Me, Myself... Monologues, Part 2 (Bonus Sample)

Picking up on my last post about writer's block, it's also true that when I'm in a writing mood I write! So here's another sample monologue as a bonus.

Again, if you're looking for an original piece written specifically for you please contact me on rwhyde3.0@gmail.com to organise.

The Chair

There is a space across from me. An emptiness. An absence of something. No, not something… someone. An empty chair that sits there accusing me. It says, “you’re not good enough, you’re not worthy, you are damaged, you are less than.” Its silence screams a thousand barbs that I cannot shake, that I cannot banish from my psyche.

I want to shout at it. I want to yell and rage, kick and scream. Fill the space between us with my outrage, my disappointment, my sadness. It just stares back at me, unmoved, unmoving, cold and judgemental.

I try to imagine who else could be perched there - someone famous perhaps. A celebrity whose face everyone would recognise. They’d wonder why such an esteemed person was there with poor, anonymous me. Whisper excitedly as they wait for their overpriced lattes in ridiculous, napkin-wrapped glass. Ring their friends to say, “You won’t guess who I just saw” before taking a sneaky picture with their smartphone to prove the fact. All too soon our table would be crowded with well-wishers and autograph hunters.

The chair hasn’t moved. It remains resolutely unfilled and unimpressed.

Try as I might I can’t conjure a Star because that’s not what I want. Nor do I crave the company of astronauts or politicians; writers or inventors; reality show contestants or models. There’s only one person I wish was sitting there.

They may as well be on the Moon.

Sometimes I think she’s only a manifestation of my imagination. Like those childhood friends we occasionally manufacture in periods of solitude; who come out to play when there is no-one else to occupy our thoughts, our time… our dreams. They represent our most hoped for desires no matter how farfetched and crazy.

Yes, I am crazy. Why did I ever think she could be made real?

I want to yell and scream. But I know I won’t.

I want to slink away and put aside the humiliation and rejection. But I know I can’t.

I want to stay and fight for her. But I don’t know how. The Moon is an awfully long way away. And my mood is heavy and earth-bound.

The space where she should be mocks me. The message on my phone saying she won’t be coming cripples me. The casual glances of pity or disdain from strangers unravels me. I don’t know what to do. I am paralysed by confusion and doubt. And still the chair sits there empty.

I don’t hate you. I could never do that. But nor can I claim to understand you. Not in this moment. Not here and now. Not in front of this fucking chair.

© Richard Hyde, 2012

Dealing with the Dreaded Writer's Block

I saw a witty quote on Twitter a couple of days ago that went along the lines of:

“Writer’s block – when your imaginary friends aren’t talking to you.”

It made me laugh because there is some truth to that. Now, I have been writing, just not the thing I should be namely a low budget thriller feature script. This is strange to me as there is a detailed Beat Sheet that was battered back and forth between myself and the director as well as discussed at some length before I even opened a new Final Draft file. I have written the opening and had intended doing a “vomit draft” to get everything down before refining it with the director’s feedback. Ain’t been happening - long stretches of nothing, nada, nix, zilch. Don’t know why. I suspect it’s because the story has been germinating in the dark recesses of my brain somewhere… until I can hear all those imaginary new friends talking to me.

In the meantime I have been reading a lot of local scripts from shorts to a feature and even a television pilot. Giving notes and feedback, written and in person; taking plenty of meetings and generally been creative in terms of brainstorming ideas and discussing storytelling. I also unexpectedly met a young, enthusiastic writer and have taken on a de facto mentor role which I’m really enjoying. Her energy, passion and eagerness to learn is quite infectious.

This brew appears to have kick-started my own urge to start working on the feature again. I’m sure other writers might understand this – there is a nagging sensation at the back of my mind where ill-formed but recognisable glimpses of the film I wish to write are intruding with increasing regularity. It’s hard to explain but I love that sensation. It means I’m ready to write.

Computer optional :-)

But here’s the thing – normally I would be tapping away on my netbook but not this time. This time it wants to come out the old-fashioned way, in longhand with pen and paper. So there are new scenes appearing, scrawled on the back of the printed pages already in Final Draft; in notepads; and basically on whatever is available. What do I care, as long as it’s leaving my imagination and taking shape in words! I actually like writing this way – being very creative as it pours out then more analytical as you type it up and play with it a little.

