Forty-eight Hours and Still Counting

When I last posted I was in the throes of shopping, and cooking, and thinking I could be the next great screen-play writer. The last never happened.  When the phone call came, we found  that our film team’s genre was to be Cops/Detective. Separately, or together, neither one is a favorite topic of mine.  I don’t read Cop/Detective novels unless I pick up a Robert Parker Spencer, or a Nero Wolfe.

Fantasy, or mystery, or even mockumentary would have been nice. Those are fun. Nevertheless I cast my writing lot in with a husband/wife team who have had lots of experience in writing for films. I learned quite a bit about team writing, brainstorming, and running with Out-Loud ideas rather than keeping them in the quiet recesses of my mind. The pros took off with a story that could feature my daughter. Of course I was hooked. There was even a spot for me. It was a great story.

I did contribute bits and pieces here and there, but the story ran away with itself to become an epic with a cast of . . ., well, it was a large cast. It didn’t get past the judgement of the whole team (crew/cast/editor etc.) who were looking for an idea that could be filmed with an economy of time and effort.

So, I was back to being caterer for a fantastic team of seventeen people. I got to see them build their set (a police interrogation room), and I watched them rehearse and I watched them film. They did these things around the clock for forty-eight hours. I didn’t stay. I’m not that crazy. At ten A.M. Sunday morning they declared a ‘wrap’ which meant they could relax a little. The editors kept working and the actors hung around in case another scene needed to be shot. They ate. They slept. They wandered. They took pictures of each other doing things other than act in the movie.

Somewhere around three a.m., Sunday morning, a crew member wandered into the kitchen. My daughter was working there, either making fake blood or writing dialog. I’m, not sure. (I was home, in bed, and asleep.) The poor sleep deprived college kid looked around blankly and asked my daughter where I was. People were getting hungry. She obligingly made toasted cheese sandwiches for everyone. They had no concept of time at that point.

A seven minute movie was finished, and hand delivered to Boston on time. Eighty-five teams competed with perhaps a dozen different genres. Maybe next year I’ll get to write a fantasy/mystery/ mockumentary, but for now I’m enjoying what the team did, knowing that they were well fed throughout the weekend.

It’s now almost three weeks after the Big Shoot and nary a word from the people in Boston as to how the team fared, or how the caterer fared. A last minute perk: a prize for best caterer. I submitted a WRITTEN narrative and photos documenting my culinary weekend. I did get to write something after all.

Hopefully there will be more news soon.

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About Eleanor Ingbretson

Native New Yorker. Transplanted to New Hampshire years ago, but still considered a flatlander by the neighbors. Writer of fantasy and mystery and whatever else takes my fancy.

Posted on May 27, 2015, in Eleanor Ingbretson, screen writing, writing and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 1 Comment.

  1. Eleanor Ingbretson

    I want to see the photos!

    Like

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