Where The Hell Is Craft Services?

WTF?

I’m on set. My crew is all here, although I don’t recognize any of them, they assure me they are the crew.

The gear seems to be here, but there are no cameras which is okay as I don’t have a cinematographer? I don’t have a cast either.

We are at an old house in the neighborhood I grew up. I’ve never been inside and more importantly, I have no idea what I’m shooting. No one has a script. Apparently the people who are funding this have shown up with a check for $5000. But I don’t know who they are, and I don’t recognize them.

Someone just told me it’s starting to rain. It’s not a big deal, I say, I have planned for this.

I seem to be spending all of my time trying to figure out where the caterers are, and I haven’t seen craft services yet either. I continue to try and use my phone to contact someone, but I keep getting interrupted, and my phone isn’t working anyway.

More and more people I don’t know keep showing up and asking questions. Everyone wants to know where the food is? I have no clue. Things are getting tense. I am starting to panic. The room is getting darker and the voices are all getting louder.

And just like that, I wake up. Hank is sitting on my bed, staring at me, in all of his doodleness.

Considering the dream I was having, it is a huge relief when my 70 pound dog flops onto my chest and licks my face.

What the hell does it all mean? I haven’t a clue. I haven’t shot anything in quiet a few years. Maybe my brain is telling me I need to. Perhaps it’s time?

I miss being on set, and making my own films. I love the challenge of solving problems and answering a hundred questions all at once, and working closely with a dedicated group of professionals.

I don’t have any money, and truly I don’t have a clue where craft services, or the caterers are…

I need to figure this out. Once Hank stops licking my face.

Mr. Fifer Reading

Here I am reading a segment from my story, Mr. Fifer.

This is a story I wrote that combines what I know about one of my Grandfathers and my Step Grandfather. I never met my Grandfather and only met my Step Grandfather once when I was very young. I don’t remember him. My Uncles told me stories about both of them. They were both characters and no strangers to loss. It sure sounded like they both had interesting lives. I combined what I knew, and took a few liberties with their lives and came up with this story about a dying old man and the conversation he has with his stepson. This story appears in my collection, Dennis Barton Is A Bastard And Other Stories. This is just a few pages of the story.

If you like the story you can head over to my website (www.angryfilmmaker.com) and pick up a copy of the book. I would appreciate it.

As usual, Thank You for reading, subscribing, and supporting my writing and filmmaking.

Remember, if you don’t like what I’m writing these days then unsubscribe. And don’t let the door hit you on the way out.

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Check out my books, as well as my films, and Angry Filmmaker merchandise on my site. www.angryfilmmaker.com