(And curse you, Cablevision and ABC. You may have relented from your greedy, broadcast-blackout shenanigans about an hour into the Academy Awards show Sunday night, but all is not forgiven. But, as usual, I digress.)
Generally, I fly solo, seatbelt free, tossed and turned by bits of dialogue that seem to spring out of the jets in my shower. They wash over me, leading to actual scenes, but essentially remaining on the skin surface. Not steeping and percolating with something fuller, richer darker, more substantive -- like something with caffeine.
We had fun this weekend -- at least I like to think so -- but we also got some things accomplished. At least I did. You want your federal agent to own an $80,000 pimped-out Cadillac Escalade? Why would he have one? Why is his ride so important to him? Why would he risk driving such a flashy car when he knows the bad guys are on his trail?
Suddenly, you've got back-story, you've got layering and texture, you've got character arcs, you've got plot points. You have partners who are invested in your hallucinations and want to see your space pirate travel through conflict and villainy from Planet Zontar Deluxe (thanks Wry) to the Klyxan-Smee Galaxy. You have ... excitement.
Afterwards, I was thinking that any civilian happening by and overhearing our raucous discussion of magic and space and terrorists and runaway brides would be calling for the white-coated attendants with the butterfly nets and shipping us off to Shutter Island straightaway.
For that I am grateful, you guys.
Miscellaneous:
Stumbled across these forms and spreadsheets and what-not at The Scriptorium Toolbox. Thought some of yez might find it helpful.
And for those of yez in the mood for a road trip, there's always Lady Jane's Salon.
