Seems like a long time in the works, but in truth, only about seven months have passed since I started this book. Now it's available for pre-order on Amazon, so I have a deadline...but we'll get to that a little later.
It's also tough to write a blog post about a book without giving too much information away, so I'll try to stick to the how, and not so much the what.
Every story I write gets a little stronger, not necessarily better, but the construction is stronger, the characters get more realized, the dialogue better, the plot more complex--these are the lies the author tells himself anyway. Is it true? Don't know. I can't afford to hire a team of experts to analyze my catalog...and I don't want to. Experts frustrate me because most often (in my experience) they are one way streets with no turns. This doesn't follow a formula that is proven. This isn't in the Shakespearean 5 act structure. This has too many adverbs!
Whatever. Now, I'm not saying those things are bad, and neither am I saying that I don't try to adhere to the rules as much as possible. I'm just saying I've learned a lot about writing as I have put these books out into the world. The Journeyman is book #9 for me, and I hope it's better than the rest, if not in content, then in quality and construction. Each time I get to the editing stages, I learn something new about author intrusion, about perspective, about tense, about DA RULES. I also learn when and where it is possible to break them and in some cases, where it screams for it.
I still have about 10 books to write before I think I'll be where I want to be as an author...When I get to book 19, I'm sure I'll still feel the same way. Chasing me, ten years from now, as Matthew McConaughey said when he accepted the Oscar this past year. I'm already on that path, writing my next novel--DIG-- and making some short films, but those are tales for another time.
So, you might be asking, what's this new book about?
Well, there's this fourteen-year-old girl named Chelsea who is an only child. She dyes her hair blue, listens to a variety of music, has a gay best friend named Devin, paints magnificent images of skulls and flowers and she reminds me a lot of my own daughter. She dotes on a pet tarantula named Persephone and lives alone with her father. The divorce was a little messy and she is no fan of her mother's. She is wise and responsible beyond her years.
Chelsea journals. When she was little, she wrote in a diary about her dream of being a princess, then a doctor, then whatever the new day brought. Then she found Arthur Clay.
Arthur is her next door neighbor and he is quirky. He opens and closes his doors three times. He sticks to his daily routine so tightly she might set her alarm clock by when he goes to get his mail in the afternoon, always with a glass of orange juice...always checking the box three times, even after his mail is in hand.
There's something else she finds out about Arthur in her ever-obsessing investigations. He kills women in his basement and takes their eyes. As if high school isn't bad enough. What's a girl to do? Well, you'll have to read to find out.
I hope you will read it and enjoy it even if it gets a little icky in parts. You might find Arthur isn't the worst creature in the story. Who knows.
On sale for pre-order now. This book will be released on November 8th (or maybe a little earlier).
Come check out, THE JOURNEYMAN.
Saturday, August 2, 2014
I haven't posted any short fiction on the blog in a while, so I thought today might be as good a day as any. I found this nugget tucked away in my "shorts and flash stories" folder on the PC and figured it was worthy of a dusting. I get inspiration from everywhere, usually from within my own twisted mind. In this case, it came from another twisted mind. I think my Grandmother bought me my first Stephen King hardback book...maybe it was my mother. Either way, I was too young to read it, but I turned out okay. *tweak-tweak-twitch-twitch*
Stephen King mentioned once in an interview that he had a story idea about an airport ladies room… The women just kept leaving their husbands in the terminal, excusing themselves to go to the restroom, and not returning. Something was going on in that restroom, he just never could figure out what it was…So I finished my version of the story. Thought it would be cool to have an anthology of “finishes” to this premise. We’ll see what happens. So, without further ado:
WITH MY APOLOGIES TO HIS HIGHNESS
By Dan Dillard
Carmen had on that same damned blue dress. She thought she looked fabulous in it, but it was old, somewhat out of style and had a few picks in the fabric. There was nothing in particularly wrong with it, but she had nicer, newer clothes. Clothes that didn’t make her look poor. Joe knew they weren’t poor. He worked too hard for too long for that and he knew it. The dress gave that impression. Joe didn’t want to give others that impression.
“You finished packing?” he asked.
“Got your face on?”
“Yes, Joe. I’m ready in two minutes. Go ahead and take the suitcase to the car,” she said.
He did as she instructed. He knew there would be another suitcase, something small to hold her makeup, or the medicine, maybe a hair dryer and various other electricals. They still had three hours and the Indianapolis airport was only a forty minute drive. Plenty of time.
