“Although we read with our minds, the seat of artistic delight is between the shoulder blades. That little shiver behind is quite certainly the highest form of emotion that humanity has attained when evolving pure art and pure science. Let us worship the spine and its tingle.”― Vladimir Nabokov
Wednesday, August 15, 2018
Posted by David Angsten at 11:50 AM
Thursday, August 9, 2018
When people ask why I stopped writing screenplays, I tell them about MEG.
MEG was the ultimate high-concept picture. Box office gold in two words: "Jurassic Shark." What studio exec or marketing department wouldn’t chomp at that? Total no-brainer. A global slam-dunk.
All it needed was a good story. I was writing scripts at the time and was hired to write the book/movie pitch, based on Steve Alten’s well-researched but flabby unsold manuscript (his first) called “White Death.” It had been turned down by over forty publishers. Steve’s literary manager and I re-titled it “Megalodon,” then MEG, re-wrote the first 100 pages, and re-structured and outlined the remainder of the story. Instead of taking it to New York first, he sent it straight to the studios.
Chomp, chomp. The 100 pages + outline sold overnight to Disney for “seven figures”--the writer’s Holy Grail. Took that to NY and made a two-book deal for another seven (double what it fetched in Hollywood).
Pop the champagne!
That was back in 1996. We thought the movie would be in theaters in a year. It's taken twenty-two.
Twenty-two years in development hell. Endless succession of producers, directors, screenwriters, stars. World’s longest slam-dunk. To the point that the movie--out this weekend--is nearly unrecognizable to me.
Imagine how many years you can waste trying to get your not-high-concept screenplays produced. (I don’t have to imagine. I tried.) Meantime over those decades, Steve Alten wrote a shelf-full of books and built a successful career.
Moral: Life’s too short. Want to tell stories? Write novels.
Posted by David Angsten at 4:48 PM
Monday, August 6, 2018
|"Destruction" from "The Course of Empire" (1836)|
"We have not fully recovered from the Dark Ages: the insecurity that excites greed, the fear that fosters cruelty, the poverty that breeds filth and ignorance, the filth that generates disease, the ignorance that begets credulity, superstition, occultism—these still survive amongst us; and the dogmatism that festers into intolerance and Inquisitions only awaits opportunity or permission to oppress, kill, ravage, and destroy. In this sense modernity is a cloak put upon medievalism, which secretly remains; and in every generation civilization is the laborious product and precarious obligating privilege of an engulfed minority."
~Will Durant - "The Age of Faith: The Story of Civilization, Volume IV"
Posted by David Angsten at 3:37 PM
Monday, July 30, 2018
Summer's a girl who takes you by the hand saying Come...
Birdsong in the dawn,
with each stroke of the paddles
open churned water gurgles,
mist over the pond.
this day, she whispers, not any day but this day, Come...
Bright sun pouring through
fresh new leaves hanging tender,
grass just cut from the mower,
kite spins in the blue.
right now; at the words with your heart leaping wildly, Come...
Scent through the curtains,
roses and honeysuckle,
far away water-chuckle,
night breeze uncertain.
not yet, she says wait...
...a butterfly kiss and she's gone.
~ Ian Barth
Posted by David Angsten at 5:31 PM
Wednesday, June 20, 2018
"No one can flatter himself that he is immune to the spirit of his own epoch, or even that he possesses a full understanding of it. Irrespective of our conscious convictions, each one of us, without exception, being a particle of the general mass, is somewhere attached to, colored by, or even undermined by the spirit which goes through the mass. Freedom stretches only as far as the limits of our consciousness."
~Carl Jung (1942)
~Carl Jung (1942)
Posted by David Angsten at 5:20 PM
Sunday, June 10, 2018
Sunday, May 13, 2018
My soul is a fox with a hen in its maw
And the tingle of blood in its tooth and its claw
That slips through the curtain of half-conscious dawns,
Its ears always pricked for the hounds and the horns
Of its past and its future, its life and its death,
With the kill in its mouth and the shriek on its breath,
Into mornings of calm, when there's nothing to hear
And the air is quite still, and the sky is quite clear,
And the prey is at peace, and the fox in its den
That has lived one more day in this strange world of men.
(painting - The Fox Hunt by Winslow Homer)
Posted by David Angsten at 10:38 AM