You know what’s crazy? I’ll tell you what’s crazy™
WHITE BOY.
Like a pregnant woman craving pastrami and ice cream, I suddenly had an urge to read a screenplay I wrote in 1992.
White Boy, was part fantasy, part reality.
I spent a lot of time in South Central L.A. while attending USC.
I lived in ghetto houses with metal bars on the doors and windows.
I was escorted home by the bright light of the LAPD chopper in gang neighborhoods.
I was called White Boy from a block away and I knew they were talking to me.
I never had a ruthless gang set my home on fire with a flaming cross bow.
Hey, it’s Hollywood, right?
I wrote White Boy in Greenville, N.C.
I just had to write, so I wrote.
I wrote it in the mornings before I went to work.
I would usually force myself out of bed and go downstairs where it was quiet.
It was 6 am, and I would sit with the cat at my feet purring. I would write away, banging on the little keyboard. It was a prehistoric word processor that had less computing power than a box of cracker jacks.
I think it was a Tandy something or other, made by Radio Shack.
Nothing says quality like Radio Shack.
The screen was green and small.
It had no memory, so I had to save White Boy on a floppy disc.
Floppy Discs? Now I use them as drink coasters.
I didn’t have a screenwriting program. I don’t think such a thing existed then.
So I just began writing.
FADE IN:
Formatting in screenplays is crucial.
CONTINUE at the top and bottom of a page is required.
Now-a-days the formatting and page directions are kept by the program. You don’t have to think about any of that. You just write and let the magic of the screenwriting program put page directions where they are suppose to be.
But in 1992, before electricity, you had to plan every single space.
A single space bar tap on page one affected something on page 90.
It could be very frustrating during re-writes.
It can take weeks, months, even years to write 90 pages. It can be pretty frustrating to find a CONTINUE suddenly in the middle of page 42.
Anyway, what I am trying to say is that writing a screenplay in the dark ages was a labor of love.
You had to want to do it, need to do it.
It was like leaving the cave and finding two dry sticks and rubbing them together to make fire.
It was hard.
I am reminded of this tonight as I once again tempt the Literary jackals with a slice of my talents.
I had just finished writing a spec script with my cousin. I was in a writing mood.
While we work on being discovered, the next great american writers, I decided to take a crack at an old story I wrote in my life cave.
White Boy.
“Where the hell is that screenplay?” I ask myself.
I begin going through cabinets and looking in closets.
I find socks from 1995, but no screenplay.
I go in the garage and pull a big box off the shelf.
Why this box? It’s labeled SCREENPLAYS across the side.
But after 20 years, that box could contain anything from Brown Recluse spiders to a soiled diaper.
So I pull the box off the shelf.
SPLAT
It hits the floor with a seismic punch. It’s heavy. That’s a lot of damn words, I think to myself.
I pull back the flaps and stare at the contents.
Under the cobwebs and the dust, I see books on screenwriting. I see manila envelopes, each containing a body of work.
STAR TREK NEXT GENERATION.
FOREVER KNIGHT
OUR KIND OF FUN (The 1st screenplay I ever wrote on a typewriter)
I push my hand into the density of paper and memories.
I push my fingers to the bottom of the box, feeling my way past various critters, dust bunnies, envelopes, various containers, various packaging.
My fingers gravitate to a satchel that feels right.
I pull it up through the rip tide of paper that is trying to pull it back.
I get the package to the light and I am pleased.
WHITE BOY!
I smile. The paper has yellowed slightly, but the pages are in tact, readable.
I grab a cup of coffee and sit on the couch.,
FADE IN:
The story begins at the Delta Chi Frat House 1985.
My mind begins percolating like the morning rush hour at Starbucks.
I remember writing the scene.
My protagonist, Richie walks out of the frat house and steps over broken glass and smashed TV’s.
He looks up and sees drunk frat boys roof testing tv’s.
I laugh to myself as the memory fills my veins.
Hmmmm? Truth is stranger than fiction.
Anyway, I read the script and get a sense of what is good and what is not so good.
There’s only one way to get White Boy into my new screenwriting program and that is to literally write them word by word.
And that is what I do.
I spend a month writing the 95 page story about reverse racism in the inner city.
All in all, there’s something I really like about the story.
I am not a dummy. I am under no misconceptions that this story is commercially viable. It’s small budget about an unfriendly topic. It’s a story that has no overseas potential.
What it does have is spirit, and characters that are true.
I’ve tried to write commercial crap. I’ve tried to guess what an agent would want. Those efforts sucked.
I wrote White Boy because it was the story I needed to write.
What’s the worst that can happen?
I can put it back in that box.
The spiders are lonely, anyway right?
Maybe my kids can read it one day.
“Damn, dad was F***ed up they will say.
Ha.
Whatever.
The joy of writing is diminished by the chore of marketing that writing.
Writing is having a 21st birthday party where cake is stuck to the over head fan. Marketing the writing is the equivalent of cleaning up that birthday party with a q-tip.
It sucks.
But I’m nothing if not relentless, so before I pack it away in moth balls, I will see if any agents like it.
To do that, you must write a query letter.
That introductory marketing salvo has to be creative and short. It must concisely explain the story and showcase your writing spirit. And at the same time you need to sell yourself and your accomplishments. The art of the query. It’s as difficult to master as the screenplay itself.
Anyway: here is my effort. I’ve sent it to a few agents, those willing to look at unsolicited query letter.
Most major agencies won’t accept even a piece of paper unless someone has referred you to them.
I read somewhere that one agent received 10,000 queries in one year.
Out of that 10,000 queries, one writer got signed.
You have a better chance getting married by a transgender Elvis impersonator in Singapore.
Anyway, if it was easy, everyone would do it.
Since I’m probably going to put the whole enchilada back into a box. I thought I’d at least show you my query letter.
Writing a screenplay is hard.
Getting someone to read it even harder.
Life’s Crazy™
My writing and words are experienced by potentially 1 million people in Music City every single night.WHITE BOY is fast paced and edgy. It’s White vs. Black. It’s Rich vs. Poor. It’s misconception vs. Perception.