Retirement Follies

 

Swing Magic

 

"Swing! Swang! Swung!" Martha waved her wand at the rusty old swing set, but her spell did not work. The chains remained broken and the plastic seats refused to heal. She wondered if her dog-chewed stick might not have the magical powers she'd hoped for. If only she could get some bat pee.

BabyTube

 

What happens when the baby tube goes wrong?

Probably the dumbest animation I've ever done, but I love how it looks.

Whose Therapy Is It Anyway

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The Eternal Writing Student

You can teach an old dog new tricks. I'm taking a series of online classes through the University of Cambridge called Writing For Performance and the Entertainment Industries. It's covered everything from plays, screenplays, sitcoms, performance art, standup, and even poetry slams.

I'm 64 years old and have two degrees in broadcasting but have been amazed at how much I didn't know. That isn't a slam on my earlier education. Back then I assumed I knew pretty much all there was to know. I was so wrong. I see now that I missed a lot by not being the info sponge I've become.

After these classes I've seen a major shift in my creative process. This has given much more confidence in my creations, something I've always lacked. One side effect of this is my current major work in progress. It started as a 1,000 word story that just keeps growing. The current estimate is 5,000 words, but it may be more. Much more.

On the other hand, the class on the business of screenwriting has taught me that I will never be, and could never have been, a professional screenwriter. Not that I'm not capable of the writing, but seeing the true day-to-day of it, I would not enjoy it. If it doesn't make you happy, why do it?

The only downside is that I'm almost done with the series of classes. It's like coming to the end of a really good book. You're glad the hero has triumphed, but you don't want it to be over. I guess I'll just have to start looking for the next class.

Playing vs. Writing

 

TV Detective Dad Joke

 Bob and Marie sat on the sofa watching their weekly marathon of detective shows.

“Oh he’s the killer.” Bob said.

“Why do you say that?” Marie asked.

“I just know these things.”

“No you don’t. You always think you know who the killer is, but you are always wrong.”

Bob sulked through the rest of the show. When the real killer was revealed, and it wasn’t his pick, he complained about the poor writing.

Bob picked the wrong killer on three more detective shows. He claimed that all three shows have bad writers. Marie began to question her relationship and TV viewing decisions.

The next day at a real crime scene. Bob pointed and yelled, “He’s the killer.” Before Marie could chastise him, the killer pulled out a gun a shot Bob. Bob’s dying words to Marie were, “I told you those shows had bad writers.”