Category: Journal

A big congratulations goes out to the adorable Dean Lorey. He’d been sitting on a fantastic idea for a couple of years while he crawled through the Film and Television trenches of Hollywood. After being treated like garbage on his last feature project Dean retreated to the safety of his office, took a couple of months and wrote down his idea as a novel.
He had no extraordinary expectations. It was simply a bold little story that he wanted to write down for his children. Dean would have been amazingly happy if one day this little book could somehow find its way to becoming a published novel. But Rob Carlson, Dean’s agent and brass balled warrior of many years, saw far greater adventures ahead.

With Dean’s unpublished novel in hand, Rob took Hollywood by storm. What happened next was one of those situations every writer dreams of. A list directors were loving it left and right. Studios and producers were calling around the hour wanting to read the little book for themselves. It was an exciting week and even as a bystander I found myself caught up in the wave.
At the end of the journey the project was sold to Universal with Stephen Sommers (The Mummy movies, Van Helsing) attached.

So lift your glasses my friends and let’s make a toast.
Here’s to you, Dean Lorey,
We all hate you.
:)

Welcome to my office. It’s invasion of the daddy snatchers. The color pink is spreading like a virus. I remain stubborn. I continue to pound away at my keyboard as this force of pink overtakes everything in its path.

Even the cats, as resilient as they are, will one day fold under the demands of young Izzie Rain. I can only assume that I’ll be the first to go. A daddy and his iMac forced to stalk the lowly coffee stained halls of Starbucks. I’m surprised that I’ve been able to maintain as long as I have. To write those uplifting stories of disembowelment and severed heads while surrounded by the pink and fluffy is a true testament to the greatness of me. But the end is near. My office space demise has been prophesied.

Six hours north of LA translates into a nine or ten hour drive to San Diego for ComiCon. That seems cruel and unusual for Mel’s eight month knocked up status. And flying was out of the question. So we chose Amtrak. We would leave at 11AM and arrive in San Diego around 2AM. We were told there may be delays.

Delays. Just assumed that meant an hour or two tops. Shows what I know. The train finally arrived in the late PM and we were on our way by 9PM. Of course, the food car closed at…9PM. You try telling an eight month pregnant woman that there’s no food to be had. So, we snacked on energy bars Mel had been smart enough to pack in case of emergency…

… and we accepted the fact that we would be paying for an empty room at San Diego’s Omni since we’d be sleeping on Amtrak.

ComiCon used to be a small artist/writer gathering. But as most things that eventually show a profit it has gone Hollywood. It’s worth making an appearance but there is so much to see that after a short time your brain goes numb from overkill.

Although it’s a great place to reconnect with friends of old. Bernie Wrightson stopped by Allen Spiegel’s booth to say hi. We started and ended most of our daily visits at Spiegel’s booth for the simple reason that Allen is our next door neighbor back in good ol’ Pacific Grove. Small world.

Mel and I ran into Jim Isaac and his all grow’d up daughter at the Lions Gate booth. Jimmy was there with Stan Winston signing and answering questions about their upcoming movie, Skinwalkers.

Jon J. Muth, a buddy as well as writer and artist of the children’s book, “Zen Shorts” (and several dozen others), painted pictures for fans from the Spiegel Booth. Jon started out in horror so I can’t help but appreciate the journey he’s taken.

Artists Kent Williams and Phil Hale.

Spiegel chatting with fans and artist Thom Ang.

And, of course, my good buddy, Stormtrooper Elvis. No ComiCon would be complete without him.

Every night was a different party. First was the Scholastic party. Them’s the folks what brought us Harry Potter. It was fun last year and fun again this year. And the liquid was free.

Of course, anytime you partake in too much liquid you may find yourself vulnerable. I’m fairly certain Scott, Spiegel’s nephew, accosted me.

Dean showed up on Friday and the three of us ended up at a pool hall where I taught him how to play and even let him win a few so he could feel good about himself.
Of course, it wasn’t all play. While there I had a string of meetings but it really was more meet and greet than anything else. It’s nearly impossible to get any work done while there. I met with the Tokyopop editors on “Sleepers” as well as FJ and Michael from Comic Book Movies. And later we joined them all for a party at the W…

