So when I converted the blog into a website, I thought I’d lost the ability to post. But really I’m just dumb. Anyways, here’s the next riveting chapter. Cheers.

 

XVII

Colby County Jail was but a room of cells. Only three, in fact. The little stucco adobe had seen little action and Officer Bass, the young, lanky cell guard, was happy to have see some action, even if it only was the aftermath. Billy sat with his back against the wall staring at the bars as Marshal Long signed papers on the desk.

“Just sign there, Marshal, and we can take it from here.”

Marshal Long hesitated before signing. He smiled that bastard smile of his and raised his finger to the guard. He walked over to Billy’s cell and waited to be acknowledged. When the acknowledgment never came, Marshal Long grew annoyed.

“Boy.”

…

“I said, boy.”

Billy raised his head and glared at Long.

“Now I’m gonna remind you that I did not kill you back there. I could have, and believe me, I wanted to. I kept you alive. I hoped…in your… gratitude…that you would tell me everything you know about West Steel. What he’s up to. Where’s he’s goin’. Why he’s back. But you have remained silent. Now as soon as I sign this release, you’re in the county’s hands. And they don’t take too kindly to niggers.”

Billy looked over and could see Officer Bass watching and smiling.

“You’ll be hanged. Without so much as a second thought from that son of a bitch you’re keepin’ mum to protect.”

Billy took a deep breath and returned his attention to the cell.

 

So Thursday night I finished the first draft of Red Valley – the adaptation. It barely scratched 98 pages once in iBooks Author, which feels embarrassing. I don’t know when the hell I’ll get around to working on a second draft. For the moment, I’m satisfied that it’s out of my system and I can say that I’ve done it. I celebrated with Lagavulin and Warren Zevon. It was mostly not fun, because a lot of the time I was literally just converting tenses. But there were parts I did enjoy. Where I got to embellish and such.

What else? Haven’t been feeling great. Friday night I passed out before 8. No good. But I’ve been in a real creative mood despite getting down with the sickness. Finished storyboarding a buddy’s short screenplay. That was fun. I’ll be reading another friend’s screenplay tomorrow. I’m very excited to dive into that. Just trying to stay creative, no matter if it’s reading, writing, drawing, podcasting or what. This is the most consistent I’ve been in a long time and I don’t want to break the momentum. Anyways, another short chapter. Hope you enjoy. Cheers.

 

XVI

West and Charlie had high-tailed it so fast out of Fat Frank’s Saloon that they were already a mile gone before they realized young Billy Douglas hadn’t escaped with them. Charlie noticed first and slowed to a stop.

“Wait! Hank!”

Annoyed, West slowed and rode back around to Charlie.

“What?”

“What about Billy?”

“What about him? He’s probably dead. That was a good thing he done but we’re too close to Ellie to turn back now.”

“I ain’t goin’ no further with you unless we turn back for Billy,” Charlie said, shaking his head.

“That’s your goddaughter, you sick son of a bitch.”

“I realize that, Hank. But Billy saved our hides. Twice now. It’s the right thing to do.”

West gritted his teeth in frustration and looked out into the distance in front of him.

“I know you don’t think there’s such a thing as good guys or bad guys,” said Charlie. “But you actually have a chance to be the good guy here, Hank. If you continue on and save Ellie, it’ll only be half a victory. You’ll live the rest of your days with that regret you were tellin’ me about back there.”

West shot Charlie a glare and turned back to the horizon in front of him.

Writing is no fun. The actual, physical act I mean. Before that though – the brainstorming, the theorizing, the pure world and character creating – that’s what I live for. Most writing (at least speaking for myself) happens on the whiteboard and in Moleskine notebooks. Typing that sucker out into whatever the appropriate word processing software is the final, final step (before editing those choices, of course).

It can be a bit of a drag, and sometimes it makes me feel hot beneath the collar. An urge to just get it done!

I can’t believe I have the audacity to post the first draft of this adaptation here, but I doubt anyone’s paying attention anyway, so that makes things easier.

Anyway, we’re getting into the thick of mini-chapters here. A nice quick read and then you (the imaginary audience) can go happily about your day. Cheers!

 

XV

Father Alberto Sanchero lit the large red candles on top of the altar. Typically these duties would be carried out by the nuns of the parish, but something about the way the wax ran down the sides of the candles always made Father Sanchero feel at peace. He was a large man, pudgy and bearded, and his fingernails were grown out past the polite length. Father Alberto lit another candle and smiled before the front doors creaked open, letting in a draft that extinguished the flame. His smile disappeared.

“Uncle Alberto,” hollered a familiar voice. When Father Sanchero turned, he saw Roberto and the rest of the gang inside standing in front of the main doors of the church.  He marched purposefully towards the gang and Roberto extended his arms for a hug. “Uncle,” he smiled, but he was met with a strict slap across the face.

“I told you never here.”

Roberto glared down at his uncle. They were both dangerous men.

“Never in the House of God.”

Roberto broke into a grin.

“But uncle, we’ve brought you a present.”

Megedagik approached carrying the chicken cage with a blanket covering it and brought it forward. Roberto removes the blanket and Father Sanchero looked down upon Ellie in the rusting cage and smiled. He knelt down so as to be eye-level with her. She was gaunt and dirty and her skin was turning grey and in Father Sanchero’s eyes she was perfect.

“So you have.”

Father Sanchero reached into the cage to touch Ellie and she tried to push back but there was nowhere for her to go. Father Sanchero brushed her cheek with the side of his palm and took a deep breath. Then he stood and faced his nephew.

“She will do just fine.”

Chico smiles and let out what might have been a laugh.

“Come. Let us pray first.”

“We’re not really the prayin’ type, padre,” said Juan.

“Do you wish to eat?”

“Eat? Shit yeah, we’re starvin’.”

“Then you will pray. Come.”

Father Sanchero smiled at Ellie through the cage once more and then led the gang to the back of the church.

