Jump back in.

My last post a bit brooding so, just to show that the life of a writer isn't all depression and poverty, here is what makes it all worth while: Two articles I am exceedingly proud of went live today.

Take a look and tell me what you think.

Two Film Fests, Two Worlds, One City

The Gypsy Pistoleros

The Editorial Scourge

Editors. The bane of my existence. Sure, they can be helpful and sometimes insightful, but for the life of me, I can't figure out why these bastards have so much power of the written word and the almighty dollar. They are perhaps the slowest animals known to man with the possible exception of the land tortoise.

I was recently contacted by Lincoln Media group, a publisher of maps and directories. The manager/owner (I am still not sure exactly what his job function is) sounded impressively amicable over the phone. He offered me decent amount for 4 articles of roughly 200 words that would be placed in a healthcare/HMO directory guide. Within a few days I was bounding and eager to start the assignment. I completed the agreement, lets take a look at a few excerpts here--

CONTRACTOR AGREEMENT WITH CONSULTANT: Writer

CONSULTING CONTRACT

THIS AGREEMENT is made as of _______, _________, 2005 between Lincoln Media Group, Inc., a California Corporation (Client) located in Lincoln, Placer County, California and ____________(Consultant) of ____________, _____________, California.

In the event of a conflict in the provisions of any attachments hereto and the provisions set forth in this Agreement, the provisions of such attachments shall govern.

1. Services. Consultant agrees to perform for Client the services listed in the Scope of Services section in Exhibit A, attached hereto and executed by both Client and Consultant. Such services are hereinafter referred to as “Services.” Client agrees that consultant shall have ready access to Client’s staff and resources as necessary to perform the Consultant’s services provided for by this contract.

2. Rate of Payment for Services. Client agrees to pay Consultant for Services in accordance with the schedule contained in Exhibit B attached hereto and executed by both Client and Consultant.

3. Invoicing. Client shall pay the amounts agreed to herein upon receipt of invoices which shall be sent by Consultant, and Client shall pay the amount of such invoices to Consultant. All invoices are normally paid within 7 working days; however, LMG reserves the right to pay within 30 days of receipt.

4. Confidential Information. Each party hereto (“Such Party”) shall hold in trust for the other party hereto (“Such Other Party”), and shall not disclose to any non-party to the Agreement, any confidential information of such Other Party. Confidential information is information which relates to Such Other Party’s research, development, trade secrets or business affairs, but does not include information which is generally known or easily ascertainable by non-parties via public information.

EMPLOYMENT AGREEMENT WITH CONSULTANT: Writer

CONSULTING CONTRACT

• The Consultant will receive compensation solely upon the published article per designated project.
• The Consultant will be paid per project under the following schedule:

- X per article printed – normally 100-200 words with supporting visual (graph/chart).

- Payment shall be sent within 30 days of publication.

The project went well, I completed the articles, and sent them to the editor. She looked them over, offered a few editorial touches, which I made, and that was that.

When the time came for payment, I emailed the editor who directed me to my original point of contact. Fine. He referred me to the above agreement. The only discrepancy is that the agreement states payment will be made upon publication or 30 days after publication. Over the phone I was assured by the owner/manager fellow that since they were unsure of the publication date, I would be paid upon completion and acceptance. Fine. Let this be a lesson to all: Verbal agreements don't mean dick. Now, all this is really not my main concern. I'm not so dumb and green as to think that publication happens magically in a cauldron filled with bubbling viscous goo. What irritates me is the fact that while I was writing the articles and putting together research, every email I sent with questions or concerns was answered promptly and directly. Suddenly, it appears that my email has been blacklisted and my phone calls redirected. When the matter of payment is the subject, I'm no longer a writer, but a collection agent. They have no need for me once the product is in hand. Have a little fucking courtesy, man. If I inquire as to the status of my work, if it was accepted and agreed to be published, at least let me know where I stand. Don't just shut me out. Bastards.