…where we ran into Mark Wheaton and his group of friends. Wheaton’s in the center next to Mel and was the 3rd writer on “The Messengers”. I worked on it while it was still called “Scarecrow” and still at Revolution. Stuart Beattie followed me and the story saw some drastic changes based on Revolution head, Todd Garner’s notes. I thought Stuart did a great job based on the notes he was given but it still ended up in turnaround. Going into turnaround is never a good sign. It means the studio that started the process doesn’t want to make the movie and puts it up for sale. But it eventually found a home at Ghost House. Raimi and his team changed the story drastically and Wheaton was brought in to make those changes. After Wheaton it saw four more sets of writers before the shooting wrapped and one additional writer who came in before reshoots.
Mandate, the company that umbrellas Ghost House, sent out their recommendation for credits. They’re suggesting I get “Story By” and Wheaton gets “Screenplay By”. I could, of course, arbitrate for the “Screenplay By” credit because it does translate to a decent chunk of money down the road. But I read the shooting draft and the reshoot draft and after 7 other sets of writers…well it’s the same tone and idea but it’s a much different movie now.
Will it be any good? Should they have just shot my draft?
Well, once the movie is released I’ll post my original draft and let anyone bored enough to read make that decision.

After the Comic Book Movies party we hopped a bike with Tony Bedard, a comic book writer. I assume there’s a proper name for these bikes that roam the streets of San Diego so here’s a better pic.

As Chewy is so kindly demonstrating, you basically pay a dude to huff and puff you around town.

Once at the Hyatt we shared liquid with dozens of other comic writers and artists and it was around this point where my memory blurs. I vaguely recall running into my old buddy David Wohl (creator of Witchblade) and Eric Larson, a Spiderman artist from years back who now runs Image Comics. And I must give props to my knocked up wife for staying sober and getting me back to the room alive.

And I wasn’t the only one getting some work done while there. Mel has dove into the world of children’s books with passion. And took advantage of being around our buddies who have successfully battled those raging seas. One should never pass up the opportunity to hang out with those in life who are where you want to be. Because success is a puzzle and everyone’s puzzle is different. And you never know where you’ll find that missing piece of the puzzle that you need.

Sunday morning found us saying bye to Vader and the boys and standing in front of the train tracks at 6AM waiting on Amtrak.

Once home it was back to writing and preparing for Izzie Rain’s arrival. We explored the Monterey Birthing Center. It was a part of our class. You see, we have been taking classes to learn how to give birth because anyone who knows anything knows that it is pure luck that the human race has been able to continue for thousands of years without taking birthing classes. Last week when we told them we had to miss a class because we were going to San Diego they looked at us as though we’d just been caught drop kicking newborns down the hospital hallway.

When we showed up at the Birthing Center to check in, we were met by Nurse Fembot. Now, I have no proof that she was mostly machine, but I find it hard to believe anyone that old could stand on her own without being mostly rebuilt by Oscar Goldman’s Bionics. Anyway she told us to make sure we touched the big toe of Dennis the Menace when we entered the Birthing Center because it was a statistical anomaly that those who did would have twins.
Needless to say, when we passed Dennis the Menace, Mel and I hugged the opposite wall and never got near the nasty little creature. Can you imagine the germs?

Chris and Dean came up this weekend to celebrate Pacific Grove’s Feast of the Lanterns. But before their arrival, Dean finished his novel. You see, I’m not the only writer whose tummy turns at the current state of Hollywood politics and looks for other ways to write and be happy. I read the little novel twice last week and it’s amazing. So amazing that it went out to a string of A List directors this week. I shant go into further details because Dean has his own blog now and I got better things to do than to write his unofficial biography. I say he should tell the story.

The four of us…or five if we include Izzie Rain from her snug compartment…played us some black light putt putt.

Which proved that even under nothing but black light Mel’s boobs are huge.

That night we hit the PG block party. Ages ranged from newborn to 147.

If you question the merits of a small town block party being fun then just feast your eyes on Mel and Chris learning to Square Dance. I wish I was kidding. Of course, it was misting slightly that day thus the tiny dots on the picture…but no one seemed to care.

The Feast of Lanterns consists of a couple of days that build up to a huge fireworks show down at Lover’s Point. PG planned it pretty well. They basically wait until after the 4th for the prices to drop and then snatch up a ton of explosives at a good price.

Residents and visitors start claiming land the day before.

And those plots of land start filling up by noon on Saturday.

We had no plans of fighting the crowds but did have to hang out long enough for Chris to run through the obstacle course seventeen thousand times.

Then we rented ourselves a four person bike and huffed it over to the Wharf for lunch.

That night, rather than fight the crowds, the 4 1/2 of us joined Spiegel and went to a party at Don’s house for a smaller and slightly more intimate gathering.