She appeared in the garage as he was slamming the hatchback shut. As expected, she was carrying a purse and one other bag…the accessory case she called it. He took it, opened the hatchback and tossed it in.
“Ready,” she said.
“You look great, Carmen. Top notch,” he said.
She hadn’t looked top notch in decades, but he had never a prize himself. At one time he thought she had been, so he always had a compliment. Carmen smiled and gave him an aw shucks look. Thirty years ago she would’ve blushed, but she was past that. Any red on her cheeks was applied. He opened the passenger side door and held it for her to get in.
“This is so exciting,” she said.
Joe wasn’t as enthused, but he nodded, catering.
The drive was easy, as expected, there was no traffic midday. He even found a parking space on the airport side of the extended stay lot that wasn’t too long a walk to the terminal.
“That’ll save us $15.00,” he said.
Carmen rolled her eyes.
“Lunch at McDonalds. You just saved us lunch at McDonalds,” she said. “Congratulations.”
He frowned. “I could drop you off. You could wait for me inside the terminal.”
“No, no. I can walk. Save your money.”
Joe shook his head and waved her off with a grimace. They had survived no less than ten thousand such arguments. He knew there would be thousands more--maybe not ten thousand. They were beyond the halfway point of life (well beyond it)--but thousands nonetheless.
The suitcase bumped to the ground and he extended the handle with a SNICK! Silently, aside from the hum of the plastic suitcase wheels, they walked in through the parking deck and took the escalator to the next floor. He stopped at the desk and plopped their suitcases on the low counter.
“Good afternoon,” the attendant said. “Just you today, sir?”
“No, I’m travelling with my wife.”
He gestured toward Carmen. The attendant looked up and then nodded. The woman placed tags on each piece of luggage and then shoved them onto a conveyor belt. Joe watched as the bags disappeared through a small door.
“Have a nice flight, sir,” she said and handed him a small folder with the boarding passes tucked neatly inside.
Joe grunted his thanks and stuck the folder into the pocket of his sport coat. He then took Carmen by the hand and walked with her through the central hub to their airline’s terminal.
“Hate security,” he said.
“Oh, it isn’t so bad. Just pop off your shoes now,” she said.
“It won’t kill you, Joe.”
There were only a dozen or so folks in line. Not too bad. Joe slipped his loafers off and let them dangle from the fingertips on his left hand as they waited. He placed them into one of the bins along with his keys, belt, loose change and wallet. Carmen’s purse went into the next bin along with her shoes and just like that, they were scanned and getting dressed.
“What is our gate number, Joe?” Carmen asked.
He fumbled the paper from his pocket and held it at arm’s length, tilting his head and stretching his face out, mouth open to focus his tired eyes.
“Looks like we’re at 41C,” he said.
She checked the hanging signs and tugged him to the left where they passed a newsstand, then a bar and finally a Wolfgang Puck bistro. They walked by a vending machine full of iPods and e-readers, a charging station for phones and such. Joe’s legs were tired and he regretted not parking in one of the more expensive spots, but he would never tell her that.
“I smell coffee,” Carmen said. “It smells heavenly.”
She tugged him again, changing his direction, and he followed without argument. They bought expensive coffee in paper mugs that tasted just like the cheap coffee she brewed at home and then wandered just a bit further to gate 41C. Carmen and Joe were the only ones in that section. He sat facing the wall of windows that looked out over the tarmac and smiled at the sun.
“Beautiful day outside,” he said and sipped his coffee with a slurping sound.
“It really is,” she said.
Joe looked over his left shoulder, toward the end of the terminal. There was a storm brewing and the clouds were as dark as Kingsford briquettes. It made him feel uneasy.
“Hope we get out before that storm hits,” he said.
“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” Carmen replied.
A man in a business suit approached and sat on the opposite row of chairs.
“I hoped we might be alone on this flight,” Joe said. “Always wanted to be in that mile high club.”
Carmen pinched his arm and grinned. She patted him on the thigh and then placed one hand over her purse while she sipped her coffee. They sat and watched out the window as one plane took off, another landed. While they waited, another couple came and sat a few seats down from them.
“Afternoon,” the man said.
“Same to you,” Joe replied. “Where you off to?”
“Going to see my family,” the man said. “You?”
“Kids and grandkids. Nine grandchildren now,” Joe said.
Carmen gave a nod of acknowledgement and smiled.
“Good haul,” the man said. “We’ve got five ourselves. Robert’s the name. Wife is Sheila.”
“Joe. This is Carmen. Good to meet you.”