So this is the chapter that caused me such grief. It was roughly twenty pages of script and it all just seemed so daunting. But I got over it and have been speeding through ever since. I’m currently on Chapter XXII (22, for the lay person) and I would love to have it finished before my first Central Coast Writers meeting on the 21st. If I keep up at this pace I think I could make that happen.

The chapters since have mostly been very short, which was nice after adapting such a long one. But the new ones have barely taken up a full Google Docs page. Again, this is going to be a very short first draft. But at least it will be complete.

Anyways. Hope you enjoy, my imaginary audience. Cheers.

XIV

West and Charlie and Billy were tired. They’d been riding for days without any real sleep and it was finally catching up to them.
“Wasn’t there a place we used to hold up in in this town?” asked West.

“No. … No, I don’t think so,” said Charlie with false conviction.

As they rode down the main street the quiet town became quiet no longer, and wild piano music and unruly voices could be heard emenating from down the street. West grinned.

“Oh. That’s right,” said West, and he rode ahead. Charlie let out a heavy, burdensome sigh.

Fat Frank’s Saloon was a large, two-story building that served as the source of the noise the boys had heard down the street. Lights shown through the many windows and lit up the street in front of it, attracting West and Billy like moths. Charlie was more resistant.

“Not here, Hank.”

“Here’s as good a place as any.”

“I’m a married man.”

West didn’t reply and instead dismounted and hitched his horse. Billy followed his lead.

“Looks good to me,” said Billy.

Charlie gritted his teeth and inhaled slowly but violently before he, too, got down from his horse and followed West and Billy inside.

If they’d thought it had been loud outside they were deafened by the noise inside. The piano was playing a fierce tune and had a good crowd singing along. Then  of course you had your usual gamblers and drinkers and swine making their usual threats and outbursts. And that’s not even accounting for noises of love – in some form or another – coming from upstairs. It was a good place, all and all, and if you belonged you felt right at home. Billy did not belong.

While West, Charlie, and Billy were intially greeted by Layla, a seductive aspirant, it didn’t take long for Fat Frank to march up to the boys in a huff.

“You boys don’t come no further. We don’t serve their kind here,” Fat Frank said, pointing at Billy. Billy’s eyes narrowed. Fat Frank was a rotund being, sharply dressed, but Billy could take him. He didn’t dare, of course, because it was suicide, even with West by his side, and he knew that. Instead he stayed quiet and fantasized about putting out ol’ Fat Frank’s cigar on his obvious bald spot.

“Frank, don’t you remember me?”

“I remember you just fine, West.”

“Well this here’s Billy, and he’s ridin’ with me.” The hate within Billy subsided for but a moment. Then it all came back bubbling.

“Well ain’t that cute. We still don’t serve niggers.”

“Now I –”

“It’s okay,” said Billy, “I’ll just be outside, keepin’ a look out. ‘Sides, I don’t take drinks from no ignorant-ass peckerwoods.”

Billy walked out of the saloon, never taking his eyes off Fat Frank. Once the door closed, Fat Frank turned to West and nodded his head. West nodded back.

“C’mon, Chuck, lemme buy you a drink.”

“No.”

“You’ve come all this way with me, at least let me buy you a drink.”

“I quit drinkin’ when I got married.”

“Wish I’d learned how to do that.”

“Yeah, I wish you’d learned how to do some other things, too.”

West knew Charlie was referring to Mary…and Ellie…and a lot of other things that West would have liked very much not to have been thinking about at that moment. Maybe Charlie for the first time could see the humanity in West’s eyes. Maybe he always could. Maybe he simply decided the hell with it, but that night Charlie took West up on his offer. At first it was only going to be one, then just one more, followed by a one on the house. Before they knew it, Fat Frank was handing them their seventh shot each. As they sat there, good and drunk, West began looking over his shoulder at the merchandise on sale. Even in his redenned state, Charlie noticed, and he did not like what he saw.

“Hank.”

“Yeah, Charlie?”

“Were you ever faithful to my sister? I mean, ever, truly faithful?”

“I loved Mary.”

“If you loved her so much, why’d you bed every town you stepped foor in? Because you’re ‘West Steel, steel of the west.’ It all comes with it, am I right?”

“Knock it off, Chuck. I ain’t touched another woman since Ellie was born.”

“You were with Mary for a long time before Ellie was born.”

“…I… I always loved your sister, Chuck. Always. I… probably shouldn’t have married her when I did, but I knew that… if I didn’t, somebody else would. And I just couldn’t bear the thought.”

“So while you was out stealin’ and robbin’ and makin’ a name for yourself, she was home worryin’ and prayin’.

“If I learned anything from those days… it’s that you only got one shot at this. And for a long time I felt like… if I passed up an opportunity, I’d regret it for the rest of my days. I regret it now. But if I didn’t then, I’d be on the opposite side regrettin’ it just the same. So what’s the difference?” Charlie just looked at West. “Go have fun tonight. ‘Cause like I told ya, I’m goin’ after these guys. All out. No tellin’ what’s comin’ next, or when we’re goin’ home, so enjoy it while ya can. Or at least before Liz pumps out a couple ‘a little Char –”

Before the words even left his lips West felt shame. He’d made a mental note earlier in their journey not to broach the subject of children with Charlie, but the whiskey had dulled his already-failing mental filter.

“Jesus, Charlie, I’m sorry. I –”

Charlie shot back the last of his drink.

“I’m going to bed.”

Charlie got up and walked away. West sat there, staring into his drink. He shot it back and before he could protest the bartender poured him another. Then he heard a voice he’d not heard in a very long time, yet it remained familiar all the same.

“Well, well, well, if it ain’t ol’ West Steel, the steel of the west –”

West turned around and put his hand up in protest.

“Please, no more of that stupid shit,” he said, cracking a smile. “It’s good to see a familiar face. How are you, Salma?”