We viewed the explosives from Don’s rooftop balcony.
The following morning we broke bread with Chris and Dean before they set out for San Francisco and the second leg of their journey.

And we slept.
On the work front, I’m writing two specs. One a straight nasty horror and the other a fantasy. I’m up for a couple of remakes, one I’m actually pretty excited about, but I have bantered on enough for now.

I still marvel at the idea that Melanie has a baby in her belly.

I have now successfully made the complete emotional journey. At first I just assumed I’d have kids one day. I wasn’t planning on it. I wasn’t not planning on it. Just assumed because that’s what humans do. They boink and eventually the fellas make the journey with or without your consent. Just figured it would happen. One day. Once we got our ducks in a row as the Southerners say.
Then we found out we couldn’t have children. Our dirty bits weren’t working properly. Or were they? A debate for later.
I guess to some degree I started rationalizing at that point. I started saying, we’ll travel the world. We’ll be able to go and do what most couples can’t. And eventually not only did I accept the idea but oddly enough I became an advocate for not having kids. Questioned my abilities to even be a father or more frightening…my abilities to simply provide.
And so our childless adventure continued. High highs and low lows. Mel and I have made just about every mistake a couple can make. And you may say, all couples make mistakes. Nope, you’re not even close. You gotta think more outside the box. We did. We never stabbed one another but it wasn’t for lack of trying. I read somewhere that the two overriding reasons for divorce were money and/or sex. Untrue. Insecurity is the main reason. And we excelled at playing on each other’s perfectly. Some of it can be blamed our our pasts. We came into our relationship with mounds of baggage. Mel’s alone was monumental. The majority of men would crumble if they were faced with a fraction of what Mel has had to overcome. So, we had already proven that we could survive whatever life threw at us. That much was a given. What we couldn’t survive is what we threw at each other. In the end, after twelve years, we separated and tried to move on without the other.
Words just don’t describe how horrible that was. I could go through the motions, do what was expected of me. I could fake it. Because if you lie to yourself long enough eventually you’ll believe it. At least that’s the theory but it wasn’t working. Every day was like waking up to find your arms and legs had been amputated in the night. My vision was blurred, my hearing distorted, my taste buds were muted, the air smelled stale. And it was no better for Mel. We were both miserable.

So we started again. And this time without the insecurities. We’d both seen what it was like without the other and suddenly squeezing the tube from the middle didn’t seem so life shattering. We stopped trying to change each other and just…lived. Accepted. Enjoyed.
Happiest times of our lives. This was the Holy Grail. It’s what we’d always wanted but had spent years sabotaging. Somehow, as crazy as this sounds…we grew up.
Medically, we didn’t do anything differently. We would still never have children but that was okay now. We were together. We were happy. We’d reached that point in Jerry Maguire where I told her she completed me and she told me I had her at hello.
And that’s when she got knocked up.

This pic was taken at a Monterey coffee shop on Christmas morning. It’s important because unknown to us, there was a bun in the oven.
I keep marveling over that simple fact. Our dirty bits didn’t work! This was not supposed to be possible. But it actually makes sense to me now. You see we’ve always been blessed. In the early days, when we were down to our last 40 bucks in the bank with rent due, money would show up. This didn’t just happen once. It happened constantly. Any time life threw us a curve, we were always provided with the talent to knock it out of the park.
And this God or Angels or Universe wasn’t just watching out for us, He, She or it was watching out for what we would one day create. Because unlike so many couples who bring a little one into a dysfunctional family or those who have a baby in the selfish attempt to fix their miserable relationship…we were simply not allowed.
It was only after we accepted each other, fixed ourselves, that we were allowed a child.

And oh, what a child she will be. When her daddy puts his ear to mother’s belly, she kicks him in the head. How perfect is that? She tolerates classical but loves Rap. And her sense of humor is already developed beyond most. I love sausage. Melanie hates it. She loves bacon instead. But little Ms. Izzie Rain won’t let momma eat bacon, instead forces her to eat sausage. A freaking comic genius, I say.

We took her to her first concert. The White Album Ensemble would play “Let It Be” and “Abbey Road” in album order.

And of course, Izzie Rain loved it.
I bought her IzzieRain.com last week. Mel put a quick site together where the story can be told from Momma’s point of view, as well as links to our registries, pictures and the like for family and friends. When Izzie Rain is a young teen we’ll give her the site and let her do with it as she pleases.
Izzie Rain. My daughter.
I saw a pregnant woman at the coffee shop a few days back. Told her my wife was expecting too. This coffee lady told me she was having a little girl. Us too, I proclaimed. She told me they were naming their daughter Brenda Jane and asked if we’d picked out a name. I told her…
Izzie Rain.
She looked at me like I’d kicked her in the gut. Her face paled. Satan rose over her shoulder, her eyes glinted envy and hate. “That’s…that’s a great name,” she said then turned to fetch her hot tea from the counter. I felt confident she would soon be going home to kick her rather dull and unsuspecting husband in the balls.