Robert’s wife nodded and smiled.
“What business you in, Joe?”
“Ooh, never was much for math. I write fiction, mostly the checks I use to pay the bills.”
Joe chuckled. The wives stayed in their neutral corners for a few minutes while the men chatted.
“Colts look good this year,” Robert said.
“Yeah,” Joe replied. “But I’m a Bears man.”
“Hey, same here,” the business suit said. “Didn’t mean to eavesdrop.” He was middle aged--Joe guessed forty-five--still in good shape with a handsome but forgettable face. His hair was shiny with some goop and parted on the side.
“Oh, no. No secrets here,” Joe said.
Robert nodded. Then the whole crowd sat in silence for a few minutes. Joe looked back at the storm cloud once again. It hadn’t moved, but seemed darker, swirling with more ferocity. He noticed there was a smoker’s lounge at that end, something he hadn’t remembered in the new airport. It looked like an aquarium full of murky water, and the surrounding area seemed neglected and dirty. A single man walked in and disappeared inside the cloud.
“You follow baseball at all?” Robert asked.
“Some. More of a basketball man.”
“College or pro?”
“College. They aren’t as spoiled.”
Robert nodded. “True. Not quite as spoiled.”
More silence, and then Carmen tapped Joe on the knee. He leaned in as if she might have a secret.
“How much time have we got?” she asked.
Joe looked at the ticker, then at the clock mounted next to it.
“Looks like thirty minutes or so before we can board,” he said.
“Good. That coffee went right through me,” she said. “I need to use the ladies room.”
“Well, don’t let me stop you,” Joe said.
She stood up to leave and Sheila jumped up as well.
“Mind if I go with you?” she said.
Carmen shook her head. “Course not.”
The two ladies headed off together, but after a few steps, Carmen turned to Joe and with concern on her face said, “I’ll see you soon.”
His reaction was part smile, part confusion at first. Then he blew her a kiss. She caught it in one hand, tucked it in next to her heart and walked away, vanishing into the restroom with her new acquaintance.
The men chatted about sports, about politics, and even the business suit joined the conversation. There were laughs and disagreements, and when thirty minutes had passed, the conversation had dwindled. Robert watched out one window and the business suit had taken to reading a discarded newspaper. Joe felt antsy. He looked back at the storm and that strange lounge as a woman walked inside and disappeared into the cloud of smoke.
“You think our wives fell in?” he said.
“They’ll be back. You know how women are, always last minute out the door. They’ve got to put on lipstick or something,” Robert said.
The businessman looked up over his newspaper and laughed.
“You married?” Joe said to him.
“I was once. But that isn’t what’s funny,” he said.
“Well, clue us in on the joke, will ya?”
“The joke is this: They are never coming back.”He chuckled and went back to his newspaper.
Joe’s heart skipped at those words. So nonchalant. So assured. He was shocked that a man would joke about such a thing, and more shocked that he found himself feeling relief. He felt an odd truth in the situation…a truth in the words of the businessman who was a fellow bears fan. The feeling was that there was an odd play on life happening around him. A play that was in its denoument. Maybe Carmen hadn’t gone anywhere with Sheila. In fact, maybe Joe was the one who left. All of those questions made him feel better somehow. He felt better like he was on the verge of some discovery.
Robert, however, looked confused. “What do you mean?” he said
The businessman peeked back over his newspaper again and simply nodded at something Joe and friends had not yet seen. Before they could turn to look, a woman approached in a smart uniform. A uniform with the airline’s logo emblazoned on its lapel. Her nametag read ANGEL.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen. May I please check your boarding passes?” she said.
She was attractive with an easy, comforting smile. Joe and Robert fumbled into their pockets for the papers. It was the first time Joe realized he only had one boarding pass. He looked for the other one.
“Sir? Your pass, please,” Angel said.
“But I had another,” he said.
“I’m certain you didn’t,” she replied. Her words weren’t hard or rude, only definite.
Joe held out the slip of paper with the abbreviated itinerary printed on it and the woman took it from him. Then she took Robert’s. She checked each paper and handed them back with a smile. Then she approached business suit. He handed her the pass over his newspaper without looking up. Angel glanced at it and frowned.
“Sir, that’s your gate down there,” she said.
She gestured toward the smoker’s lounge. Joe and Robert looked. The storm outside had either grown or gotten closer. It seemed to engulf that corner of the airport terminal, swirling around the hazy aquarium, purple streaks of lightning feeling around like hands extending from its cloudy bulk. Another man walked into the glassed-in room. Joe wondered if anyone ever walked back out.