The moral of the story? For me, it’s to keep being creative even if you’re not writing. Surround yourself with creative people. Let the passion for their stories reignite yours. Keep thinking story and reading scripts and brainstorming ideas. Sooner or later those ‘imaginary friends’ will want to come out to play. 

Me, Myself... Monologues

I often see actors on social media asking if anyone knows of good (contemporary) monologues for auditions or their show reel. Occasionally I even get asked if I can recommend scenes or monologues. As a writer, my response invariably includes:

"You could always have one written for you."

Yes, if you're looking for a good monologue I can write one specifically for you!

Here's the deal - for $120 I will write an original monologue of around 3 minutes in length based on:

- a scenario; or

- a theme; or

- a character type;

that you specify. PLUS I will also do one polish based on your feedback.

Please contact me on rwhyde3.0@gmail.com to organise.

Below is a sample monologue:

The Birdcage

I hate it when people ask how things are going. I can hear it in their voice, the faint disapproval, the condescending tone. They are waiting to hear that it’s all too hard, that I made a mistake, that I’m sorry. It doesn’t matter how tough things get, how desperate times are. I will never give them that satisfaction. Never.

I couldn’t wait to leave home. To do my own thing, to live life on my own terms. It was like someone had left the door open to a bird cage. I was free to explore the world outside the bars, the rules, all the restrictions. What a revelation! I flew all the way to the other side of the country. To find exciting new possibilities, a bright shiny future, a better me.

Or so I thought.

Now I know sometimes the bars are there to keep the predators out. The users, the posers, the people who take advantage. The guys who crush your dreams.

The ones who make you sell yourself to pay the rent. The clients who make you feel less than what you really are.

Their horrid breath, the sweat, the callous disregard.

I will never ever give them that satisfaction. No matter how tough things get. When they ask, I smile sweetly and say everything is fabulous, more than I ever could have hoped for. You’re the only one I dare reveal the truth to.

I wonder if anyone else can tell… if she can tell? Forever leaving messages, forever sending gift packs. Another newly knitted jumper. Never money. She says she’s proud of me. I wish I could say the same.

Then there’s the boy. He said he would follow me. Give up his job, his friends, his ambitions, all for me. There’s a time that used to make me smile. Now it terrifies me. He wouldn’t understand… the choices, the desperation… the guilt. 

I often dream of going home.

But the cage is always easier to flee than it is to return to.

© Richard Hyde, 2012

Live Below The Line - Please Donate

I rarely use this blog for topics that aren't directly related to screenwriting matters, however, I would like to promote a wonderful cause: Live Below The Line. This is where people agree to live on only $2 a day for 5 days to experience extreme poverty to raise awareness and much needed funds.

Paraphrased from the LBL website: Donations will be used to build a new high school in Papua New Guinea. The school will provide traditional secondary education, as well as vocational training and a special needs learning centre - one of the first of its kind in PNG. Live Below the Line will also fund scholarships to ensure that all students in the area can attend the new school. 

Actors from Filmbites Youth Film School were involved in one of the promotional videos (below) and are now participating in the week.

You can make a donation at the Filmbites' page on the LBL website here or support individual members of the team. 

You can also follow people's individual stories and experiences worldwide on the Twitter hashtag #livebelowtheline

Could you live on only this for 5 days?

Please share the links and donate to a great cause.

**Update**

Individuals you can support and local (Perth) actors:

Amy Murray (Sleepyhead):
https://www.livebelowtheline.com/me/amymurray

Jessica Hegarty (Soulfish, Deadtime):
https://www.livebelowtheline.com/me/jessicahegarty

Richard Hyde

Movie Moments Through the Generations

I recently put up a poll on my Facebook screenwriting page asking people to nominate their favourite movie franchise of all time. This prompted some discussion as did conversations with actors substantially younger than me. They, of course, knew all the iconic films that such a poll will inevitably throw up… but I recounted how I was THERE at the original cinema release of some of these classics.

The two that stick most vividly in my mind are Star Wars and Alien. The former I was taken to by my Dad as I would have been about 11 years old at the time. I know it’s a cliché now because a lot of people from my generation mention it, but that shot of the Star Destroyer gliding across the screen changed movies forever. I had never seen anything even remotely like it – it kept going… and going… and going until finally you get to the engines. I can tell you, my eyes were as big as saucers. Then you get the Stormtroopers in their cool white uniforms THEN you get Darth Vader. All within a few minutes! Hooked. Besotted. Serious Swoonage. Dad, to this day, will tell you he hated it, but I know and he knows he loved it… just don’t tell Mum who has never seen a Star Wars film.

