11 October 2014
Selling Out to Hollywood! (In which our writer goes temporarily nuts)
I read one of those self-help books the other day, and I’m beginning to realize why I’m not getting very rich. (For one thing, I’m not writing self-help books.) It is patently obvious that nobody is going to get wealthy writing zany crime novellas unless they whack somebody over the head with them during the course of a bank robbery.
So I’ve decided to switch media here and become a screenwriter. I’m a natural. I can sit in those funny collapsible canvas chairs just as well as the next guy, and besides, I know hundreds of unbelievable plots; I live in Ford Nation <Toronto>.
So here goes: for my first screamplay <sic> I’m going to do something made for TV; specifically one of those romance-suspense-action-thriller-northern-southern-civil war epic-type things, maybe a miniseries. It would have everything – sex, violence, sex, betrayal, sex, revenge, sex - and maybe even some dialogue. It would star a ravishing but thoroughly spoiled female lead, maybe called Sapphire, and her male lead, Rot. Here’s a preview:
Sapphire flings herself up the sweeping staircase, catching bottom of skirt on knob of banister.
Sapphire (yanking at fabric): Go away, Rot! Just go away!
Rot: I’m going, I’m going. But one last thing, Sapphire honey, I’ve got to know. How do you manage to go to the bathroom with that bloody hoola- hoop attached to your skirt?
Sapphire (rolling downstairs on her side): Don’t go, Rot! Please don’t go.
Rot (doffing hat): Frankly Sapphire, I don’t give a hoot.
(From outside, several barn owls hoot.)
I predict a blockbuster. But just in case, I have a second one planned. It’s a 1960s historical spy flick, based on the true-to-life adventures of very bad people who might possibly be Russian.
First Spy (possibly named Boris): Gee comrade, do you theenk perhaps we are raising peeples suspicions speeeking English with Russian accent?
Second Spy (also named Boris): Especially seence it is very BAD Russian accent, comrade?
Okay, so it needs a bit of work, and maybe some more sex. I’m thinking of calling it Czech-mate. And if we bring it forward to modern times, the possibilities are endless. What about a ‘Spy of the Month’ reality series? Boris could live in an LA frat house with nine other comrades named Boris, and the survivor…
Or I could go back to writing silly novels.
Melodie Campbell continues to write the zany Goddaughter mob caper series for Orca Books. There appears to be no cure.