Salma was the best looking saloon worker in any of the saloons West had ever visited. And he’d been to most of them. West found her light brown skin exotic, and in his mind her accent almost made her seem innocent. Almost.

“Been a while.”

“Been too long if you ask me, that’s for damn sure.”

They smiled at each other, their eyes dancing.

“So. What brings you to Colby?”

West smiled uncomfortably and bowed his head, ashamed with himself.

“My family.”

Salma felt rebuked.

“Oh.”

“It’s not like that. …They killed my wife. Took my little girl.”

“Jesus, West. That’s awful.”

“You ain’t seen me for a while ‘cause I been bein’ good.”

He smiled the saddest smile and she just wanted to make it all better for him but she knew that was impossible.

Charlie couldn’t sleep. He layed in bed and stared at the ceiling. He ran his hands over his face several times but his eyes remained wide open. He paced the room several times and thought maybe another drink would knock him out. He walked out of his room on the second floor but before he headed down the stairs he saw West and Salma. He stopped and watched them, a rage building inside of him.

“Do you have any idea who would…” asked Salma.

“Calls himseld Sanchero. I ain’t ever heard the name before in my life, but apparently the gang holds up in a ranch in Red Valley. So that’s where we’re headed.”

“You know… a few towns over, in La Fe, there is a church there, Our Lady of Guadalupe… and a priest… Father Sanchero.”

“Is that right?”

“…He comes here often,” said Salma, unable to look up at West. “It may be worth checking out. It’s on your way to Red Valley.”

West nodded his head. The plan was already forming inside his brain and Salma knew she only had precious little time to procure his attention. She took his hand gently in hers.

“Come to bed with me. You can think about all this la mañana.”

Stretching on her tip toes, Salma met West’s face with her own and kissed him softly. Upon seeing the kiss Charlie retreated back into his room and slammed the door. West looked up, startled by the noise, but Salma just chuckled.

“It was just a door, you paranoid old man.”

West looked down at Salma, and her beautiful face smiled up at him.

“Come on.”

She took West by the hand and led him upstairs to her room. It was a nice little place, elegant for the surroundings, and she kept it up well. She took West’s coat from him and nudged him to take a seat on the bed. Something was different, though. West seemed distracted. Something she’d never observed in him before, even when he had half the country’s law on his tail. No bother, she’d retained the attention of much more distracted men before, and her charms never came up short.

She kissed him passionately and deeply, and for a second she thought she felt resistance. But only for a second. She pulled away and smiled up at him. Then she stood up and blew out the candle lighting the room. In the dark she felt even more powerful, and she crawled over to West like a panther stalking its prey. She took his shirt off and kissed his chest. Then she straddled him and kissed him on the mouth. Her tongue darted into his mouth and he was grateful that she knew how to use it. He put his arms around her and she pulled herself closer to him. Still, his eyes were shut too tight and his mind was not fully present.

Still, West tried to enjoy Salma’s kisses. He never remembered it being this hard before. She took off his trousers and knelt down between his legs. With a sly little smile she took him in her mouth but it wasn’t working. After several moments she brought her head up and looked at him with a puzzled expression. He took her head in his hands.

“What’s wrong? Don’t you like me anymore?”

“I like you. I like you plenty. I just… my wife…”

“She never stopped you before.”

“Yeah… well. She’s stoppin’ me now.”

Salma looked at West with hurt and rejection in her eyes. He gave her a sorry grin.

“You can blame it on the whiskey if you like.”

Outside, Billy had fallen asleep outside the stables. He awoke to the horses’ neighs and was instantly alert. He gathered himself for a moment and listened. He could hear the galloping of the law – they all rode the same way, with gleeful abuse. Finally, a posse of five, led by Marshal Long, came into view and Billy knew they were in trouble. As Long dismounted from his horse he could feel Billy’s gaze upon him and so he turned around and smiled his most vicious smile.

“You wanna see some fireworks, boy?”

He gargled a laugh and he and his posse entered the saloon.

As soon as Fat Frank saw the lawmen enter his establishment he clutched a shotgun he had stashed away just below the bartop. Marshal Long approached the bar and smiled condescendingly at Fat Frank.

“Well look-y here. Fat Frank himself.”

“What do you want, Long?”

Marshal Long reached behind the bar to grab a bottle. His fingers nearly grazed the barrel but he found a bottle first. He poured himself a shot and downed it.

“Now this is some good whiskey. Best whiskey I’ve had in the last four towns.”

Fat Frank clutched the gun even tighter.

“Most expensive, too,” muttered Frank.

Long smiled at him and proceeded to pour himself another shot. He finished that one the same way.

“I don’t appreciate your tone, Frankie.”

“I don’t appreciate your men comin’ in here and bustin’ up a good time.”

“Fair enough. We’re lookin’ for the outlaw known as West Steel. You seen him?”

“I don’t believe in ghosts.”

“‘Course you don’t.”

Long went to pour himself another shot but the bottle was empty. He reached back around the counter for another bottle when he heard the cocking of a gun. When he looked up, Fat Frank’s shotgun was staring him in the face.

“Now I told you I ain’t seen him. If you wanna walk outta here with your head on your shoulders, put down my whiskey unless you intend on payin’ for it.”

Long laughed.

“Oh, Frank.”
One of the posse shot Fat Frank square in the head and he fell back into the bottles on the shelf behind him.

The gunshot startled West and Salma up from bed and they could hear Long downstairs.

“Alright, everybody! We have reason to believe this establishment is hiding the outlaw known as West Steel!”

Salma looked at West with worry, but he only seemed annoyed. This was the old West she remembered. He put his ear to the door and continued to listen.

“Now hear this! For every minute you continue to conceal yourself I will kill one of these not-so-innocent young whores!”

West bowed his head and grinned sadly at Salma.

“It was nice seeing you again, Salma.”

Marshal Long had his pistol aimed at one of the young prostitutes. She was crying and this only seemed to excite him.

“I’mma count to three! Understood? One! … Two!…”

“Marshal!”