A couple of years later was Alien – the first film I was allowed to go see unaccompanied by an adult. On the proviso I first took my sister, who was two years younger than me, to see The Muppet Movie. Talk about a contrast! I had read the Alan Dean Foster novelisation so I knew exactly what was going to happen but that film scared the living bejesus out of me. What made it memorable was this - when the Alien bursts out of John Hurt’s chest a whole group of kids at the back ran screaming out of the cinema. AND someone threw up. The smell of vomit wafting through a darkened cinema added another layer to the claustrophobic nature of that film.

My parents talk just as fondly of the days when going to the movies was a huge social event – before the days of television. The Grove Plaza in Cottesloe used to house a cinema complex and Saturday matinees were all the rage. But they made a real effort having a theme in the foyer for the movies that played there. You hear how people, notably women, say they were afraid to take a shower after seeing Psycho. Well, when Mum and Dad saw the original theatrical release they said the ushers had green filters over their torches as they showed you to your seats which gave an eerie glow to set the mood. When the movie finished they kept the house lights off… and off… and off… until people started to scream! How cool would that have been?

So it started to make me wonder. What are the iconic movie moments for subsequent generations? Those scenes or images that sear themselves into an entire collective mindset?

What moments stick in your mind and are the source of discussion and wonderment for your generation as they are for mine with Star Wars and my parents for Psycho. What are those movies? Is it to be found in the Harry Potter franchise? Was Die Hard a film that sticks out? Did the prequels have as big an impact on a new generation as the original Star Wars trilogy did on mine?

I’d love to know…

Short Film Shoot - Darkness

Some stills from the first two days of shooting for my short script "Darkness" written as part of Filmbites' Professional Partnership Program.

Synopsis:

A teenager wakes in complete darkness and is horrified to discover that she is locked in a basement… and is not alone. Her mysterious companion is strangely resigned to their fate and tells the teenager they can never leave.

Upstairs, two housemates watch old movies until one hears a noise coming from the basement. Scared, she begs the other to check it out.

As the traumatised teenager desperately tries to escape, the housemate descends a rickety staircase that leads to a locked door. What she finds inside will change both their lives forever…

Director: Paul Komadina; Producers: Emilia Jolakoska & Hallie Mckeig; DOP: David Le May; Written by Richard Hyde.

Starring: Caitlin Ashley-Thompson, Hannah Hugessen, Jessica Hegarty & Jessica O'Connor.

More pictures on the Filmbites facebook page. "Like" the page while you're there to support a fabulous Youth Film School.

Two housemates watch old movies... 

The writer slouching about trying to stay out of the way.

Chapter 1

Kyle Z Davis

I heard the yelping before my eyes had even adjusted from their sleep induced fuzziness. It sounded like a dog, like a little dog, maybe even a puppy.  I tried to figure out if I was dreaming. Did my parents finally relent and give in the ‘I want a dog” pleas that I had been performing for over a year? I pinched my own scrawny arm. I definitely wasn’t sleeping. It was time to explore.

It was warm outside already, I remember the ground almost burning my feet. As I rounded the corner I saw the source of the yelping. It was tiny and white, with a big black splodge across its eye. It was sitting on top of Mum’s famous petunias looking very scared and a little embarrassed.

I bent down and put my hand out. The scared little face pulled away, back pedaling further into the petunias. It was scared of me. Me, at 6 years old! I raced inside and found some steak that Mum was defrosting on the kitchen counter. The puppy liked it. It ate the steak and licked my fingers afterwards, and slowly it came out of the petunia bush and let me pat its warm, fuzzy little head.

I named the puppy Charlie not sure if it was a girl or a boy. I fed it more steak, I imagined how it would be my dog and follow me everywhere - growling at the big boys across the street that had BMX bikes. In the space of 5 minutes I had Charlie and my whole future planned out. Then Mum came.

Mum stood at the edge of the garden with her hands on her hips “Where did you get that dog from Kyle?”

“Nowhere. I just found it.”

“You just found it here in the garden bed, eating my petunias?”

“He also ate a steak.”

