Still, when you’re going to see a giant blockbuster it helps to have a plan in place.  My plan was to complete a few errands at the nearest mall and catch a show at noon the following day.  I arrived 30 minutes before show time and wasn’t surprised when I entered a packed theater.  I found a decent seat regardless and eagerly waited for the lights to dim.

As that time inched closer, theater employees began asking people to move in order to accommodate people who arrived at the last minute.  I agree with this approach.  It’s always awkward to ask people to move so why not have someone else ask politely for you?  The movie hasn’t started yet and no one likes to sit in the useless front rows.

Having said that, if you show up once the trailers begin you’re out of luck.  If you can’t find an empty seat then you should have shown up earlier or caught a later show.  It always amazes me how people can wander in late to a new release and be stunned that ‘prime’ seats aren’t available for them.

Before I continue, there are people who are victims of circumstance and have no choice but to show up late.  They deserve to see the movie too.  But these poor souls accept their fate and sit in the front.  They don’t stare like they have night vision goggles hoping to strike gold in the center of the theater.

That’s what bothers me about the people who show up late on purpose expecting amazing seats.  They expect people to move.  Furthermore, even if there were empty seats, isn’t it a little rude to ask people to stand up when the movie has begun?

In my screening of The Avengers, a couple arrived just as the final trailer ran and the movie was about to begin.  They spent at least 2 minutes slowly ascending the stairs looking for seats and staring at people.  The stopped about 4 rows in front of me.  There were 2 scattered seats about 8 chairs a part.

I felt awful for the people in that row.  This couple asked everyone to pick up their stuff and move so they could sit down.  This should be off limits!  Once the movie starts, people have settled in with their custom snack configurations.  They’ve made peace with the people around them and chosen their desired recline level.  They are comfortable.

I suppose I have to give them credit for agreeing but they were well within their right to say no right?  Like I said, until the movie begins I think everyone has a right to find a good seat.  Movies aren’t cheap anymore after all.  But allow me to illustrate my point further.  This was NOT a sold out show.  There was plenty of room in no man’s land up front where people’s necks take a beating.

You show up late and the front is your fate. (I did not intend for that to rhyme.)

I was baffled.  When I review movies over at The Athletic Nerd, I talk about the movie experience.  The people in front of me who had to move lost the first few minutes of the film settling into new seats because of 2 people.  A couple who couldn’t be bothered to show up on time and then had the nerve to assume they were better than those people.

They belong in the same class as those who believe their cell phone isn’t THAT bright or that no one can REALLY hear them talking…  Stop it.

…  I feel very strongly about this.

When I first moved to Toronto, I lived with one of my closest friends.  We didn’t see each other much as my shifts normally ended around 1 am or later.  As with any new living situation, it took a while to get into a routine.  You have to get used to good and bad habits…

For example, until one specific night, I had no idea that my roommate was a deep sleeper.  Nothing wakes him up and unfortunately, I learned that the hard way.

The night in question was one of the longest nights of my life.  I generally didn’t complain much about my daily commute on the TTC  but if I missed the final bus I was screwed.  Having a 20 minute walk to look forward to in the middle of the night after a 12 hour shift is awful.  So you can imagine my frustration when I emerged from the subway tunnel just as the last bus pulled out of the station.

All I could think about as I walked home was my post shift snack.  I just wanted to heat up a couple pizza pockets and put on a good movie.  Sadly, it was not meant to be on this night.

When I opened my door I got an unwelcome surprise.  The chain was locked.  Remember, I didn’t realize he was a deep sleeper so I wasn’t concerned at first.  I knocked and waited but nothing happened.  I knocked again.  Nothing.

At this point, it became clear that my knocking couldn’t continue forever as we were in an apartment and it was 2 am.  So I took out my phone and called him but there was no answer.  I called our home phone without success.  I knocked again.  Nothing.

I just wanted to eat and go to bed!?

My last resort was outside.  We were on the ground floor so I went around the building to knock directly on his window.  But when I knocked, he didn’t make a sound.  Frustration set in.  Was I going to have to break into my own apartment?

I moved to the bathroom window thinking I could probably pry it open and tumble into the bathtub.  It’s not like I had to worry about waking him up.  I couldn’t get it open.

I tried to call him again to no avail.  In a fit of rage, I pounded on the bathroom window and something unexpected occurred.  He made a sound.  It sounded like he yelled ‘Cut it out’.  Would indirect noise wake him up?