Long looked up to see West. He smiled a sick smile at him and pulled the trigger, shooting the poor girl dead.

“Three.”

West grit his teeth.

“Now get your ass down here, boy.”

Charlie stepped out from his room and joined West on the stairs. The two shared a look of somber acceptance and made their way downstairs. They stood face to face with Marshal Long.

“How’s the leg?” asked West.

Long let out a rage-filled laugh.

“I have waited a long time for this. I’m gonna take my time with you. Maximum. Enjoyment.”

“Well, will you get to it then?”

At that moment the saloon doors bursted open and young Billy Douglas came in firing. Chaos erupted, and as Long turned around West punched him in the back of his head and took one of his guns. West and Charlie then made quick use of one of the tables, turning it over on its side for cover. It was just like the old days again.

Billy shot one of Long’s posse through the neck. Marshal Long took cover behind the bar next to Fat Frank’s corpse. Billy shot another of the posse in the head and then took cover in the doorway.

“Well who knew you’d be the one supplyin’ the fireworks!”Marshal Long shot at Billy and missed, but only barely so.

West took out another member of the posse, shooting him in the stomach, but it was his last bullet.

“Fuck, I’m out. Where’s your gun?”

“Upstairs.”

West looked at Charlie like he could have killed him.

Billy swung around the doorway and fired three times, killing the last member of Marshal Long’s posse.

“Come out Marshal! Your men are all dead and we’ve got you outnumbered.”

Long slowly rose from behind the bar.

“Drop your gun,” ordered Billy, but Long just laughed.

“I would. However, if I heard correctly, Mr. Steel is out of bullets. His companion has no weapon. And if I’ve been counting your shots correctly, you are out as well.”

Billy fired twice at Long but Long was right. Billy was empty. Long turned to fire on West but Billy threw his gun at him and the cold two pounds of steel hit Long in the head.

“Run!”

West and Charlie took the opportunity and made it out the front door. Billy began to follow but a bullet whizzed passed his head, stopping him in his tracks. Marshal Long walked up to Billy, his gun drawn on him the whole time.

“Now you’s a good shot for a nigger.”

Marshal Long smiled at Billy.

 

 

So I’ve finally gotten back into Red Valley. It’s been tough. A screenplay has rules and guidelines. Even if it’s hard, you at least know the format and that can often help you if you get too far into the weeds. With prose, almost nothing is off the table. I’m sure a real prose writer wouldn’t agree but…

Anyway, I took the advice of my good friend (and hell of a screenwriter), Steve Warren, and did a couple more edit passes on LP. Steve had some wonderful ideas that helped tighten the story and really ratchet up the tension.

Once that was marked off the list I decided it was time to return to Red Valley. And once that’s done, then I’ll tackle my new screenplay idea. I would love to get to the point where I can switch between projects and have a full plate of different stories to work on, but until I’m doing this professionally it’s a little too difficult with a job and a life and whatnot. We’ll get there.

Hope you enjoy the latest chapter. Cheers.

 

XIII

Empty booze bottles littered the safe house floor. The Sanchero gang was getting restless. They were all getting on each others’ nerves, and with a band of misfits like that, touchy nerves could be dangerous. The whether was finally starting to clear and Roberto was anxious to get back on the road.

Chico sat playing his guitar like he always did, his skills having never improved despite the amount he played. Juan and Francis played poker by the fire and both were deeply invested in the game. They’d get annoyed when Cullen would interrupt their concentrations, and they’d always turn him down when he asked to join in.

“C’mon, fellas, just deal me in this once.”

“Fuck off, Cull. Can’t pay your debts, can’t play the game.”

“Well maybe if you deal me in I can win some scratch and pay you fellas back.”

“No thanks,” said Francis.

Roberto stood by the window looking out. He’d become quieter than usual, and the boys knew that with Roberto a storm always followed the calm. In fact it was his quietness that seeded much of the tension in the house, and it was this tension that Juan and Francis sought to escape by indulging in their card game. Finally, the bickering and the terrible music was too much for Roberto and he lashed out at Chico and ordered him to stop playing. Chico did as he was told. Then Roberto wandered off into another part of the house.

Megedagik entered the house carrying an empty plate, and before he even had both feet inside Roberto called for him. The others looked at Megedagik knowingly and he knew he must be in trouble. He found Roberto sitting on the edge of his bed rocking back and forth. For a long time neither men spoke, until Roberto finally broke the silence.

“You wanna tell me what you’ve been givin’ that little girl?”

Megedagik didn’t respond. He just looked at him, waiting for the accusations.

“I know you’ve been givin’ her more than just scraps.”

“…”

“Say somethin’ ya red piece of shit! Don’t tell me you’re goin’ soft on me, now. Where’s that savage I found all those years ago? Remember when they slaughtered your tribe? I told you if you ride with me and do as I say, you’d have your revenge on the white man.”

“Man. Not little girls.”

“Oh what’s the difference?” Roberto took a breath. “Now I know it’s hard because of your savage mind, but you are capable of doing the smart thing. And the smart thing here is following my orders.”

Megedagik did not respond.

“You will not bring that girl any more of our food. You will not undermine my punishments. You will not show her affection. Or you will be introduced to the end of my barrel. Is that understood?”

They looked at each other and Roberto knew that Megedagik would not say anything and it sickened him to have such a savage in his ranks.

“I’mma take that silence as a ‘yes.’”

Roberto stood up and exited the room. Megedagik could hear him giving orders to the gang.

“Alright boys, let’s pack it up! We’re goin’ to spend some quality time with Uncle Al.”

Megedagik stood there, motionless, a quiet rage inside him building.

Oh how quickly fandom can turn. August 2013, Ben Affleck was cast as Batman in Zack Snyder’s then-still-Man of Steel sequel and was greeted with worse fan reaction than Michael Keaton in the same role or Heath Ledger as the Joker. The mood quickly changed as cooler heads prevailed and people remembered that, oh yeah, Affleck’s actually one hell of a director. Anyone else still on the fence about his casting was converted after Zack Snyder posted the first picture of Ben in the Batsuit. It was everything we’d ever dreamed about: Batman in his grey, Dark Knight Returns-inspired outfit complete with the short ears and chunky bat logo.

