotel room with one of my favorite bands floating through my head, as a matter of fact; for about a week now I have had Angela Dangerlove stuck on repeat in my noggin. Funny thing is, distracting though the song may be, it is actually helping me focus on writing.  I have been in a weird place for months with SD and his saga, but I think I have a handle on where my young artist is heading.

What I wonder is if my process is like or unlike other writers.  Sometimes all I can do is let the story grind itself out in my mind (which includes waking at odd hours of the night with plot lines and back story racing around the room like a poltergeist), and sometimes it flows as pure and free as the Fountain of Life.  The funny thing is I mostly have two or three or more stories percolating in my head all the time.  Not to mention the stuff I HAVE to write.

So where do I go for release? What do I do to unburden myself from the agony and ecstasy of writing? I blog!  Isn’t that brilliant?

On a completely different note I am so excited! I just bought the 2nd installment of the King Killer Chronicles.  Mayat and I have been waiting for it for years and Rothfuss has finally come through. I did flaunt it a bit tonight when I was talking to her.  She didn’t think it was nearly as wonderful as I did and tried to make me promise to finish all 1008 pages by tomorrow night when I get home so she can read it.

Life is a funny thing. It tosses the most random things at us and what sticks and what doesn’t can make all the difference. Maybe that is why I mostly love life so much.  I like the randomness.  I like the variety.  I like the contrast of feeling that I get between wonderful things and not so wonderful things.  It reminds me that I am alive. That I have relevance, that I have hope. Good things like a song stuck in my head or a book that I have been waiting for, or sharing the excitement of that book with my daughter.  That is life, this is life and life good.

Chris

Long Time Running

It has been a long while since I had a sitdown opportunity to get on here and catch everyone up.

I have been traveling a lot,  and have had some really cool experiences as well as some not so cool ones.

For instance last week I meet the real Nikki Heat (shout out to Castle), a beautiful mind, and was on a ride along with a Drug Interdiction team that made a stop and found 7 kilos of METH. 

I have also had my luggage lost twice and got booted off a flight because a seat was broken(funny thing is my luggage for once will beat me home. It made the flight even though I didn’t) .

As a writer I can certainly understand the draw to trave and to experience and do, but as an old man; wow, it is killing me.

Here I am stuck in the Des Moines Airport with a raging head cold, my computer and my kindle watching all the people walk by wondering where they are going, what they are doing and if they are alive or just the walking dead making the signs of life in an attemp to keep others far away.

I feel like that sometimes, just want to fet the world off my back so I can have some peace and quiet; but most of the time alone on the road trying to make my dreams come true, I just find myself more alone than I would be as Tom Hank’s character in Castaway.  Why is it that the loneliest place on earth is in the middle of the heavy bustle of life surrounded by thousands of people you don’t know and don’t want to know you?

I hear David Gray in the back soundtrack of my mind, humming away in that beautiful lonely voice and all I can muster is  just a sigh.  It looks like I have a long way to go.  Life seems intent on dangling the carrot of my dreams right in front of me and like the obstinant donkey that I am I follow along just a bit irritated that I can see it and smell it but not taste it.

It is. It is. It is. 

Of course all my current musings could be a factor of pressure on my brain from the cement in my head.  Now that I mention it, I do feel light headed. Prophesy, oh phrophet of mucus and pressure, PROPHECY while the light still reflects in your dull average eyes. Speak with the thick tongue of cold medicine and nettie pots!

And here I am after all that ranting and blathering, still stuck in Iowa.  Hmm. My battery won’t even cooperate today.

I guess the computer gods are warning me to shut it down before I blaspheme beyond reperation. 

Until the return;

Chris