I got a pretty good life.
So what’s up on the work front?
Shrunk is in the hands of the agents. The pitches are done and although we’re still in play at a couple of places, it’s out of my hands for the time being.
Don is doing the art work for book two of Alien Pig Farm.
We’re waiting on art samples for Sleepers.
Psychopath is turning to a new developer. Game first, Film to follow.
I’m in bed on two other projects with Foxhoven. Outline is complete on one, still working on the other. It’s trickier but I love the genre.
I’m chasing two remakes. One I’m holding off on hoping a buddy, Mark Haslett, can bag the job. The other, is a Japanese flick. Awaiting the details from my agent. Want to make sure they have money to pay for a script before I go down that road. Not in the market for a producer development gig at this point.
Witchblade has been put on hold for the moment. Variety ran an article stating that one of the producers dropped. Gonna wait for the smoke to clear before I dive back into the outline.
I’m working on a string of specs.
One is called, “Once Upon a Time in Hell”. It makes me giggle.
Another is called, “Rude Behavior”. It makes me grin.
Riddle is out to a couple new places and I’ve put Past Tense on hold for the moment.
Then there are string of other ideas I need to solidify. The agents and managers want to see the working list before I dive into the specs. It’s a precaution more than anything else. The agents just want to make sure there aren’t projects out there that are similar. It’s an attempt to stop me from wasting my time. The managers would like to be a bit more hands on with the story. But I’m thinking, “nah”.
I’m sure there’s more but that’s off the top of my head.

My brother Aarek returned alive from his trip to Mother Africa.

He went there doing Missionary work. He’s the one on the left.
For now, that is all. Warcraft’s patch 1.11 went live today which means Mel, Dean and I have a guhzillion addons to update.
Be safe, heroes.

The month of May consisted mainly of dead bugs on the windshield as I made a guh-zillion trips to Los Angeles. Was it worth it? Dunno.

I finally sat down with Mike Weber at Radar Pictures and told him my take on Amityville II. It was clearly a story that thought “outside the box” and that’s what he liked about it. However, Dimension didn’t like the added cost that “outside the box” created. I was asked to build another story around the parts of my take which they loved while staying inside the box this time. Ugh. Who wants to work inside the box? Inside the box we’ve seen a million times. I played around with it for about a week losing more and more interest until finally I told the managers to pass.

With every return to Pacific Grove, Mel and I would hook up with the PG crew. From left to right, Jeffery owns a Carmel shoe store. Monroe is a taxman from San Francisco. Elliot and Allen we know. The four did college together and I’m considering rewriting my own college history to include them as my alumni.

Then it was back to LA. I met with Bob Kosberg and Bruce Nash. Bruce lives in the world of reality TV. As a writer, I should have perhaps just kicked him in she shins but I ended up joining forces. You know, that whole, if you can’t beat them thing. Bruce had been toying with the idea for a horror flick and wanted to get into the Hostel/Saw game. I put a story to his idea and the agents started to set meetings.
Of course, my agents had some concerns. Thing is, genre films are hard to sell in a pitch. The reasons are simple. There are a hundred thousand genre scripts floating around out there and it’s much easier to spend money on something you can see rather than something that exists in Todd Farmer’s head. But, that’s the business. And I’m pretty good in a room. I jump around and do different voices. My villain speaks with a Russian accent so I pitch him with a Russian accent. You may pass but by the end of it you will have gotten my money’s worth.
Zak Kadison at Gold Circle was first to hear it. Bob did the set up and I pitched the story. Zak loved it, praised my performance and of course passed. Reason: We don’t buy pitches.
Next came Adrienne Biddle at Focus. Loved it. She even has a maquette of a heart with a stake thru it on the back of her desk. If anyone should get the wonder that is gore and severed heads, it would be Adrienne. And she did get it. But she passed. “We don’t buy pitches.” But again she praised my telling and told me the previous writer who had just pitched her had nearly put her to sleep. Praise is great but a check for six figures is always so much better.
And then came Disney. Yeah. I know. I was thinking the same thing. Disney? Walter freaking Disney? Never in a million years would they make a movie like this. But Kosberg had a relationship with Brad Epstein so off we went to the house of the rich rat. And surprisingly enough, Brad loved it. He was jumping around in his seat, reacting to all the disgusting bits and laughing where I’d inserted the humor. It was the perfect pitch.
The thing is, this pitch was always sort of a no-brainer. It’s Field of Dreams soaked in blood. If you sever it, they will come. Everyone gets that. You make it for 5 to 10 million and it opens at 30. Cha-ching, welcome to Hollywood.
Of course, Brad passed. “Walt would roll over in his grave.”