“But it’s nicer here,” the businessman said.
“Yes, sir, it is. Much nicer. But that is your gate and you must get on that flight.”
His face sagged, angry and ashamed. A large tear grew pregnant and fell from his eye.
“I know,” he says. “We were having such a nice conversation is all.”
She smiled, not a genuine expression, more a courtesy and then said, “Sir, it is time for you to board.”
Dear sweet Jesus, Joe thought.
Businessman cleared his throat and stood up. He nodded to Robert and then to Joe before he walked away and stuffed balled fists into the pockets of an expensive trench coat. On the back of that coat was the illuminated word SINNER. The letters glowed like neon, only as if they had been carved with a single, jagged claw.
The attendant looked at Robert and smiled, genuine this time.
“Sir, you’re simply in the wrong place. You should be at gate 31C,” she said.
Robert looked nervous and shook his head. “No. I need to be here.”
For the first time, Joe took a really good look at him. He saw a sadness there, self-doubt and one word came into his thoughts as clear as black print on a white page.
Robert was in between, but obviously, his flight had been delayed.
“No, Robert. You don’t need to be here,” the woman said. She smiled again. “You should come with me, dear. We’ll get you to the right place.”
She looked at Joe and patted his hand, handing his boarding pass back.
“Your flight is on time, sir. Great things await you. I hear the weather is beautiful.”
She took Robert by the elbow and helped him stand. They walked back down the corridor, away from the storm clouds and the smoking lounge.
“The weather where? Where is it beautiful?” he said, but Angel and Robert didn’t hear.
Joe watched as they approached some sort of barrier. On the other side of that barrier, Sheila waited. Joe looked down and saw a trail of blood droplets, blood that dripped from Robert’s hands.
Sheila took Robert into her open arms and Joe saw her burst into loving tears when she embraced her husband. Carmen was there as well and she was also crying, but she waved. She waved and cried as a young wife watches her husband leave the pier on a Navy headed to war. When he focused on her, he saw the young and beautiful woman he married. He also saw her mouth the words, “Goodbye. I’ll see you real soon.”
Then she was gone, and Joe boarded the plane.
Friday, August 1, 2014
The thing about having the shit scared out of you is this…it happens in broad daylight. In plain sight. There’s no build up, no orchestra playing, no Goblin soundtrack, no Tubular Bells. Not even that annoying piano thing John Carpenter wrote for Halloween that still makes the hairs stand on my neck. It just happens. The haunting might be no more than a whiff of perfume or smoke, a flicker in the corner of your eye, but there it was. The tension that builds from that moment on is your own doing. Everything becomes suspect. Did I leave that door open? Is it drafty in here? Am I making that chair levitate with my brain power? Is that foul odor coming from the toothed apparition floating in front of me or did I just forget to take the trash out again? See, that’s where the movies get you: Clues. There are hints dropped left and right in films. They show you the spooky mansion. They show you the overdressed British man holding walking through its halls with a lit candle. They show you the old man or the old woman who knows something you don’t. They show you the back story about the ancient burial ground or the grave of the unknown evil druid. They show you the killings that happened in that spot every twenty-seven years. They show you the black cat that you just know is going to jump out from some shadowy place later. They close up on the telephone a split second before it rings so you can jump out of your skin and then yell “CHEAP!” Or, they show you a young woman in little or no clothing, usually soaping up in the shower as something looms, hazy beyond its frosted glass or translucent curtain. But the real hauntings happen in regular living rooms, apartment buildings, grocery stores, video game rental and trade in shops, gas station bathrooms. It doesn’t need to be a church or a gothic location; it doesn’t need to be a cabin in the woods of Michigan. The real hauntings happen during the day, during the afternoon, in the morning, at midnight…not solely after the sun goes down. The real ones grab you when you’re taking a dump or pouring a bowl of cereal or while you’re trying to scratch that place on your back no one can reach without the aid of some cornerbead or a stick of some type. I imagine at first they aren’t scary. At first you don’t know what you’re seeing, smelling, tasting—witnessing. At first you shake it off or ignore it completely. At first it was a speck of dust in your eye, a headlight from outside, your hangover, that bud you smoked. At first it wasn’t there…but it was. It was there...and the harder you look for it to come back again, the more you will see. Until it eats you.