And then the movie came out.

Still, other than a meme set to Sound of Silence, Affleck remained largely unscathed by the critical pummeling BvS took and was often cited as one of the best things about the movie. Fanboys placed their faith in Affleck the director. Even if Justice League didn’t quite hit the mark, at least we’d have Ben Affleck’s The Batman.

In the year following the release of BvS, Affleck has been made into this sort of Messiah-figure for fanboys. Just like Chris Nolan, we put our trust in him, and when others had doubts we encouraged them to do the same. Of course Ben Affleck was going to deliver us the greatest, most iconic Batman film of all time – one that he would write, produce, direct, and star in.  We expected a lot from this man who just a year earlier we bemoaned at his casting. Never did we take into consideration that starring in BvS, starring in The Accountant, writing, directing, and starring in Live By Night, cameo-ing in Suicide Squad, and executive producing and starring in Justice League – all within a two-year period AND while going through a divorce, mind you –  might be just a little too much for one guy. After all, he’s Batman.

Even when reports started coming out that cast doubt on the next cinematic interpretation of Batman, we clung on. Affleck can do it. He’s talented. He’s won Oscars. He’s a fan of the character. More importantly, we clung to this idea that Affleck could save the mess that is the DCEU – and that he could do it alone. Dammit, he had to do it. For us.

And then news dropped that Affleck would in fact not be directing the next solo Batman feature. Whether it’s because the poor guy is just overworked or WB got cold feet after Live By Night suffered a $75 million loss is anyone’s guess. While the news disappointed, it didn’t necessarily surprise. And almost immediately I saw it happen – the fanboys turned their ire on Affleck once more. “How can’t he come up with a decent Batman script? It’s his job.” “He’s letting all of us down.” “He’s too fragile.” “He’s to blame” for the DCEU – which was a new one.

So let’s tackle these subjects one at a time, shall we?

Writing The Batman – how could he have possibly turned in a sub-par script? The man has an Oscar for screenwriting. Truth. You know who else does? Akiva Goldsman. You know what he wrote? Batman & Robin. Screenwriting is tough when it’s the only thing you’re doing. I can’t imagine the difficulty of trying to pen an original screenplay while also starring in, directing, and executive-producing five other projects simultaneously. Factor in the microscope of incessant fanboy nagging of “when’s it gonna be done?” and the pressure to not only follow up Chris Nolan’s Dark Knight Trilogy but to exceed those expectations? No thanks. (And yes, I know Terrio did a draft as well – this doesn’t inspire any more confidence).

Affleck has let all of us down. Sure. Actually, no. We let him down, didn’t we? It was our constant yammering to hurry up and get to it that probably turned him off. And does he owe us anything? Not really, no. We’ve been against him, then for him, then held him up as our only hope, and then tore him right back down again when he seceded directing duties. He doesn’t owe us a damn thing.

Another one I saw is that he’s “too fragile,” that he can’t take the criticisms, even though it’s his job. Well, Affleck still tells people in interviews that he thinks BvS is a good film and that he stands by it. So there’s that. But really think back a decade ago – to Daredevil, Gigli, and Bennifer. The dude was a pop culture punchline. “But he’s a celebrity, he asked for it, it comes with the territory.” To a point, sure. And Affleck turned around his image. He started choosing his projects with more care and tried his hand at directing and suddenly he wasn’t the butt of every joke anymore. He clawed his way to the top and won the Oscar for BEST PICTURE. And then history started to repeat itself. That’s gotta be rough on anyone. I don’t think Affleck is too fragile, but I do think he wants to make quality pictures and only quality pictures. And I can’t blame him for that.

Finally, I’ve been seeing people say that Affleck is to blame for the state of the DCEU, at least partially, since he brought Terrio onto BvS and Justice League, and he himself executive produced the latter. But here’s the thing, both of those projects were already in active development before he got involved, and both had Zack Snyder’s fingerprints all over them. “But he was basically co-directing JL! He’s an EP on it! He has a lot of control!” True, but how much control does one really have on a production that was in motion long before he was bumped up to EP? A big, special-effects picture like Justice League is going to have the major pieces (action set pieces, costumes, sets, anything to do with design) cemented and in place long before principal photography begins. And since Affleck was only made an EP months after BvS and JL started filming just a month after BvS… You can do the math.

Look, this is disappointing news. It sucks. I really wanted to see a Ben Affleck-directed Batflick, too, but not if his heart wasn’t in it. And how could it be? Look at the mess over at Warner Bros. Launching into anti-Affleck tirades won’t solve anything, because that dude is not to blame.

So it’s been a minute. I haven’t made great progress forward with Red Valley. I came to a scene that’s nearly thirty pages long and that alone felt too daunting to even attempt to turn into a chapter. That, coupled with the fact that I’m doing some re-writes on LP and have started crafting my next screenplay, is why I haven’t updated in a minute.

This is usually how it goes for me. Once I’m in the middle of a project and it starts to feel boring or like work (and Red Valley has, since I’m not discovering anything new or creating the story from scratch), my mind starts wandering and exploring the possibilities of other characters and stories and scenes. And I can’t be mad about that. I’ll listen to the muse whenever she wants to chat. You have to.

But I also know splitting my time between three big stories is a lot, and I wind up spending more time just feeling overwhelmed and staring at the whiteboard than I do actually writing, but so long as I’m writing in my head then I suppose that’s okay. I recently joined the Central Coast Writers, a branch of the California Writers Club, so hopefully that will not only give me a shot of motivation but also give me a chance to pick the brains of other writers and learn and grow and wank wank wank.