So it was back to PG. Where Mel, oddly enough continues to get more and more pregnant.

But, we can’t fly, so the baby shower in Kentucky has been cancelled. We toyed around with the idea of taking a train. San Francisco to Chicago and then down to Fulton but one way takes four days. 8 days on a train seems a bit extreme for going on 7 months pregnant. Oh well. Life gives you lemons you just gotta make lemonaid. I’m sure Izzie Rain will be more than happy sleeping in a cardboard box.
Soon enough it was back to LA where Kosberg and I sat down with Ashley Brucks of Dreamworks. The meeting started out great when Ashley informed Bob that one of their other projects just got the elusive green light. Great news for them, of course. So, I told Ashley our story. And it went great since she’s a giant fan of Saw and Hostel. But they passed. Although Ashley loves the genre, Dreamworks pays the bills. The Ring is as harsh as they’ll go and we pushed that envelope way beyond.

A quick meeting with FJ to discuss Sleepers where all is moving fast. Tokyopop has chosen the artist who is currently working up samples. FJ and I are now soul owners of the IP and all must deal with us. I should start in on the books by the year’s end.
I also had a meeting with Rupert Wainwright to discuss a script for rewrite. Rupert directed The Fog and the call went really well. I told him what I loved about the script and what I thought we could do to take the story to the next level. He spoke with the producers and the agents got involved. In the world of working writers this is all great news. Then the offer came in. It was…less than impressive. We countered and eventually passed.

On the drive back from LA at around 10:00 that night, 3 hours out of LA and 3 hours from PG my brother, Aarek, called to inform me that Grandad was in the hospital and would have surgery the following day. I called Mel and she worked the internet. The earliest I could get back there would be 3 hours after the surgery. So we decided to wait it out. Guess I’ll always regret that decision.
It bugged me that that Farmer side of the family didn’t get the news until so late but let’s be honest. The others have always disliked the Farmer side of the family. I’m not really sure why. Could be penis envy. The Farmers have always been known for having decent sized schlongs. Yeah, I’m gonna go with penis envy.
A medic in the army, my grandaddy stormed the beaches of Normandy. He used to tell me that his most used medical instrument was a saw and that it wasn’t uncommon to use the thing to amputate at a moments notice. Thus, only a few years shy of 90 he was now in the hospital to have his legs amputated. Call it irony I guess. Or maybe it was something else. The man had been on dialysis for years and gangrene had set in. Sure, I suppose the surgery was justified but I guess you gotta wonder if sometimes it might be better to just let a fella die with legs in tact.
My siblings poured in to see him before the surgery and said that under the circumstances he was in good spirits. Mel and I sent a card through the hospital’s email system and told him the name of his coming great granddaughter.
My grandfather had worked as a plant foreman for several million years. When I was a toddler there was an explosion at the plant and grandad was horribly burned. I remember my parents taking me to the hospital and standing outside as the ambulance arrived. There was my grandad, his face covered in black soot but his big white teeth were glowing in a smile when he saw me. As much pain as he was in, my feelings are what mattered to him. So, he smiled, called me his little buddy and told me that everything was fine.
And that was my grandad, kind, gentle and a worker like few others. He worked at that ol’ plant long after his retirement. He worked in his garden and made sure his yard was the best in three counties. The man would give you the shirt off his back. After Mel and I moved to Los Angeles, every Christmas he’d send us a check and tell us to have dinner on him.
I was the eldest grandkid. Call it timing but it was no secret that I was the favorite. My siblings as well. I pay my bills with creativity and it’s creativity I got from my grandma. My parents would go out to dinner and I’d stay with grandma and grandad and there was always some creative challenge involving construction paper and sparkles. And, of course, I’ve heard countless stories that my mother was the favorite as well. Perhaps favorite is hereditary.
Back at the hospital, my uncle, a preacher, was there and had brought some guru preacherman to play the hell and brimstone card. We’re gonna cut off your legs, George, so you’d better make your heart right with God. Grandad told my siblings that he didn’t like the guy. In fact, the words used were that he hated the guy.
Although Grandaddy George survived the surgery he passed away a few days later. We had just found out that Mel couldn’t fly and I didn’t want to be that far away so I had to rely on the siblings and my father to tell me about the funeral.
Of course the guru preacherman who my grandfather didn’t like was scheduled to speak. My brother, Rikki, approached my uncle and told him that grandad didn’t like the guy, but my uncle got angry and told Rikki that he didn’t really know his grandfather. Whatever. Rikki was simply confused. He thought the funeral was supposed to be about my grandfather’s wishes. Silly boy.
I’m told that Guru went on and on about how mean and stubborn my grandfather was. And how noble the guru preacherman was for trying so desperately to bring evil ol’ Grandad to our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. And oh, praise man! Praise him for his accomplishments because in the end Grandaddy George sang “Jesus Loves Me” and obviously now his heart swims in Heaven. Oh, thank you, guru preacherman. Thank you for your great works!
There was a slide show of pictures played at the funeral. I’m told that the Farmers were oddly enough missing from the collection.
So, I tell you what…when I’ve reached the end of the journey. Please sell my house, stick me in a nursing home then cut off my legs. Perhaps then I’ll sing “Jesus Loves Me” and all will be right in the world.
As far as I’m concerned this story is far more disgusting than anything Hollywood’s ever come up with.