I started knocking on the window harder.  Suddenly, my hand crashed right through it!  The window shattered leaving tiny cuts on my fist.  That was the last straw.  I couldn’t even tumble into the bathtub with that much broken glass waiting for me below.

The only option I had left was to wake up my friend a few blocks away and sleep on her couch.  More…  Walking.

I jogged home a few hours later.  He usually woke up around 8 am for work so I knew I could knock and get inside MY OWN HOME.  When I got there I knocked believing the ordeal was finally over.

Except it wasn’t!

The door was still chained and no amount of knocking resolved the situation.  That’s when my concern shifted to his well being.  Was he all right in there?  I knew I heard him a few hours earlier and figured he was talking in his sleep.  But I no longer wanted to risk it.

I called 911.

With an ambulance on route I called my sister to explain that authorities were about to find my roommate unconscious.  Literally one minute later, he emerged from the apartment with a perplexed look on his face.

“What the hell are you doing out here?” he said.

“I thought you were dead you jerk!”

That’s when I remembered the ambulance that was on the way.  I quickly called 911 again to cancel it.

It turns out, he had gone to a party and was too drunk to realize what was going on.  When you mix alcohol with a deep sleeper you can throw a medicine ball at their face and they won’t wake up.

I rushed passed him and went straight to bed.  I was too tired for a pizza pocket.

The Athletic Nerd looks at character introductions, the first 10 pages and more.

INTRODUCING TOO MANY CHARACTERS TOO QUICKLY

Side Note: Isn’t it mathematically impossible to wait 30 minutes for a bus that’s scheduled to arrive every 15 minutes? I digress…

The bus would take me to the nearest subway station. 9 stops later, I would exit the subway and immediately board a train.  The train ride was usually about 15 minutes and I would eventually arrive at another bus station.  From there it was one final bus followed by a 10 minute walk…

I love my new 25 minute commute by the way.

On this particular day, I was running behind because of that stupid late bus.  When I got to the subway station I was practically sprinting until I saw a group of women approaching the door.  I did the gentlemenly thing and held the door for them.  Immediately, I was annoyed because they spread out walking down the stairs to the trains.  There was no way to get around them.  Single file ladies!  Single file!  I start panicking when I heard the faint roar of an incoming train.  I asked one of the women to move and sprinted 2 steps at a time down the stairs.

Many people who ride subway trains will agree that when a train approaches, it turns the entire terminal into a wind tunnel.  This instance was no different.  The wind picked up a plastic grocery bag and it started spiraling around at the base of the stairs.  This bag was out to get me.  No matter which way I veered, it seemed to adjust it’s course.  It was inevitable.

The bag wrapped itself around my face like an octapus.  I was horrified.  Who knows what was in that bag!  I ripped it off immediately.

“Gross!”

It didn’t help that the girls behind me on the stairs were laughing at me.  Honestly, who gets hit in the face by a flying plastic bag?  To this day I’m thankful it wasn’t wet.  Can you imagine if there was some remnants of a leaky orange juice container that mixed with ketchup and gravy…  Or grease? That would have scarred me for life.

I write about this tale to bring up the idea of laughing at someone’s misfortunes in public.  Are you the type of person who can laugh out loud at someone or can you keep control to spare them the added embarassment?

Writers: Would your character laugh at someone or hold back and talk about it later with friends?

Long ago, when I was in university, I had to park extremely far away from the school.  In order to save time, I would leap over the guard rails.  One cold winter day, my foot got caught and I faceplanted into a snow bank.  It’s exactly what you’re picturing.  I stood up with a face full of dirty snow.  Again, there were girls laughing at me nearby.  One of them flat out apologized for laughing.

“It’s okay” I said. “I’d be laughing too.”

It’s true.  If you can’t laugh at yourself, you have no right to laugh at anybody else.  I’m guilty of it.  If I saw someone get smacked in the face by a random plastic bag I wouldn’t be able to contain myself.

Having said that, there are instances when it’s inappropriate to laugh…  But I suppose that’s another tale.

Picture this…  You’re listening to music while you wait for a bus when someone approaches you to ask for directions.  You stop your music and oblige but it quickly becomes clear that they wish to start up a conversation.  Fair enough.  Many people enjoy conversing with strangers.  You never know who you will meet.

But what happens when you aren’t in the mood to talk.  You contribute little and hope for an awkward silence long enough to unpause your music.  But how long should you wait?  You know the second you restart your music the person will hear it and realize you no longer wish to speak to them.  It’s a social signal that the conversation is over.  You don’t want to be rude do you?

…  Do you?