Anyway, I’ll eventually finish all three of these projects. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about myself the last few years it’s that I can finish a story. That’s the hardest part. Anyone can start one, and lord knows I’ve started many many more stories than I’ve finished. But Red Valley and LP simply require me to sit down and do the work, which oftentimes is the hardest part. They’re already finished works, I just need to finish them again.

The other project? Once I actually spend time sitting down and crafting it it will come together. I just need to actually put in the work. Whether it’s any good or not is an entirely different thing. It may very well be shit. But at least it will be complete. I’ll take a shitty story that’s completed over a brilliant first act and nothing else any day of the week.

But that’s just me.

Cheers.

Here we have Billy share his backstory. I really love Billy and I hope he comes across as a well-rounded character with his own arc. His and West’s arc mirror each other (I hope) and it’s something I’ve always been proud of in this script. Again, hope it translates to prose. Cheers.

 

XII

Billy stood knee deep in the freezing stream water. West had finally spoken to him, or more rather, had finally given him an order, and he jumped at the chance to do right. Standing and shivering in the ice water he only slightly regretted his eagerness. The sooner he caught a fish the sooner he’d be out of the water and in front of the fire. And soon after that they’d have a little something in their bellies. He thought he saw one wiggle its way through between his legs, but the fish was a slippery bastard and Billy slipped and fell backwards and the water felt like daggers penetrating his sides. He heard West and Charlie laugh and despite the pain he couldn’t help but smile.

Eventually Billy caught three fish and West decided that that was good enough. They sat around the fire and ate like cats, eating the fish whole and spitting out the bones. The fish were gone within minutes. Charlie was the only one to eat slowly and he savored every bite and closed his eyes and pretended Elizabeth had prepared it for him.

“Where’d you learn to fish like that?” West asked.

Billy couldn’t believe that West Steel – the West Steel – was asking him a question and not insulting him or threatening him or ordering him around.

“Taught myself.” He’d learned that West liked quick, short answers.

“No shit?” asked Charlie.

“Been on my own since I was maybe six or seven.”

“Your folks pass?” asked Charlie, and Billy nodded his head. “How’d they go?”

West shot Charlie a scolding look and Billy took a deep breath before answering.

“Y’know, the war really didn’t change too much in the South. Yeah, my folks was freed, but… my momma wound up having to go back to work in the fields for her previous master. Ain’t that some shit?”

Charlie bowed his head.

“I mean, you can imagine his attitude towards the former slaves. I mean, not only did he lose sons fighting to keep them in shackles, but now that he’s lost, they’re back, and he’s gotta start paying them. Not much, but still… more so than before.”

West listened intently, his opinion of young Bill changing and evolving with the story.

“I never knew my father, but my momma… she took good care of me. And even though she was paid close to nothing, once a month she’d go into town and buy me a dime novel. Usually starring the great West Steel.”

West and Billy’s eyes met and Billy let out a little chuckle. West bowed his head and didn’t know how to feel.

“One day I come in from the fields and she had a sack all packed up. And she tells me I gotta go. I told her I didn’t want to but she insisted, said I’d be better off if I found my way to the north.” Billy got a little choked up but carried on. “So I left… y’know, when you got no other choice, you learn to hunt and fish real good, real quick. More than anything else, though, it was those dime novels that got me through. Pretending to be you.”

West gave Billy a grim look.

“Figured, you’d faced it all and walked away laughin’. That’s how I wanted to be. Tough.”

West couldn’t help but grin.

“After a few years of workin’ on different ranches here and there, I decided to go back for my ma. But she was gone.” His eyes filled with water but only a little. “Her bones was weak and she was just a frail little thing… and she moved slower… that didn’t please our former master none too much. One day she was workin’ and she fell. They just started whippin’ her. Whippin’ her ’till you couldn’t tell what was skin and what was blood. Done whipped her to death.”

Billy took a deep breath and let out a heavy sigh.

“Didn’t matter that she was free. She was a negro woman, so no questions were asked. No courts were held. Not even a headstone for her.”

“What about revenge?” asked West.

Billy let out a sad chuckle.

“That son’bitch had a heart attack the next week.”

Billy bowed his head and shook it, as if trying to dispel the images he’d allowed to reenter his mind.

“Shit, I’m ramblin’. Let’s talk about you guys. Chuck, you’s a terrible shot.”

That broke the tension and the boys all had a good laugh.

“Well, I ain’t no West Steel, that’s for sure. I ain’t some punk kid with a gun no more, ’cause if I was, I’d still be that, y’see?” said Charlie.

Billy nodded his head.

“A man should know how to take a shot. How you expect to protect your family?” said West.

Charlie just looked out beyond the fire and didn’t respond.

“When you and Liz gonna start makin’ little ones, anyway?”

“I dunno, when… y’know… When we’re ready.”

“Ready? Christ, you’ve only been married six years.”

“It’s… complicated.”

West bowed his head in understanding and he was ashamed that he’d taken it as far as he did.

“Well… that’s a shame, Chuck, you woulda made a good dad. Better than me at least.”

“You’re… you’re an all right dad.”

“You ever known another dad to have his kid stoled from him?”

“You ever know of another dad to travel borders to get that kid back?”

West looked down,having never thought of it that way.

“You’re a good dad.”

West looked at Charlie in disbelief.

“You just got a shit way of showin’ it,” Charlie grinned.

West grinned, too, and nodded his head.

Billy smiled. It was the first time in all their weeks traveling that it felt how he’d always envisioned it would feel to be a part of West Steel’s gang. Then West stood up, dusted off his pants, told them they better start moving, and walked away.

Billy smiled again.

In the script, this was the “montage” where time passed quickly. I omitted a couple scenes and extended a couple others. On my next draft I’ll probably open up these paragraphs to let them be their own chapters. But for now, this is just a short chapter where we check in on all our characters at this point. Cheers.