Wednesday, July 2, 2014
The world may know Lauren Ashley Carter from Lucky McKee’s The Woman...or from Jugface . She has haunting eyes and a big screen presence with some serious acting chops. What you maybe don’t know from her resume is that she’s funny as well...Hopefully we’ll get to the bottom of the Brown Menace story before the end of this interview.
Mickey Keating is a screenwriter and director whose credits include Ritual (which I have seen and enjoyed) and the upcoming Pod. He has a wicked style that is part throw-back, part modern and all gut-wrenching. I’m looking forward to seeing the next thing that squirts out of his head.
HOW THE HELL ARE YOU BOTH?
MK: Good! We're getting to the final stages of post, so I'm starting to feel the impending sense of empty nest syndrome that'll take over once we send this film out into the world.
LC: Doing pretty well, thank you for having us!
Mickey, you are in post production on a film called Pod which you wrote and directed and in which Lauren stars. In the IMDB description I see things like intervention..horrifically awry...snowy...isolated. These are ingredients for mayhem. Can you fork over some details about this movie?
MK: Pod's a paranoid drama about a family intervention that just keeps spiraling more and more out of control until the whole thing crumbles into a full on nightmare. It's definitely a very violent and scary love letter to the original Twilight Zone, particularly to the more paranoid episodes like The Monsters Are Due on Maple Street and Will The Real Martian Please Stand Up?, but it's also got the finger prints of things like The Manchurian Candidate and Silent Hill all over it.
|The killer one sheet teaser!|
It was mentioned that Pod was filmed in Maine in the middle of winter. How did that go?
MK: It was a winter wonderland every day and we made snow men in between set ups. Just kidding. It was very, VERY cold and both our crew van and the equipment truck got stuck in the ice quite a few times. I made Lauren run back and forth, take after take, in negative degree weather for hours one night. She was a total trooper about it. Fortunately, our gear never broke, but we had a couple close calls pulling off long steadicam shots when the ground was literally an iceskating rink. At the end of the day though, there's nothing that can compare to the way that snow covered lake house looks in the movie, so I wouldn't have done it any other way.
LC: I'm from Ohio, so I'm used to the cold and snow, and I love it. That having been said, the house we were in was a summer house, so for the first time in my life, I slept with socks on. But I agree with Mickey, the exterior shots of that lake house take your breath away.
How did you get started in films...
LC: I always wanted to be in films. I started doing theater as most actors do, and then worked with Moderncine (The Woman, Jug Face) on a film called Rising Stars. The company had already made horror films (Headspace, The Girl Next Door, Offspring), so when the producer Andrew Van Den Houten and I discussed our love of horror films, it was decided that I would meet Lucky McKee since they were getting ready to begin casting for The Woman. I love the genre, but more than anything, I love the experience of making movies. There is no greater joy.
Mickey-- not to drop names, but Assistant to Mr. Blum?
MK: Yes! Well, first I worked for Larry Fessenden and his company Glass Eye Pix during the summers when I was in college. One day I found their phone number and called them up and was like "I love your guys' movies so much and will do anything to help out." so I got to be their intern that way. That place is built on the importance of the artist-driven filmmaking and the individual vision, which is a great thing to learn early on. In my last semester of college I moved out to LA, and got internship at Blumhouse where I was later hired as a full on assistant. That entire company is just amazing and very important to horror and indie filmmaking in general so I'm very proud that my first job out here was with them.
|Behind the scenes on Pod. She sees something up his nose.|
Lauren...you like odd and controversial subject matter. Should your neighbors worry?
LC: Probably. I've always found the odd and controversial more truthful, to put it simply. My life, and the lives of most people I have met, are more complicated than a lot of the stories to come out of the industry. I like a good romantic comedy every now and then, too. And I also loved to be scared by film when I was growing up. I liked fantasy and the way that directors like Cronenberg, Kubrick, and Lynch were able to put these dark thoughts and characters into such beautiful and sickening imagery. I wanted to be a part of that eccentric magic. I still do. I love extremism because it pushes me as an artist, and as an audience member. It forces me to think more deeply about my own opinions.
Have you always leaned toward the dark side?
MK: More or less. All my favorite films tend to be very dark in one way or another, so I don't know what that says about me. Making horror films can be a form of therapy when you're neurotic like I am.
LC: Definitely. I find that a lot of actors do. To be able to be as truthful as possible requires a great amount of concentration and knowledge about how far a person can be pushed. When we watch people as they are pushed to their limits morally, emotionally, physically, so much is revealed about our own selves.
|Behind the scenes on Pod. This is what happens when you don't follow the script.|
If you couldn’t make films...what then?