So, it was back to LA with a swing by Dean’s to see his newly constructed back yard adult play area.

It’s always nice to suffer through a trip to Dean’s Epic Tier 3 house with his matching Tier 3 back yard while knowing that my bank account is hanging within just one of his countless pieces of stupidly expensive artwork.
The only good thing about Dean is that his 8 year-old son is now playing a hunter in World of Warcraft.
So, Kosberg and I met with Alex Franklin of the Weinstein Company. I’ve known Alex from his Lions Gate years and figured this pitch would be right up his alley. Oddly enough Alex passed. Just didn’t click for him. That surprised me and was sad considering Weinstein was one of the few places that actually “would” make this horrid little movie.
Next came Scott at Mandate. A good place for us since my coming-in-January, “The Messengers” was made there. Scott loved the pitch and the plan was to get us over to Ghost House to pitch Raimi’s crew. However, that never happened. Couple weeks later we got a pass.
Then was Jonathan Ruiz at New Regency. Liked the pitch, saw the potential, but passed.
Now in all things Hollywood each of these meeting were rescheduled a dozen times. Screen Gems postponed for the guh-zillienth time so the meeting was set for the 18th. For the first time, I said no. And you would have thought I’d been caught on film doggy styling a doggy. The message that came my way from the Nash office was, “Doesn’t he realize this is an important meeting?” Hah, I guess it’s only important when I need to reschedule. No where near as important when I’ve flown or drove to LA only to have one of you postpone. Regardless, Mel and I would celebrate our 13th years on the 18th and pitching severed heads would have nothing to do with it. Screen Gems would have to wait. Important or not.

13 years and now she’s knocked up. But we’re still doing our morning walks and as she grows out from the belly her insistence to strap 10 pound weights to her wrists has her more than able to whoop me in arm wrestling.

We went to one of our favorite restaurants where I decided that it would be me to first write my daughter’s name on a bathroom wall. IZZIE RAIN!