 

XI

Time passed both quick and slow and West felt like the journey would never end. He didn’t talk much to Charlie and he barely spoke a word to Billy, but he allowed him to keep company with them. West was always the first one up, even before the sun, and neither Charlie nor Billy dared call it a night until West said they’d ridden their day’s worth. West had hoped to reach Red Valley before the winter, but he knew, with the air getting colder and crisper by the day, that that would be an impossibility. Still he rode and still they rode behind him.

 

Marshal Long enjoyed intimidation. He enjoyed throwing his weight around. And he enjoyed being feared. If it hadn’t been for a fortuitous encounter many years passed, he may very well have ended up a criminal. None of the other marshals or deputies or sheriffs dared step foot in Richmond. But here he was, a lawmen in a lawless town. And he’d never felt more at home. He didn’t need to ruffle Walter the bartender to get information. He didn’t need to shoot anyone or cut anyone or make idle threats, even. And this disappointed him. Even before he’d completely unfolded the wanted poster Walter pointed in the direction that West and Charlie and Billy had ridden off in, and Long grumpily thanked him and went on his way.

 

Despite the recent bloodshed the Crowley family ranch was a beautiful place with a beautiful view. Little Bobby and his mother had worked hard to give Mary and Chief proper burials, and their freshly-laid plots basked in the shade of the large oak tree West had planted there years ago. Bobby and his mother came to the ranch every day and returned it to its previous beauty. If Mr. Crowley were ever to return, Bobby’s mother told him, it would be much easier for him to deal with the harsh reality that awaited him if the ranch were back to the way it was. And so Bobby worked three times as hard to make it so. Not necessarily for Mr. Crowley, although he did wish him a smooth transition back, but for Ellie, who he missed more than his young mind had ever thought possible.

 

Elizabeth had always been a religious woman. She attended weekly services and her and Charlie would host Pastor Reeves for dinner. She prayed early in the morning and at every meal and always before bed. When she met Charlie, he was but a wandering soul. He believed but did not belong, and his guilt prevented him from practicing. Elizabeth had gotten him to confession and helped him convert and she was content with her Christian husband and their Christian life. Where, then, had her faith gotten her, she wondered. She prayed still, for Charlie’s return and that their life could go back to normal and maybe for a child, even though she knew that was a lost dream at this point. She prayed to believe and wondered if she ever did, or if all of her prayer and holiness had been an act in an attempt to fool God into thinking her a good person. She prayed and she cried and she cursed her husband and she cursed that bastard who’d stolen him away from her.

 

The Sanchero gang had arrived at their safehouse just before the first snow fell and they were grateful for it. They knew the weather would slow down West and they could rest comfortably for a time. They passed the time with whiskey and cards and Chico’s terrible guitar playing. And Cullen was more than happy to share his opium. They built fires and cooked the last of the chickens and they came so very close to being happy.

Ellie had been locked up in the chicken cage atop the wagon since they’d stolen it. She was grateful when the gang began eating the chickens and now she missed the company. She was left outside in the snow to freeze in that cage and she wasn’t sure if she’d die first from the cold or the hunger. Roberto checked on her every other day. He’d come out sucking the skin off of a chicken bone, and when he saw that she was still alive, he’d toss the bone inside the cage. It turned her stomach to do so but she had no other choice, she had to eat. Roberto would watch her scramble for the bone and he’d laugh at how pathetic she was and then he’d go back inside to the fire.

One evening, Ellie was woken up not by the howling sick laughter of Roberto or one of the others, but by a gentle tapping on the cage. She stirred awake and rubbed her eyes and when she saw that it was Megedagik she shuffled backwards. The horror in the little girl’s eyes hurt Megedagik but he understood that he cut a terrifying figure and even if he didn’t, an Indian to a little white girl must be a very scary sight indeed. Megedagik placed his fingers to his lips, Shhhh, and produced a plate of four chicken legs with the meat still intact. Ellie looked up at him with grateful tears in her eyes and she thought for a second that she saw the big man smile. Or something resembling a smile. He bowed his head and walked away and Ellie devoured the chicken.

This is probably my favorite scene in the whole screenplay, and I hope it translates well to prose.

 

X

The sky was red and gray and too still for anyone’s liking. There was a feeling of uneasiness in the air and the Sanchero gang was getting restless. It had been too long since they’d maimed anyone and Roberto needed a release of violence. But he couldn’t harm Ellie. He wanted to save her for the end. Someone else would have to do.

The gang rode slowly across the plains in single file order with Roberto leading the pack, followed closely by Juan, then Chico, then Cullen, then Megedagik, then Francis. Ellie, her face covered in dirt and her dress torn in several places, marched behnd Francis’ horse. Her hands were tied by a thick rope that led back to Francis’ horse, and they’d been riding without pause since daybreak.

Ellie was exhausted and hadn’t slept in days. She was afraid of what would happen to her if she closed her eyes. Her little body was already cut and bruised and scraped in several places and she wanted nothing more than the comfort of her mother. A comfort that she knew, but tried hard not think about, she would never have again. As for her father, she didn’t know what to beleive. She clung to her memory of him as she always knew him – a rancher, a father, a good man. She decided that these men simply picked the wrong family, that this whole ordeal was just one long horrible mistake. Somehow that made it easier.

Roberto looked off into the distance and saw a glint of metal. He smiled that vicious smile and turned to Juan.

“You see that?”

Juan squinted.

“Looks to me like a wagon.”

“A bank wagon.”

“Could be, I suppose.”

Roberto gazed out into the distance a long moment.

“Feel like gettin’ your hands dirty?”

Juan grinned.

“Could be fun. ‘Bout time we showed this little girl a good time.”

Francis yanked on the rope and Ellie stumbled forward. He grabbed her and pulled her up onto the back of his horse.

“You’re gonna wanna keep your eyes open for this, sweetheart,” croaked Francis. He smiled, showing off his rotting yellow teeth, and then he let out a laugh that quickly turned into a cough. Then he spit and Ellie turned away.