MK: I'd probably spend most of my time lamenting about not making films and wondering where my life went wrong.
LC: I agree with Mickey on this one. It's just the most devastating thought. I would definitely own a lot of rescue dogs, and probably sit around watching Death Becomes Her on a loop while eating cold chinese food. Every day.
I got a sneak peek at the short film Bereavement, in which Lauren acts and also produces. I’ll just say it’s about a mass funeral of sorts...darkly funny. How did that come about?
LC: I am very good friends with the writer, Arthur Shapiro and his fabulous wife Marlene. Arthur had written Bereavement as a short theater piece. He wanted my opinion of the play, and I told him that I saw it as a short film. He said he knew nothing about making film, and I offered to get a cast and crew together. So, I kind of happily jumped into producing it as well. Natasha Kermani is the director, and she really held my hand through the entire process. She is as talented as she is beautiful, and I think we made a great short. (Demonauthor’s note: it is a pretty great short!)
Tell me a bit about Warwick St. Productions.
LC: Warwick St. Productions consists of Arthur, Natasha and myself. I'm writing a piece now, a horror-comedy short, and we're also developing a web series. We plan on making a name for ourselves with dark comedy and odd/eccentric pieces that concentrate on the human condition. And above all, we want to form a solid crew, and a nurturing environment.
Since you’ve both worked with him before, describe working with Larry Fessenden--dude’s been in everything.
MK: Larry Fessenden is a hero of indie filmmaking. I was totally starstruck when I first met him a few years back. It was still pretty surreal when he showed up to act in Pod, even though we'd known each other for a while by then. Somewhere in the middle of the first shot it hit me that I was directing dude who made Habit.
LC: La!!!! I'm sincere when I say that I wish he was on every set that I was. He is such a great presence. He is calm, and so fucking funny. He's a pro.
|Behind the scenes on Pod.|
We all know a film production ALWAYS goes according to plan. Can you each give me an example of an on set disaster that you survived/laughed at/learned from?
MK: Nothing went HORRIBLY wrong, I don't think. I had a bigger budget to play with compared to my first film, so it was nice to have more time to build from my experiences on that and make something that's a step up. Indie film sets are always one wrong move away from a disaster, but we were fairly fortunate, especially since we were shooting in the absolute middle of nowhere and would've been really fucked if something essential broke. I kinda had blinders on to most things that didn't involve directing though, so maybe Lauren has some better dirt she can spill.
LC: Mickey's crew was incredible. Everyone was on the ball and wanted the same thing. I think it all came down to everyone trusting each other. The only disaster was the drive up to Maine. The day before there had been a huge snow storm, and the van was not prepared for the icy roads. At one point, we slid off the road into a ditch. No one screamed or panicked, we all just accepted the van plummeting into the snow pile.
We all got out and everyone started shoveling and pushing and working together. I used my DVD case to shovel (no, I didn't save the day. It was really a pathetic effort). Out of nowhere, 9 pm on the dark road in Maine after this storm, a truck of twenty- somethings stopped and had a chain to pull us out of the ditch.
They said that they had decided all of a sudden to go out and get ice cream, and if they hadn't, who knows how long we would have been out there.
Now, if that's not a reason to legalize marijuana, I don't know what is!
Is there a dream project?
MK: I hope I never make a movie that isn't a dream project!
LC: Mickey has a million fabulous ideas and scripts, and I love them all! My biggest dream is to be a villain one of these days!
|Behind the scenes on Pod.|
Did you ever catch the Brown Menace? (no it’s not an STD)
LC: I set the traps! I'm waiting to go back and check.
(Demonauthor note: More news as there is news.)
You two plan on working on more projects in the future. Anything in particular you can talk about?
MK: Yes! There's nothing cooler to me than when directors and actors work together over the course of several films and I'll write roles for this lovely lady as long as she puts up with me. There are two films that could go next, it's just a matter of which one gets its financing first.
LC: I had an incredible experience on the set of Pod. Mickey is articulate, and I really trust him as a director. We love a lot of the same styles and performances. It's as close as it gets to feeling a child-like freedom: there are no boundaries, everything is possible, and someday we're going to rule the world and eat ice cream for breakfast.
Thanks to Lauren and Mickey for their time and input. All photos are property of Mr. Mickey Keating.
So... I didn’t get the scoop on the Brown Menace...yet, but there is some great info here and good news for horror fans.
Watch for Pod and Bereavement and anything else from this pair. The future looks gruesome.
For more info: like, follow, stalk at the links below.