Of course, we’re still warcrafting. Dean and Mel are playing a bit more than I am but with so many trips out of town it’s been hard to keep up. We joined a new guild. Centered as they call themselves and we raid with them Tuesday and Thursday nights. Perhaps more when time allows.
So let’s talk Paramount. Met with Chad Hamiltion. Nice guy. But he passed before I’d even started the pitch. Kosberg was still doing his set up schpeel when Chad interrupted to very apologetically inform us that there’s no way Paramount would ever make Saw or Hostel or anything like it. But he wanted to hear the pitch. Sigh. I drove six hours to perform a story for no pay. I missed the raid for this! I could have gotten some epic Boots!
Although it was the fastest pass I’ve ever gotten it was another fun pitch. Chad loved the pitch and was quick to praise the story saying that he was impressed that as disturbing as it was, the gore was all plot driven. In the end he called my agents and is currently reading several of my samples.
Then it was off to Hyde Park where we sat down with Patrick Aiello. Patrick loved it and saw the potential profit. He even said if he had the money he’d finance it himself. Again, no-brainer. His boss was in Cannes and unfortunately they already had four genre projects. Convincing his boss would be an uphill battle and sure enough it was. A week later we got a pass.
Next came New Line where we met with George Waud and Jeff Katz. Both had worked Snakes on a Plane and loved the pitch. Katz and I first met while he was a New Line grunt back in the Friday the 13th days of DeLuca. As of yet we’re still in play at New Line but it’s been two weeks. Two weeks with no “yes” makes me think we’re looking at a soft pass.
Screen Gems had been something of a nightmare when it came to rescheduling. We’d been set to meet with Scott Strauss but now he was set to fly to Cannes and we’d have to wait until mid June to pitch. So Kosberg’s office called Eric Beckett to pitch to him instead. But Eric passed on the phone. He said they weren’t buying pitches. Then Scott called back and said he’d squeeze the meeting in before his flight.
We pitched Scott and he loved it (as has been the pattern). But Scott would have to convince Clint and that would be an uphill battle since they aren’t buying pitches. He did wonder how Sacchi at Lions Gate had responded since they had partnered on Hostel. But Sacchi wasn’t scheduled until the following week.
In the meantime, let’s go pitch Warner Brothers, a company known for Batman and Superman, who I was fairly certain would pass before I walked in the door. We met with Geoff Shaevitz and this time Bruce showed up with us. Of course, Geoff passed. “Love the story and you do an amazing pitch but we just can’t make that kind of movie.”
On the walk out, Bruce had concerns. So he gave me a list of things I should change. Basically he wanted to water it down. It was too in your face, in his opinion.
With only two meetings to go, Lions Gate and MTV, both of which would actually make a Saw or Hotel, I decided that I would not water it down and/or change the pitch in the 11th hour. Either someone is going to make a movie about shrunken heads…or they won’t.

It was a quick trip back to PG where we did the ocean walk with Rebecca, Allen and Elliot.
And Mel and I hit the doc’s office to see more pics of our gorgeous daughter. Bummer though. This time no pics. Mel told the doc that all was going well but she was getting some pretty hard kicks. The doc nodded with a look on her face that said, “Yes, I hear this all the time. Stop whining and man up.” So, instead of pictures we had the doc moving a microphone around Mel’s belly searching for the elusive Izzie Rain. Of course, our kid thought it was a game of hide-n-seek/kick-the-Can. The moment we’d hear the heartbeat suddenly there would be a SHCHMACK! Then silence.
Little Izzie was using the full range of her uteral environment to run quick stealth missions on the interloping microphone. The moment the mic would get too close she’d throw a well placed round-house or a solid but fear invoking judo punch…SCHMACK! And vanish like the deadly ninja assassin we no doubt expect her to be. This went on for about ten minutes until the doc was forced to give up through laughter and tears. And admitted, yes, your baby is quite strong and I think you’re in trouble.
IZZIE RAIN! Rock star. Fashion guru. Ninja Assassin.
So it was time for the last LA trip…
Where we met with Sacchi at Lions Gate and he got it. He saw the big idea, the story and more importantly the profit to be made. But the chance of Lions Gate financing this movie is pretty slim. Lions Gate acquires films already made…they don’t make them. The only shot is that Lions Gate and Screen Gems join forces. Now we just wait and see.
Friday morning my PC crashed. Just one more reminder that I should totally switch to Mac. So, I had breakfast with Dean then farted around in the Calabasas Baby’s R Us until my lunch meeting with Brad Foxhoven. Brad and I go back years. Back when he worked for John Woo’s Tiger Hill. I’ve worked Demonik, Psychopath and Possessed with Brad and our current meeting was to discuss two new projects. One may end up with The Rock attached while the other has Depp attached. Brad has joined forces with everyone from Del Toro to the Scott brothers. And based on the ideas I’ll work on these two new projects next week.
Back on the road to MTV…
…where we met with Greg Goldin…well, I met with him. Kosberg was running late as he and Bruce got tied up while having lunch with Penny Marshall. I’d met Greg before, while pitching the video game version of The Suffering to he, Radar pictures and Stan Winton’s people. Kosberg arrived as I was closing in on the third act and as with just about everyone else, Greg loved the pitch. He said MTV would certainly make this kind of movie and that was Friday. So, as of Monday, no word yet.

But the drive back was a good one because for the moment, MTV was my last reason to go to LA. Of course, Saturday we joined forces with Elliot and Allen and walked the ocean. We saw the lawyer and the principal, also known as the Bob and the Rebecca who just gave birth to their second.