How about another scenario involving friends.  You’re at work and it’s the end of the day.  You’ve finally found time to click the link to that hilarious YouTube video your friend emailed you.  The second you hit play a coworker virtually appears in your cubicle and hovers over your shoulder.  Even though you respect and like this person, he/she is seemingly oblivious that you’re occupied and chats you up regardless.  After a few moments it becomes clear that you won’t be able to focus on the video so you pause it.

This is your coworker after all so you chat and hear them out.  It’s the end of the day so this person usually complains about a client, the boss or the social challenges that await after 5pm.  Finally, the conversation ends but this person doesn’t leave.  At which point do you unpause your video? How much time must pass?

I suppose the quick fix is to invite them to watch it with you but let’s face it, they’ve seen it already.

Yet another, more personal, scenario.  After hours of hard work, you’re finally going to reach level 32.  The sweaty Xbox controller rests in your hands.  It’s time to finally solve that impossible puzzle or beat a tough boss.  Except your girlfriend enters the room and her beautiful smile forces…  The Pause.

It doesn’t matter what gender you are.  If your significant other enters the room you have to pause your game.  It’s in the guidebook.  You do everything possible to hide the fact that all you want to do is unpause your game and finish the mission.  The achievement or trophy is within your grasp.  Pausing the game too long takes you out of the zone.  Your character could die.  The lives of the fictional characters you are tasked to save are in jeopardy!

In your mind you scream:

“Hurry up and get to the point!”

But your expression says:

“I’m so lucky to have you.”

Finally, the conversation ends but this encounter comes with a twist nearly 100% of the time.  You unpause your game and for 10 seconds you advance…  Until the conversation begins again…  Pause.

“Look at the TV!  You’re doing this on purpose!”

That’s what you’d like to say but you can’t.  It isn’t fair and it’s rude to choose a video game over that special someone.  So you listen, you contribute and your relationship grows…

Then silence returns to the room.  He/She picks up a magazine and reads.

Is it time to unpause?

You’re in a public place and someone is singing along to their music.  When I encounter with one of these courageous folks I’m always baffled by the songs they choose.  97% of the time, it’s a song I’ve never heard before.  I’ve always thought that was strange but, then again, I’m not exactly a musical encyclopedia.

There are two types of Public Singers out there.  Those who hum along quietly and those who fully perform without a care in the world.  It’s important to note that I’m not talking about people who are purposefully performing like a street musician.  I’m talking about the people who sit at the back of the bus with their headphones on.

What fascinates me is the motivation behind their need to sing in public.  Are they trying to introduce their favorites to the people around them?  Are they trying to become the next public transit idol?  Or are they completely oblivious that other people can hear them?  Better still, are they aware that people can hear them and they just don’t care?

Personally, I don’t really care unless it’s obnoxiously loud.

It’s an interesting question to ask when developing a fictional character.  Would this person sing in public?  What do they think about people who sing in public?

I think it takes a lot of guts to belt out notes in front of strangers.  The thing is, most of the time people would rather endure the singing rather than ask someone to stop.  Public singing usually goes on completely uninterrupted.

What if they are talented singers?  Do you think anyone ever scored an album deal while singing a Mariah Carey song on the subway?  Do you think that’s what these public singers are thinking about while they perform?

I think I’d feel bad if someone actually tapped a singer on the shoulder and told them they sucked.  Which leads to another question about your newest character.  Would they just sit back and listen regardless of how annoying it is?  Would they be deliberately rude?  Would they compliment the singer if he/she was good?

What if your character has music connections or even a producer?

Do you sing in public?

CHAPTER 1

It was the first time I was on my own and I loved it.  I suppose most of my enthusiasm was focused on the fact that I truly felt like an adult after years of roommates.  It was a basement apartment with two bedrooms, a decent sized living room and dining room.  The kitchen left a lot to be desired but I didn’t care.  I decided where to put things.  Plates were placed in a certain cupboard because I wanted them to be there.

I spent a lot of time pondering the perfect configuration of furniture in my rooms.  I spent even more time admiring the layouts once I completed them.  The rent was reasonable, it was easy to get to work and I had friends in the apartment next door.  Everything was perfect…

Except for… them…

I heard them thumping above me several times but I let them off the hook by blaming the building’s age.  It wasn’t until one awful morning about a month after I moved in that I realized they were completely inconsiderate…

It was 7am and I got home from work a few hours earlier.  I was startled out of my peaceful sleep by the loudest music I’ve ever heard through a ceiling.  You always hope it won’t last long but it always does.  Especially if you’re overly tired and/or sick.  In this instance, it lasted almost 2 hours!  I eventually had to sleep on the couch in the living room to escape the constant thumping.  My neighbors sucked.

