Random Thoughts - 'cause I know you've been missing this.

- Cannot believe it about Anton Yelchin. I enjoyed him in so many movies: Charlie Bartlett. Fright Night. The Beaver. Star Trek. Hell, even the underwhelming Burying the Ex and Terminator: Salvation managed to not ruin him. I will miss him so much.

- Now, it is a rare thing for me to write a screenplay all the way through. Not so much in completing one; I've done that, a few times. What I mean is that I find myself skipping around, because I'm really eager to finish one scene first, even if it comes later than the scenes I have yet to write. Just the other day, I wrote the climax of my horror movie. It's in a word document, but it tops out at a good 15 pages. I'm pretty proud. Less so of the fact that I'm writing something that would've been a dime a dozen in the 80s and 90s, but will have to fight about 200 Blumhouse clones to get noticed in today's horror society.

- Speaking of chasing a dream of screenwriting, usually there's an Amateur Offerings Weekend post at Scriptshadow. This past weekend, though, there wasn't. The last few weeks, I was submitting my script for notice, only to get nothing. My usual bout of whining (I'm man enough to admit that) was met with the usual 'here's what you're doing wrong'. It seemed like I was getting nowhere, with one response in particular nearly prompting me to go on a Syndrome-like path of revenge...then someone else responded and inspired me to try a new angle in getting the script out there. Here's hoping it works.

- Has it really been so long since I used microfiche? That's what I asked myself today when I tried to use it. I loaded it into the machine, but it was going far slower than I remember...then I was forced to ask for help and the librarian showed me that I needed to put the microfiche under the glass to get it to go faster. I doubt I'm getting old; it's just that the microfiche is falling further into irrelevance.

- I had planned to write something about how it's been making the news that the scumbag that shot up the gay nightclub in Orlando was, himself, so far in the closet that he was finding Christmas presents, to be capped off by a sarcastic, 'Film at eleven.', but I'm sure that exactly no one cares about my barely-informed blathering.