Under Construction

Well, I'm in the process of revamping this crack idea called 'blogging.' At first, I thought that making a sort of online diary to jot down reviews and rants and whines would be a good idea. As it happens, there are too many people that had just the same idea. It's actually kind of funny how self important we are when it comes to our thoughts and interests. Now, not to say that I'm canning the entire idea of blogging, no, far from it. I'm, in fact, contemplating an expansion of the idea of just posting some of my clips, so that editors and employers can have a one stop site to view my work. I think a more novel approach might be involving the readers (assuming there are any) in all my endeavors as a freelance writer. The heartache, the pain, the frustration, the elated bliss of seeing another by-line. The clients won't get off easy either. I've been a freelance writer long enough to know that people will give you the shaft when it suits them and writers are no different. We, in fact, get it the worst because alot of people view writing as easy. The only reason it appears easy is because of the endless drafts and constant rewrites a good author knows are necessary. It sounds easy, because it should sound easy, if it doesn't, then we aren't doing our job. That's it for now, more to come.

Some kind of Misfire

It's been a few days since my last post and, in that time, I got a chance to watch the highly anticipated documentary, 'Some Kind of Monster.' The movie had an obvious appeal to old and young Metallica fans. It offered a two and half hour scrying stone into the recording, infighting, and mindset of the band members, during the recording of their latest studio album, 'St. Anger.'

Now, let me preface this next sentence with the understanding that I was a HUGE Metallica fan for many years, because I will surely draw some ire. The three remaining members of the band are a couple of whiny, self absorbed jackasses. That's right, I said it. The metal gods are human, and bad ones at that. It's hard to know where to begin, so I think I'll start with the misfired scapegoat, Jason Newstead. For those who don't know, Jason was the replacement bass player the band recruited after long time friend and musician Cliff Burton was killed in a bus accident on tour in Sweden. Recalling the tragedy was one of the few genuine moments I found myself sympathizing with these aged rock monoliths. For me, Cliff's most memorable contribution was on 1986's Master of Puppets on a little track called 'Orion.' I read that Cliff was a huge Thin Lizzy fan, and most of his work was inspired as such. Back to the movie. With teary eyes, James, Lars, and Kirk recall the black iced night on the Master of Puppets tour, when Cliff was lost. My sympathy ended there.

Throughout the movie, Jason Newstead was depicted by the band and film makers as this ungrateful Judas, who felt he no longer needed the institution that is Metallica. James Hetfield remarks, "I didn't want him to have be fulfilled by anything else but Metallica." James comes across as this withering alcoholic, so engrossed in his own control and grandiose personal battles that no one should question his word. The guy is just a prick, during the hiatus between recording sessions he told his family he was taking off on a hunting trip to Russia. Oh, yeah, it also just happens to be his kid's first birthday. Then, he has the gall to whine on camera about how he missed his family and wished he could have been there. Well Fuck you James, I hope that kid grows up and smashes every gold record you've ever made, then starts his own band to surpass everything Metallica was in puerile revenge.

The truth, from Jason's own mouth, was that Metallica was no longer totally about music. The demands of ego, business, and family were taking away from the ultimate goal of fist pumping, hard rock. I got a little smirk out of hearing Jason say that, "it was lame that we had to hire a psychologist to work out the problems within the band. It's weak that after all we've been through, we can't get through this on our own." He was right, it IS lame for Metallica to be seeing a shrink, despite what all the fanboys say. Later on, they even tried to pin the missing bass guitars on Jason, when new bass player Robert Trujillo signed on with the band. "When Jason left, he took his bass' with im." One of the techs remarked. Well, no shit, if they were his instruments he's not just going to leave thousands of dollars worth of equipment just because it's Metallica.