It was a single mother who was in her mid thirties even though she looked like she was about to celebrate her 52nd birthday.  She had a teenage son with vision problems who was rarely seen outside their apartment.  Like his mother, the young man looked a lot older than he was. My best guess was 15 or 16 but I swear to you I thought they were a couple when I first saw them.  You would believe me if you saw these people.

There is a formula to measure people’s ignorance when playing loud music.  A way of checking if someone is a complete moron or completely oblivious to their impact on others.

THE LOUD MUSIC VS ANNOYANCE FORMULA

Music Volume * (Length of music + Type of music) = Total Annoyance

10 Minutes = It’s not that bad

20 Minutes = This isn’t happening… Is it?

30 Minutes = Who the f&#@ are these people?

1 Hour+ = *

In this case, the star (*) represents the overall tolerance level of the individual.  Everyone has their limits.  I happen to be a patient person so I let it slide…  They didn’t blast music in the morning often but when they did, it took every ounce of restraint I had to avoid breaking my hand on the ceiling.

The lesson to anyone who thinks nobody hears the music below is simple.  We can hear it!  Always assume we can hear your music.  Especially if you keep the sub woofer on the floor.

The war had begun…

In the middle of the ocean at dawn with half a dozen other people.  I couldn’t see their faces but we were all looking at the same thing.  In the distance, there was a massive city floating on top of the waves.  It was beautiful.  With no land in sight, that city was our only chance to escape the water.  The swim was going to be treacherous but that’s not what concerned me.  What concerned me was the gigantic storm cloud approaching the city.

Within a few minutes, the wind picked up and we were fighting huge waves in addition to muscle fatigue.  It was horrible.  The moment we got close to the city, another wave would push us miles away.  Finally, we realized that we would never reach the city and people around me began to accept their watery fate.  Just then, things got even worse.

The storm had worsened and the size of the waves increased exponentially.  Suddenly,  a gigantic tidal wave hit the city sending debris everywhere.  It caused multiple explosions and we found ourselves dodging huge chunks of metal.  I watched as a red hot metal door sank into the abyss.  It’s red glow fading as it cooled.  But there was another light underneath me.  It took me a moment to realize what was different about that faint yellow glow.  It wasn’t sinking.  It was coming to the surface.  A ship!

It erupted from below like a whale and we quickly swam towards it.  I had never seen anything like it.  It was completely black at first but quickly turned bright white as if someone turned off a shield of some type.  We reached the back of the vessel and pounded on the door.  There was no answer.  Someone had to be driving the vehicle.  I looked down and spotted a small console.  I pushed a button and spoke into a tiny speaker.

“We’re the last survivors please let us in.”

The outer door opened immediately.  We watched as two sets of hands lifted up the main gate behind the outer door.  One set of hands was human.  The other set was not.

And then I woke up…

How many screenplay ideas have you banked thanks to amazing and suspenseful dreams? 

I tried to ‘get the dream back’ by falling asleep but I couldn’t.  That never works…

I think part of the dream was caused by the most recent Battleship trailer.

Author’s Note: This is not a story of my sister Diane’s life nor a description of the loss we all experienced at her passing.  Diane’s life is best held in everyone’s memory to be recalled and celebrated at our will.  This is the story of a series of events, which seems to have brought comfort to our family.

At 8:30 P.M, February 7, 1997 the phone rang at our home in Sudbury.  Not an unusual occurrence, but on this occasion I answered with great trepidation.   I had talked to my sister Arlene earlier that evening and was told that our sister Diane, was not doing very well.  She had been fighting cancer for nearly a year and it appeared that the cancer was winning.  I picked up the phone in the dining room and my wife Rose picked up the portable in the living room.  It was Arlene and, in her gentle way, she told us that Diane had passed on.

There I was, standing in our dining room at the patio doors looking out onto our back yard.  We had a great deal of snow that year and a recent snowfall had left the yard pure white with only the yard fence and the deck railings visible above the blanket of blue white snow.  Our conversation was at the point where the tragedy of our loss was just beginning to sink in. I interrupted when something crept onto our deck,

“Arlene, you’re not going to believe this, but a Red Fox has just walked up on our deck and is sitting right in front of me looking at me.”

