[…] “The agent in Prada and the hopeful in Gap …read more […]

Twas the eve before Blacklist, and with the click of a mouse, Writers went searching, to locate their new house. Full of hope and glee and despair, The anxious wait made them pull out their hair (even the bald ones). For surely tomorrow, they'd need to fly to L.A., They'd mix sunshine with writing, production and play. As they pull out their eyebrows, they pull on an elf hat, Their only lullaby, a warm, rum nightcap. But the rum doesn't wash, they arise with a clatter, Their partners, their pets wonder what's the matter. Away to windows, twitter up like a flash, They frazzle their fingers, as they burn them with ash. The moon got full like a plate, Oops different ditty. When, what to their wondering eyes should appear, But the LIST, was it their name? Their spines tingle with fear. With a glance they can see lively and quick, If their moment has come, or they're in for some schtick. More rapid than lightning, to the hall of fame, They whistled and shouted, they were tweeted BY NAME!

Nice one, TQA, and a good way to break the ice. Hope you had fun doing it!

I did, got a bit too in character. Takes off elf hat. Am off to see Trading Places on big screen on Friday, so will have write up to add to 80s collection afterwards. I've never seen it on the big screen, very excited.

Trading Places is truly a classic 80s movie. Both Murphy and Aykroyd are at the top of their game, but Jamie Lee Curtis nearly steals the show as the hooker with a heart of gold. Enjoy it on the big screen!

Twas the night before Black List, when all through the net,? Not a writer was sleeping, gay, bi, or het.? The scripts had been written, with keyboards and pens, In hopes that good readers would rate them all tens. The characters dressed smartly in twelve point fonts, But the writers wore transparent nonchalance. Franklin in his reading chair, I in my den, Both praying for lightning--or Proust's madeleine. Then across the 'net there arose such a Twatter,? I stared at my Mac to see what was the matter.? To a new window I clicked like a flash,? I closed all the porn sites and cleaned out my cache. The news online ranged from Cyrus to Miley, 'Least someone can t'work it,' I thought (quite wryly). But what had my screen-addled eyeballs first missed? A tweet from a guy by the name of 'Black List.' With two hundred twenty-five features produced, This jolly dude's brimming with Hollywood juice. There's drama and action and awards galore, He's jingle balls deep in the back lot's back door. From Black Snake to Snow White (and some are in color!), He's sort of a Screenplay-in-Theater-Installer. Then, in a refresh, I gasped when this wise shamus, Announced that I'm almost-rich and near-famous. I shouted in glee, reading my title there, Then was struck by an abrupt wave of despair. They'd posted my name wrong, and my title too! Someone had messed up, something was askew. I wasn't a winner, my script failed to impress, So instead of triumph, I nursed my distress. The tweets—how they flattered! The updates inspired! I typed 'GO YOU!' and thought 'into a fire.' I spoke not a word, but went straight to my work,? I opened my software, I'd show those jerks. Who cares if the Black List is wholly depraved, As long as there's plenty more cats to be saved.

Okay, so I picked up where Chris left off, starting with the third stanza! ‘Twas the Night Before Black List... ‘Twas the Night Before Black List and all through LA Writers were nervous – could this help us get pay? Our loglines were sharp and polished with care, In the hopes that St. Franklin soon would be there. We writers were ambien’d all snug in our beds, While visions of having a sustainable future danced in our heads. The agent in Prada and the hopeful in Gap, Had just settled their brains (with pot) for a long winter’s nap. When over on Twitter there came such a clatter, We rushed to our laptops to join in the chatter. Away to my newsfeed I ran like a stag, To check for some clues on the Black List hash-tag. The moon was so bright, the fields were aglow, But I live in a basement, so what do I know? And then to my horrified eyes it appeared: “Unable to connect,” a modern worst fear! I searched for a sneakier way to connect, A neighbor too stupid to password protect? “The Smiths Family Wifi” hooked me right up, So I combed through the tweets, sipping gin from a cup. “It’s Dasher! It’s, Dancer! It’s Prancer! It’s Vixen!" He’d tweet out the names, but would mine still be missing? No matter, I thought, it’s twelve hours away, So I went back to bed and I started to pray. With the sound of the garbage trucks morning was here, And I shot up in bed dressed in sweat-beaded fear. The coffee, the paper, some fresh Frosted Flakes, ‘Cause Tony the Tiger says “They’re grrrreat!” At last it was time for the Black List supreme, The screenwriting darlings of twenty-thirteen. St. Franklin untied his red sack full of dreams, And tweeted each name to high-fives and sharp screams. With every new tweet the scene was the same, Cool loglines and titles, but never my name. Now I was deep into finding distraction, Clipping my toenails then cleaning the bathroom. I returned to the list with a last dash of hope, But just like before, the answer was “nope!” Cue the lines of defence, cue the Hollywood tears, But there came something else, that I’d cherish for years. It came as I read every name in a trance, Writers like me who’d been given a chance. We all start from nowhere with Hollywood dreams, And become better writers with each written scene. I apologize now if it’s gotten all sappy, Kinda hate myself now, if it makes you all happy. What was I saying? Oh yeah, the big dream! We don’t all make the list, but us scribes are one team. So cheer for your teammates who make the big list, But don’t be all creepy and stalk them and shit. And if you are part of the list in this year, Celebrate hard, maybe binge-drink some beer! For the rest of us dreamers this isn’t the end, We’ll write to improve while ignoring our friends. We’ll have a great script for the next time around, ‘Cause the Black List’s the best way for scripts to get found.

Thanks!

Thanks!

Great contributions everyone, but I've got to go with Joel who had me busting out laughing the whole way through. So Joel, email me about your Black List gift. Seeing as it's the holiday season, The Quiet Act and Romi Moondi, I've got a surprise present for you for your efforts: You can take one of my Craft classes through Screenwriting Master Class for free. Any one of the 8 I offer. You can check out my post about the Word Cloud Logline Challenge and see links to all of those classes by going here. Congratulations!

Wow, thank you for the offer of one of your classes, feels like a Christmas miracle!! :) (and congrats Joel!)

Romi, email me for details: GITSblog at gmail dot com.

Cool Scott, thanks a million. I also thought Joel's was hilarious. How he knew his name wasn't on the list before it went up, I don't know. And Romi, really enjoyed your ode. Christmas just came early :-) Goes off to pick a craft class for my stocking.

TQA, just email me and I'll set you up for whatever Craft class you want. Thanks for participating and Happy Holidays!