The gang rode off towards the glinting spec, and as they approached they did in fact come upon a wagon. The wagon in question was sporting a fresh coat of blue paint and was being driven by two elderly men.

Leroy Parker was a mustached old man in his sixities and he wore a dapper vest and a worn bowler hat. His companion, Harold Alonzo, was in his mid-fifties and had a long, graying beard. He wore a dusty coat, an even dustier hat, and he chewed on his pipe in a nervous manner. The gang stopped in front of the wagon, causing them to come to a screeching halt. Leroy spoke first.

“Do we have a problem here, gentlemen?”

“Yes, I’m afraid we do. Clint County Bank is trying to throw off robbers now by paintin’ their wagons a different color and havin’ them driven by feeble old men? Is that the case?”

The gang drew their weapons and Leroy and Harold looked at each other with alarm.

“No,” said Harold. “The bank was gettin’ new wagons, we bought this one from ’em used and did our own paint job.”

“Juan?” asked Roberto.

“I don’t buy it,” said Juan.

Harold put his hand on Leroy’s and Leroy gripped it tight.

“We’re on our way to Ford to sell livestock,” said Leroy. “We raise chickens.”

“Of course you do,” sneared Roberto.

“You don’t believe us?” said Harold. “Look, you can take our money.” He produced a few bills from his pockets and threw the money at the gang. Roberto looked at the money in disgust.

“We’re gonna take your money. But that’s not the only reason we’re stopping you.”

Francis slowly rode up to the wagon. Ellie was now sitting in front of him.

“We promised this little girl a show,” said Francis. “You wouldn’t want us to disappoint her now, would ya?”

“Child…” whispered Harold upon laying eyes on Ellie. Chico responded by shooting him in the head. Ellie was filled with shock and terror and guilt, a guilt a child her age should not have known. Leroy still held Harold’s hand and sobbed openly, crying his name and cradling his corpse.

“You bastards..!”

“Get up off that wagon, old man,” demanded Roberto.

“We don’t work for the bank!”

“You’ve told me and that’s okay. Now get down off that wagon and come stand here.”

Leroy glared at Roberto, refusing to budge. So Cullen shot a round in the air.

“The man said get off the wagon! Now move!”

Leroy gave Harold’s hand a tight squeeze and stepped down off the wagon. He stood in front of the gang, his hands held high in the air. Francis dismounted his horse and then scooped Ellie up off as well. He stood her on the ground and placed a pistol in her tiny little hands. The gun felt heavy and the metal felt cold and Ellie felt powerful.

“Now before you go and try anything funny,” Francis warned and he nodded to Cullen.

Cullen placed the barrel of his gun up against Ellie’s temple. Roberto squatted down next to Ellie and put his hand on her shoulder. She recoiled but he tightened his grip.

“Ellie darlin’, I want you to shoot this man.”

“Now wait just a second,” hollered Leroy, but Juan quickly drew a bead on him.

“You shut the fuck up.”

Leroy minded Juan and took a step back in reproach. Megedagik looked at Roberto and Roberto cleared his throat.

“Now Ellie, I want you to shoot this man. Is that understood?” Ellie just glared up at him. “If you don’t shoot this man, we are going to kill you. Right here. Right now.”

“…I… I can’t,” Ellie sobbed.

Cullen cocked his gun. Megedagik watched solemnly as the action unfolded. Roberto squeezed Ellie’s shoulder tight.

“Yes you can, darlin’. Just aim that gun, take a deep breath, and fire. I know your daddy taught you how to shoot.”

Ellie looked at Roberto with sadness. She knew now he was a man of his word and she didn’t know if she’d rather kill or be killed. It all felt the same at this point. She began to cry as she raised the gun and aimed it at Leroy’s chest.

“That’s a good girl,” encouraged Roberto.

Ellie cried as she held the gun, her little hands shaking. Roberto watched her and smiled. He couldn’t think of a more perfect afternoon. Leroy made eye contact with Ellie and she burst out in tears.

“Please…” she cried. This made Roberto angry, but before he could scold her Leroy spoke up.

“It’s okay,” he said. Ellie looked up at him and took in his warm, leathery features. “It’s alright, sweetheart.”

Leroy closed his eyes and held his breath and waited for it all to end. The tears streaming down Ellie’s cheeks made it hard for her to see but she was too shaken to wipe them away. Chico watched with a sick, sadistic grin and Roberto grew increasingly impatient.

“Pull the trigger, Ellie.”

Ellie gulped hard and closed one eye and looked down the barrel. Juan took his eye off Leroy and turned and watched Ellie with anticipation. Megedagik looked at Roberto with a contempt that had been growing for a while. He didn’t like seeing a big gun shake violently in a little girl’s hands. Roberto liked it at first but had grown tired of waiting and he was visibly angry now.

“Shoot him!”

The shot rung out and silenced the land and the stillness of the afternoon returned. Leroy’s body fell back on the ground and Ellie looked at the gun in her hands with confusion. She didn’t think she’d pulled the trigger and she wondered if this was how it felt everytime you shot a man dead.

“Fuck! What in the hell’d you do that for?”

She heard Roberto chastising someone and she looked behind her to see Megedagik lower his pistol with smoke rising from the barrel. Megedagik looked down at Roberto, unafraid of this man who was at least a foot shorter than he was. He shrugged.

“Savage. Took over.”

Roberto stomped off back to his horse.

“Fucking injun!”

With tears still streaming down her face, Ellie looked up at Megedagik and for the first time since her capture she felt safe. He met her gaze and then turned away.

Juan and Cullen ripped the tarp top off the wagon. There was a large metal cage filled with six chickens sitting in the back.

“Well what do ya know,” said Juan, “those old timers were tellin’ the truth. What do you think?”

“I think we got dinner,” said Cullen.

Francis looked at the cage and then down at Ellie and smiled.

“Good news, young lady, looks like you don’t have to do any more walkin’.” And then he laughed a vicious laugh and Ellie knew the good news was anything but.