There on the deck was a beautiful Red Fox sitting on its haunches looking at me.  The Fox just sat there, not looking into the room behind me, but staring directly into my eyes.  Quietly I called to Rose to come and see the fox.  She came in time to see the fox slowly turn and walk to the railing.  It stopped, looked at us over its shoulder then jumped to the ground and trotted across the yard to the back fence.

It was then that Rose saw a second fox.

Sure enough another fox was crossing along the back fence. Both foxes met and together jumped the fence and were gone.  We continued our conversation and commented on how strange the appearance of the foxes had been at that specific time.  Then we confirmed our plans to travel to Manitoba for Diane’s funeral and I said goodbye to Arlene.

My grief started in earnest after hanging up the phone.  Diane was a very special person.  She was so full of life, love and talent that it was hard to believe she was gone.  Our home is adorned with Diane’s beautiful artwork.  Remembering all the good times we shared was and will always be easy.

That evening Rose and I were discussing our plans for Diane’s funeral with our children Corrie and Jason.  We were also explaining the appearance of the foxes.  Corrie asked if it might have been Grandpa and Grandma coming to tell us Auntie Diane was okay.  It was a thought that would change our perception of the event forever.  Was it a coincidence that we sometimes referred to dad as “the Old Fox or the Silver Fox”?

The next day, I went to Sudbury to arrange for our trip to Manitoba.  Before leaving I asked Jason to shovel the back deck.  After returning home, Rose told me that Jason had seen something in the back yard.  I went to look and saw the tracks of both foxes still clearly visible in the snow.  Jason was quick to point out the significance of the tracks.

“They form the letter ‘D’ for Diane” he said.

Sure enough, the tracks formed a huge ‘D’ around the pool in our yard.  We phoned Arlene that evening to tell her we would arrive the following afternoon. We also told her about Corrie’s thoughts and Jason’s backyard sighting.

The next day we flew to Winnipeg, rented a car and drove to Brandon.  When we arrived in Brandon the family had gathered at Arlene and Lyle’s home.  Arlene asked if I would tell the family the Fox story.  The tale seemed to have a soothing effect on everyone.  Arlene phoned David, her son, in Comox and in the course of their conversation related the story of the foxes.

That evening Arlene received a call from Comox.  It seemed that David’s wife, Irene, had a friend who was a Haida Native.  Irene’s friend told them that in the Haida culture, the Fox is seen as a messenger and guide to the next world.

Wow!

The fox story seemed to have taken on a life of its own.

The following day, we all went with Diane’s family to Minnedosa for a meeting with the United Church minister.  We were seated in the minister’s office when Rose nudged me and pointed out a picture hanging on the wall behind the desk.  A picture of foxes.  We told the story to the minister; he was quiet for a moment, then told us that it was strange for him to have that picture in his office. His son was in the process of moving and had asked him to store the picture for a short time.

Diane was loved and cherished by so many in the community that the church was packed for her funeral.  Family and friends joined to pay their respects to this lovely lady.  It was bitter cold and windy at the graveside service.  While deeply grieving I think we all expected to see a fox on the horizon watching over us.

The fox did not appear…At least we didn’t see it.

Let me first describe to you the incredibly odd relationship I have…  With bread.  To me, moldy bread is one of the most frightening things on the planet.  I literally smell each and every slice before I use it in one of my wonderfully crafted and patented sandwiches.

Sandwiches…  My favorite food. 

There’s nothing like heading out to the grocery store and gathering all the items needed to create the perfect sandwich.  Since I did not have any of those elements on this particular occasion, I settled on peanut butter. (Which is still delicious)

I got out my tv tray (or Grandpa tray as my girlfriend calls it) and settled in front of a movie with peanut butter, a knife, a glass of milk and a loaf of bread.  20 minutes later, I had eaten a sandwich and felt unsatisfied so I decided to make a second…  And that’s when my entire week was ruined.

I pulled out two slices of bread and there it was.  My worst nightmare.  MOLD.

Immediately, I felt sick.  Did I eat a moldy sandwich?  How? Why?  HOW?!  I’m always so careful.  I was so disappointed in myself.  I actually logged on Facebook to report to horrific event and people sympathized.

That’s when I decided to write this people tale.  Everyone has ‘food quirks’.  People told me horror stories about old food, chunky milk, bugs crawling out of heads of lettuce and more.

Have you ever thought about your characters food quirks?  What grosses them out?  Are they fussy eaters?  The questions may seem subtle and insignificant at first but answering them only gets you further into that character’s mind.

It’s an interesting thought.  I haven’t eaten a sandwich since…  But I will…  When the time is right.