What really stood out as an insult to me, though, was at the 2003 Mtv Icon ceremony where Robert Trujillo was on the Dais, despite being in the band for just over 15 minutes. I can't recall if Jason was in the audience, but hell, if I was him, I would have stayed the Fuck home. What insult, to play with a band for fifteen years, be put through months of hazing from some booze soaked mourners desperately coping with their loss through hate and ostracism, yet loving the music and the band so much that you become the heart and soul of the it. (No, Bob Rock, the heart and soul of Metallica wasn't the three members you were sitting next to, it died sometime after the Black album.)
It was incredible to see a guy that gave his life to music and Metallica bumped for a pledgeling that got a $1 million dollar sign on bonus. (Yep, it's in the movie) Jason is by no means a saint, or savior to Rock and Roll, I've heard some of his Echo Brain stuff and it's decent at best. He just really got the shaft in this movie.

The in-fighting between Lars and James played out like a bad episode of cops from the trailer parks of western Texas. James is this alcoholic, control-freak dad under the delusion he still has it, Lars is the demure mom who runs the show behind his drunken face, and in the corner is lil' Kirky who whimpers, "don't we have better things to do than argue?" and looks away in order to avoid conflict. Lars even talks a bit about the Napster debacle and subsequent backlash from fans. The flash animation they threw in, coupled with the fans shattering Metallica CD's outside of the courthouse made me chuckle. We really should've never made this guy famous.

When the credits began to roll I had this dawning realization. Metallica, one of my favorite bands of all time, had grown up, their alcohol and angst fueled juvenile "fuck you we're gonna play as loud and obnoxiously as we want" image was gone. I always said that the worst thing Metallica ever did was get sober and, unfortunately, I was right. If they would've worked a little harder on St. Anger, it might have been awful. During the writing sessions, you see them all gathered together for this therapeutic rhyming to try to piece together a song. There was no singular vision or black dream from which songs like, "The Thing that Should not Be" flowed. It's just four middle aged dads desperately trying to stay in the lucrative business of being cool.

Start 'er up

Well this my inaugural post so perhaps I should put a little effort into it. I'm a little short on material today so I'll just post a short rant I wrote for an independent studio that was looking for a few screenwriters. The editor enjoyed it and put me on the list for next season, so maybe you'll enjoy it too. Here you go...
2) What is wrong with television today and, if you were a TV writer, what would you do to fix it?
There is a simple problem with television today and that problem became starkly clear to me in one sitting of “My Super Sweet Sixteen.” If you don’t know, “My Super Sweet Sixteen” is a reality show on MTV, which follows one nearly sixteen year old around with their parent(s), in morbid voyeurism, planning an extravagant party that rivals most weddings, anniversaries, and diplomatic summits. I was watching one night, bored painfully from the rest of network programming. I’m not very late removed from my teen years, so the prospect of dolled up high school girls was enough to hold my remote hand steady. Throughout the episode, there were incredible amounts of shrilly whines and slashed credit cards. I was mildly amused at the swelled up consumerism and materialistic ruthlessness. I realize that not everyone can live to these standards much less expect them. But I am not a teenage girl, and I fear that the show’s satire will be somewhat lost on the impressionable youth. Now, don’t go and label me one of the yahoos over at the Parent Television Counsel, my gripe stems not from a moralistic compassion but an outrage and utter lack of faith in today’s youth. In my opinion, everything should be viewable on television, like the internet. Beheadings, tsunamis you name it. And I think government commissions like the FCC should be told to “Fuck off”. If I were a TV writer, I would not dance around and mask these befuddled fools in search of popularity. No, I would employ Henry Rollins, a robust, tattooed rock star and writer, to grab these kids by the hair and scream into their faces how ridiculous and shallow they truly are. I despise “reality TV” and the mock truth it spews out everyday. My ideal show would be a mixture of 24 and survivor. All reality shows would be unedited and have Henry screaming at everyone with his bulbous neck pulsating with rage. We would only have one season because we would realize the absurdity of our show, and all those like it, and voluntarily cancel it forever.