Red Right Hand: I AM MADE OF WORDS
*He is not a secret agent. Not at all.



So the writing kind of ground to a halt, for a variety of reasons. Chief among them being that nothing was quite firing right. I hate getting a block like that. It keeps me from wanting to consume new materials. Like the flood of preairs that hit the illicit distribution systems of late.

This is no longer the case, also for a variety of reasons.

Hellcat has been indefinitely shelved. Still brainstorming on one-act play ideas. Have had several that are perfectly viable, but for one reason or another just don't quite feel like what I want to least right now. And the shooting of another episode of Area Five has been delayed. One I'm especially looking forward to, but it's also a break for the brain.

Then, I came across a challenging opportunity. Something in the realm of horror, which is not something I usually do. I'd like to come up with something classically gothic in nature but with some aspect of modern weirdness. It's a small thing so it's kinda backburnered for now.

In the meantime, I've been giving some thought toward a project I wanted to work on later. After Hellcat. I didn't think it was gonna quite fill the need I have write now for a fresh pilot, but some ideas began coming to me.

So on Saturday, the idea was sit down with some chili and get cracking on something, like a once over of the Dexter spec, making sure I hit the notes the astounding writer's group gave me when they covered it last month, and working on NBC/Universal program application materials. And that was done.

I decided to warm up by doing something uselessly creative, so I grabbed Steiny and fired up Garageband. The result, "Wiresnip" is not safe for human consumption, but then so are cigarettes and thiose make you look cool and all.

Then some more ideas for the next pilot just started showing up, and then...and this is when I knew that the next pilot was going to be the this pilot, more characters started talking to me. Ben Franklin had already been whispering to me. (Yes, that Ben Franklin). Then Sayf started talking to me. Then, the weirdest thing, Danny from Hellcat showed up with a case and a movie (Be Kind, Rewind, I liked it). Before I knew it, she had joined the cast of what I'm calling Black Ops.

It satisfies all my needs: Weirdness, violence, political maneuvering, outright lies, and a really nice house on the east coast.

I'm going to be writing two versions of it, for reasons I'll describe another time.

And somewhere in all that, my Pushing Daisies, I've decided, needs a massive overhaul.

Oh, and maybe some (p)reviews of some of those preairs later on, now that I've burned through them.
©2016 Michael Patrick Sullivan