And Mel and I drove all over middle California spending money at assorted baby stores.
I also dove into a new spec and have a string of ideas for more. I think June will be the month of writing as much as possible and meeting as little. Of course, there’s still Anomaly to work on. Dean and I are still pushing Thunder into a Graphic Novel and I’m guessing Issue 1 of Alien Pig Farm should be finished any day now. And we ordered the Bugaboo Cameleon so at least Mel will be able to push me around the neighborhood very soon. I got that going for me.

Growing up in Benton Kentucky, once per year we all gathered around the court house to watch the parade and celebrate Tater Day. Tater Day began as a once a year Farmer’s Market sort of event but grew into…well…think the Academy Awards with pigs and horses. Pacific Grove has a similar event once a year. It’s called Good Ol’ Days.

Parade, Vendors, Old cars, topless firemen competing in assorted challenges and the list goes on.
There’s just something about small town people and small town living that melts all stress away. As a matter of fact, the only time I really feel the stress these days are during those trips back into LA. Last week for instance. I had a 3:00 pitch meeting where I would go in and dazzle the powers that be with my take on Amityville II. So at nine in the AM I hit the road. By 1:00 I was tooling through Ventura County. Although I’d hit some rain I was making splendid time. I’d make the meeting with 30 minutes to spare. I’m a fan of being early.
Of course, shortly after 1:00 I got a call from my manager. Although it was confirmed twice, the meeting was now being postponed. I struggled with wanting to kill and accepting the fact that Mel and I made the choice to live so far away and this is and will always be the downside.
So, I took the first exit and pointed the SUV back toward Northern California. Four hours later I was back in PG.
My Amityville meeting is now Tuesday at 11am…unless it’s postponed, of course.

There is something fun about old dudes throwing down. Something comforting about going out for coffee or soup and the locals knowing your name. Living in a small town has me remembering growing up in one.
Since we’re doing the Kentucky baby shower in a month I’ve been calling the 702 area code more and more.
You know, they talk funny.
Anytime I meet someone new for work they nearly always detect my accent and ask where I’m from. But my accent is nothing like it was. So, here’s a quick tutorial.
How to speak Southern:
One syllable words become…two.
Bear becomes Bay-er.
Man becomes May-un.
Hat becomes Hay-ut.
Two words become one.
Over There becomes Oh’vere.
Highly Unintelligent becomes Stupid.
A proper noun can become several words.
Potatoes becomes Them There Taters.
Was is no longer a singular verb.
We was…They was…etc.
And the days of the week are different due Day becoming Dee.
Monday becomes Mondee.
Tuesdee, Wensdee, Thursdee and so on.
Use these rules and you will be speaking fluent Southern in no time.

Lighthouse Avenue fills up during the Saturday and Sunday of Good Ol’ Days. You can purchase everything from steak on a stick to garments made of hemp.
But small town living can only last so long. The next few weeks promise many trips to LA.
A couple of weeks ago I spoke with producer, Bob Kosberg. He’s sort of known as the pitch king because it’s not uncommon to see his name in the trades having set up some deal or another. He had an interesting idea for a horror flick which he ran by me. I tossed some words on paper and shot off an email. Last week I met with he and Bruce Nash to discuss my take. As it turns out, I’m not without talent. Who knew?
Next week the three of us will be bouncing around LA pitching the little story. Gold Circle and Focus are first. Then the Weinstein Company followed by Disney. We’ll hit Dreamworks and end the pitches with Screen Gems and New Regency.
Intercut throughout I’ll be finishing my Monster movie outline for a producer with his own financing. He’s new to the world of film but he’s amazingly creative and having access to non-studio money means fewer hoops to jump through. He was ready to cut a deal after our first meeting but there was a hitch. He doesn’t have a signatory company. Which means he couldn’t hire me as a WGA writer. Therefore he’s creating the new company while I work on our story. He’s worked in music as well as TV animation and has a couple of Emmys to show for it.
Sometimes success is little more than making the right decision as to where to put your precious time. I feel pretty good about this guy so I’m gonna go with the glass half full for now.
Nicole at ICM sent over a pretty interesting script this week. The director is already attached and the script is pretty good. It’s more action movie than horror…think…Underworld or Van Helsing. I’m meeting with the director next week to discuss his ideas for the script.
All in all, the next couple of weeks promise to be exhausting and exciting.

Say hello to Izzie Rain.
The doctor said she was sucking her thumb but it looks more to me like she’s chugging a Mountain Dew…which seems slightly more in character.
For those who are into the whole proper name thing then they can call her Isadora Rain Farmer, but she’ll be Izzie Rain to her momma and me.
:)