Tag Archives: writing

Bad Habit episode 1: “Loose Canon”

31 Jul


So a couple weeks ago I wrote a stupid tweet about a “new spec idea” that I had.

As you might have guessed, I was a lot more enamoured of my dumb wordplay than I was of the actual idea. At first. 

But for whatever reason, this was one of those shower thoughts that sticks around, and I kept getting ideas for scenes and characters that would make me laugh to myself at inopportune moments. So eventually I just threw my hands into the air, yelled “fine!” and wrote the stupid thing as a ten page comic script. Minus the heroin bit, which was a little too hard to work in with the page restriction I set myself. Hope you like it anyway.

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Mormon Jeopardy

1 May

Mormon Jeopardy

I originally read this essay at Shelf Life Books’ Happy Endings reading series, which, if you live in Calgary, you should go to because it is the best.

I’ve tagged it as nonfiction. And while I’d never suggest it would hold up to any kind of journalistic standard, I would say it’s “true enough.” I changed the names of everyone but my girlfriend and myself.

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Le Grande Deception, or; That Time I Lied To My Best Friend For Ten Years About Pooping On His Van

7 Apr

Originally performed at Happy Endings, a Shelf Life Books reading series. Essay version below, for those who would not rather listen to my dumb voice.

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The Martian Doctor’s Daughter

25 Feb


So this is my entry into the final round of NYC Midnight’s Short Screenplay Competition. I get to find out on March 12th if the judges actually thought it was any good. Here are entries one, two and three.

For this one, the criteria was:

  • Genre: Open
  • Object: Birthday Cake
  • Location: Morgue

That first bit was intimidating, but exciting. On one hand, one less choice to make when building an outline is acutally pretty comforting, but this time the choice was all mine. On the other, I didn’t really get the opportunity to do either of my favourite genres yet–namely “science fiction” and “hardboiled”–so this was basically a chance to grab my action figures and smush them together for five pages.

So, uh, yeah. Here’s what that looks like.

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Som’ writin’ ’bout ‘nam

26 Aug

Okay, so nothing intense, but a few quick things I wanted to jot down about Hanoi before I fell into the delirious, hilarious sleep of someone who has been washing down malaria medication with cheap beer and street pho for the past two days.

Anyway. I am currently in Vietnam with my friend Donovan. We are leaving Hanoi for Ho Chi Minh tomorrow. That should be enough for this.

A traffic thing. It’s the first thing I noticed about the city, and one of the most typifying. People surge through the narrow streets on mopeds, roller blades, cars, busses and rickshaws. If there are road rules anyone actually follows, I can’t discern them. The important one seems to be: If I can get in front of you, not killing both of us is now your problem. From the sky, the cars must look like bags of confetti blowing at a crosswinds.

Six and a half million people live here, and every single one of them is in a hurry to get somewhere else.

Horns bleat constantly. The sounds are all shrill and surprising, but somehow not accusatory. There’s more courtesy and obligation in it than menace. Kind of like a bicycle bell, I guess. But the net effect is an incessant, squeaky din of gameshow-buzzer-like noises. It’s like being trapped at a spelling bee for dumb kids.

And the only thing more dangerous than driving in Hanoi is walking. Similar to Italy (*adjusts beret, takes whiff of own farts from crystal decanter shaped like David Sedaris*), crossing the streets here is like like playing a reality TV version of Frogger. At best, you feel like the traffic is actively trying to kill you. At worst, you think you are a cartoon frog, because you are pretty drunk may be having some anti-malarial-induced visions.

A funny thing. The first time Donovan and I crossed a busy street, we celebrated by yelling “nailed it!” and pumping our fists into the air, because we adults. And then this little middle-aged dude in the standard-issue double-breast-pocketed button down t-shrt turns around and says:

“Yes, hello? I am Nailed It.”

We weren’t sure what he meant, but we walked away wondering if something that sounds like “Nailed It” is a common Vietnamese name, or if we had just been hell-of trolled (i.e. found the Vietnamese Ian Wallace).

A food thing. It’s so good, you guys.