Mum’s face went purple, I probably shouldn’t have mentioned the steak. “You have 3 seconds to tell me where this dog came from.”

“I don’t know I just came out and here he was. Can we keep him? Please Mum.”

My Mum looked at me and at Charlie, his tiny nervous shivery body, his big scared eyes, the wiggly tail – “No.”

My Mum looked at me and I could see her start to feel bad, “That poor puppy probably belongs to someone Kyle, and I bet they miss him very much.”

“But how did he get into our backyard?” my question hung in the air as my Dad strode in.

My Dad was wonderful, he was my hero. He was strong  and smart and he always knew what to do.

“Dad I found a puppy and it’s name is Charlie and I want to keep him and he is really scared and I just found him in the garden and I don’t think he belongs to anyone because why would he be here and I promise I’ll look after him and” The words all rolled into one big sentence.

My dad smiled at me “Slow down son. We have to first make sure that this dog doesn’t belong to someone. Does he have a collar?” I shook my head. My Dad strode around the garden then through the big grey gates that separated our little home from the big world outside. “There is foot prints outside – they must have thrown the poor blighter over the fence.”

Dad came back in and I looked at him hopefully as well but he glanced in Mum’s direction.  She frowned, he frowned – No!!! He was siding with her, I could feel his look change.

“Sorry son, we already have 2 pets.”

“The cats aren’t pets and what is going to happen to Charlie we can’t just abandon him!” I held Charlie so tight he whimpered.

“I hope Grumble and Mrs Mopps don’t hear you say that. We’ll take Charlie to the vet and the vet will find someone who can give him a good home,” said my Dad.

“But we have a good home, he can stay with us, and I promise I will walk him everyday and pick up all his poo, and train him to do really cool stuff, and …”

But I could tell that my words were falling on deaf ears.

 Just at that moment the best thing that could possibly happen, happened a very loud “Coooooeeeeee” was heard from the front gate. It was my Grandma, who was the bestest Grandma ever. She told the best stories, let me watch cartoons on tv, and always brought me a milky way (which she secretly gave to me when my parents weren’t looking). I was pretty certain that if anyone could figure out how I could keep Charlie it would be Grandma.

She rounded the corner into the garden smelling like fruit and sounding like a circus with all her bracelets jangling. She took one look at Charlie and got down on her hands and knees and woofed at him. I smiled and Charlie delightedly ran over to Grandma. “Who is this cutie pie?”

“That’s Charlie Grandma,” I said proudly.

“We’re not keeping him Mum, he was thrown over the fence this morning,” said my Dad. My Grandma looked at me and looked at Charlie.

“We’re going to take him to the vet and see if anyone is missing him” added my mother.

“Why would they be missing him if they threw him over the fence?’ I pointed out.

“We can’t have another pet Kyle. We already have 2 cats”

“I hate the cats”

“Shhhh.” Suddenly everyone was quiet, we looked at Grandma. “Leave this to me. Kyle and I will sort this out.” My Mum and Dad looked at Grandma in shock. My Mum then shrugged and my Dad smiled at Grandma and said “thanks Mum” and they headed into the house.

My Grandma sat next to me with Charlie and we threw a very small twig for him to chase. It was funny as he wasn’t very co-ordinated yet and he kept tripping over his front legs. We didn’t talk for a long time. Then Grandma started.

“You know Kyle sometimes we can’t be with the things we love, like people or puppies.” I wondered if she was talking about Grandpa. She never talked about Grandpa but whenever anyone mentioned him she got this sad look. ‘But you know what we can do? We can write a story about them so we can read that story and be with them any time we want.”

It didn’t seem much consolation to me, but Grandma persuaded me. She got out this big beautiful notebook with a book and a sword on the cover and she made me write about how I found Charlie. She made me describe every little detail, and what I would do if he could be my dog. She then helped me draw little pictures. One of Charlie scared in the petunias, one of Charlie scaring the big boys with the BMX’s away and one where Charlie found a wonderful home with another little boy who really needed him.

That afternoon Grandma and I took Charlie to the vet, who told us that Charlie would be snapped up in no time by a new family because he was so cute. I cried a little, and Grandma let me blow my nose on her shawl. That night I took out the big notebook Grandma had given me and I read about my adventures with Charlie the wonder-dog. That night my dreams were filled with Charlie and me going on amazing adventures. The dreams were so real I swear I could feel his leathery tongue licking my face.