Coming Attractions: “The Three Magi of Katrina”

This is a trailer for The Three Magi of Katrina, a short story that I wrote for the SC10 conference in New Orleans.


At the 2006 Supercomputing Conference, Ray Kurzweil foretold the coming of the Singularity. Now, as a Category 5 hurricane bears down on New Orleans, the SC30 Keynote is the Event Horizon.

One of the Hollywood Studios is looking at this. Can’t say more right now. Woot!!!


Video of the Week: Story of a Sign

I was in New York last week and I noticed how the homeless there just shake their change cups and never speak until spoken to. Very different than Portland.
And then when I got back, someone sent me this wonderful film called Historia de un letrero. Watch how, with a stroke of the pen, a stranger transforms the afternoon for another man in this emotionally stirring short film by Alonso Alvarez.
Dont read this until you see the film:
This film won the Cannes short film award. And I thought a while about just why this film strikes such a chord.
Here is my take:
For most of our lives, we are all the blind man who cannot see the beautiful day.

Seven Meals from Chaos

The folks at BackfencePDX published one of my stories for their event theme of “Just Can’t Get Enough.”
So, I called it Seven Meals from Chaos, which is kind of a take-off on a newspaper story I read called “Nine Meals from Anarchy.” I think it turned out well and I got some good comments already. Enjoy!

Another FlexRex film script

Lately I’ve found that contests are an effective means of combatting Writer’s Block. The folks over at NYC Midnight were hosting a scriptwriting contest recently, so I decided to enter.
They give you a genre and a topic to work with and one week to complete a script of up to 15 pages. My assignment was to write a suspense film with a magnet in it. The magnet part is what they call in the industry a “Macguffin,” which is incidental to the real story.
So I entered “Jigsaw Falling into Place” with this tagline:
“Angie Davis has vanished. As Caleb tries to find her, the lodestone is the only clue to her fate.”
And that was so much fun that I decided to adapt the story for the Radiohead video contest I blogged about the other day.
Ed note: I took fifth place in my heat. Not enough to win money, but considering how many I was up against, I’ll take it as encouragement 😉

Radiohead video contest: My entry

The folks over at Aniboom are hosting a contest where you can submit storyboards set to songs from Radiohead’s new album In Rainbows. The band will judge the contest and the winner gets $10K to produce a music video.

Here is my entry. For some reason the default volume is over-modulated. So if you turn it down using their volume control, it sounds a lot better.
Wish me luck 😉

New Film Script: Bardo

I entered a screenwriting contest. The folks at NYC Midnight gave us a genre, subject, and seven days to write a script of up to 15 pages.
Title: Bardo
Genre: Horror
Subject: Prison
All the inhabitants of Huxley prison have vanished overnight. BARDO is the only clue to where they’ve gone and the hungry ghosts that have come to take their place.
The script is in PDF format. Check it our and let me know what you think.
Bardo script

IPO: Chapter 6.2 “The Nine”

Note: IPO is a novel blogged in progress.

The security guards at the ballroom door were even bigger than Martin had imagined. The lead had to be at least 6’7”, and his scarred forehead and dreadlocks were as intimidating as his demeanor.
“Can I help you?” he asked. Martin reached for his ID, which dreadlock read carefully before presenting him with his VIP badge.
“Thank you, Mr. Dial. The Ripley Foundation has asked me to watch your back this evening and keep the press away, if you don’t mind.”
“Certainly not. It is their event after all. Would you be so kind as to help me find Mr. Ripley? It looks like quite a mob in there.”
The ballroom was packed indeed. Martin caught an elbow within a few steps of entering and he could barely hear the woman’s apologies over the din of the crowd. The jazz combo on stage seemed content to render a slow beat rather than try to overwhelm the room full of conversation fed by the open bar.
With dreadlocked shadow in tow, Martin made his way towards the stage. A middle-aged woman with a diamond broach stopped him midstream.
“You’re Martin Dial, aren’t you?” she asked. “I need to talk to you about my husband. Or at least he was my husband. Jakob Waterman.”
“Yes, I remember. He’s one of the nine. Congratulations.”
“That’s what I need to talk to you about, Mr. Dial. He’s not Jakob.”
“I’m sorry. What do you mean?”
“He’s different. He knows things–things that happened after he… after he died.”
Martin felt a silence come over him. Her eyes were pleading and she was shaking like a leaf.
“Mr. Dial, I have to tell you something else. Jakob meets with them–the others you brought back. I don’t know what it is, but they’re planning something they call the Exodus!”