This page is looking abit dead (never been good at blogging)So finally i have something to post!
I've started a module of narrative strategies and our teacher suggested we show our progress online.
So I've decided to dump mine online so i can show my writing to people i send this link to (facebook is yet to build an app to publish work for friends to view)
This short was first piece for the class, the challenge was to write a brief "A tale of two cities" story based on current news events. I picked The Writers Strike.
It was another meeting with the producer. Another day in a poorly decorated room, stuck with a man incapable to care about the written word. Michael hated this place, the dull grey walls sucked all life and creativity out of his soul, while the producer would blather on about ratings and marketing figures. Today he was absently staring at the producer’s glossy white teeth while the senseless man talked on about the latest script. It was the ending the producer had a problem with, he felt the audience would want a hap-pier ending where Sydney Carton would be rescued by his friend Charles Darnay. He even went as far as saying this new ending would be a far far better thing. Michael wanted to resist, he wanted to stand up and stop the butchering of a classic but he couldn’t. There was no way he could afford a rebellion on his paycheck and as a writer he was easily replaceable. This lifestyle was starting to become routine, he could almost call the room his second home and no matter how these meetings went they always ended the same
“I’ll have it finished for you by Monday.”
It’s a late Sunday evening and the rhythmic tapping of rain buzz’s in Michaels mind as he stares at the blank page. He calls out for the right words to appear, but the vacant page just grins back re-fusing to give up its secrets. Michael’s inner demon carries on its taunts refusing to allow him a moment of peace. The phone started to ring, the rain kept battling against the window and the clock carried on ticking but the page stayed blank. Michael had no time for answering phones the script needed to be finished and fast, but his wits had betrayed him. There was no other hope apart from the screwed up ball of paper lying on his bedroom floor. He reached down and straightened the paper out. It was covered in the producer’s blocky handwriting instructing Michael on how to finish his script. Michael sighed and began to type only stopping to glance back at the producer’s notes. Soon the rained slowed and the answering machine recorded the message, which simply said
“Don’t forget the 5th of November”.
It’s a bright Monday morning and Michael was pacing between his writing desk and the front door. It was no surprise he had forgotten about the strike his calendar was buried under a pile of unopened bank letters and unfinished screenplays, but that didn’t change the fact that today was the 5th. He stopped and looked down at the script sitting on his desk, excluding the ending it was his best writing to date. However, today was strike day and any kind of work activity wouldn’t put him in the good books with the WGA. The demon in his mind started to stir, it whispered Michael’s the collection of fears and worries causing him to resume pacing up and down. It was too soon for him to strike, if he was out of the job then there would be no means for him to survive here. Maybe he could hand in the new script and secretly keep on writing for the company under a fake name? There were barely any choices and there were too many consequences.
He knew the easy route was to fall back into those four grey walls, living only to mindlessly follow orders till the next deadline. For that reason Michael kept walking for the door, nothing would stop him now. He had picked the difficult road full of uncertainly and danger, the place where he would finally be free.
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