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Roscone
March 14th, 2013, 01:04 AM
Hannah’s room is reminiscing of an old stage. Although several halogen lights are mounted to the ceiling. The room is shadowed and dim. The sun shines in from the opened double pane window, marking its relevance on the wooden floor. A Polaroid photo left on the window ceil. The Chez Larsson curtain lifts through the breeze. A large blue and white Kangxi, runs a small water fountain over many black pebbles sitting on top of a glass table, where stands above a Victorian gold plated mirror, hanging on the wall.

The plush Soho, platform bed, sits atop the elevated floor giving the room a modernized look. The tall white marble, head board frame leans against the wall. Cushioned white soft leather near the headrest and pillows. The curved side- railing of the bed is aligned with same leather padding. The white thread –counted queen sheets are unturned but ruffled from the night before. A microphone stand near the bed, still plugged at the periwinkle colored wall.
Her cozy space is enough to rid her of any uncomfortable thoughts about her past but she draws them nearer with her music selection.

A vintage record player streams an old Muddy Waters blues tune, Catfish. Floods the room with its eclectic guitar strings. Her petite frame sits atop a white sheet on the floor, stained with black glue. She pours the melted beads in a bowl. Making a vintage microphone is a long task, she’s been at since early morning hours to get her mind off not being able to sleep. She adds a layer of water to keep the plastic from sticking.

Hannah stuffs the metal ball bearings into the center and closes the ball shape around them and blows it until its starts to turn opaque on the inside. She then rounds the outside edges to resemble the shape of a round microphone head. She handles a square plastic foil shield placing it down for the design and instrument. Turns the small fan around to make the plastic cool and harden.

She looks around the room and notices the daylight rushing in for the first time.
Uses a towel to wipe sweat from her face, wearing a black seamless camisole and a pair of ripped jeans, goes to the window to look at the rain starting to fall outside. At the window, the cold forces her to close the window, noticing the black and white photo she had been looking at earlier of her Mother Anna.

She picks it up to hold it up in the clouded light outside.
Hannah sits on the ledge, rubs the photo and notices something in the background for the first time
Hannah, “Kathleen?”
The still photo image Hannah holds turns to live motion. The woman on the picture in movement. Anna smiles proudly in the house her husband bought and converted into a club, Louisiana Red. Jacob stands in the crowded room holding a Polaroid camera. The camera flashed and a photo of Anna slides out. Jacob hands the camera off to Emma and she walks to the bar. Anna and Jacob dance together for the first time that night, finally she gets him in her arms and they stay around him as the song plays out.


A mood intensified by heavy Marker's Mark whiskey, Bombay Sapphire gin, and cheap Thunderbird wine. The room has more men than women but full. Well enough to say they were doing good for the night. With the abundant drinks flowing, no one noticed the planks rising as they dance, or the inexpensive lamb shades vibrating on the tables off the tables.

Most call it the love shack known for the one brown couch propped up against the wall, where couples sit making out as sheetrock sprinkle their hair white. The floor scattered with the same particles. A clear view of a patch missing from the wall exposing the wood insulation. The thumping sounds and the beat comes from the jukebox in the corner. Sweaty bodies dancing close together means big money for the owner.

The inexpensive paintings with a small attached rope hung to a nail, slanted and barley hanging on. The disco light spinning. Men and women standing, and drinks served at the bar.

Anna, “Your love shack is the talk of the town Jacob. I see a lot of women in here trying to get your attention”.
“I’m taken, I’m a married man. I’m off limits”.
Anna smiles and moves closer to him planting a kiss on his lips.
“You will always be the most beautiful woman in the world to me”. Dancing in motion, close like newlyweds.
“I’m so proud of you”.

Emma is at the bar serving drinks along with another man.
“Who wants Anna to sing a song for us?”
The crowd cheers, “Anna, Anna, Anna”.
Jacob stops dancing with his wife and bows to her, her smiles and clap with them for her.
“You going” Anna walks to the microphone when the record stops and clears her throat. Jacob dims the lights in the club making the only visible bright light focus on Anna.

“I want to give yau’ll something, I know you want to here, I need a little music though.”

Emma, Gone Jacob get old red out”.
A red guitar sits up against the wall beside Anna and the microphone. Jacob pulls the stool up and starts to play the instrument already plugged into the wall and the crowd gets louder, cheering and standing watching the performance.
“Yeah, How yau’ll feeling tonight, what you wanna here? Yau’ll wanna here some KoKo Taylor?”
The crowd eat it up, the performance, the way she moves in her dress, the sexiness in her voice as she signs the sultry melody.
“They call me the voodoo woman, and I know the reason why. They call me the voodoo woman and I know the reason why.

Kathleen is not standing with the crowd.

She sits, feet planted, smoking a cigarette watching Anna sing. She looks around the room and notices how all the men are looking at Anna. Some people move close to Anna and start dancing together as more people utilize the dance floor. Jacob plays the guitar whole hearted, with just as much passion for it, as his wife. Anna dances with the beat in front of him in a blue Chiffon dress.

“I look through water and spot dry land.
I'll tell all you men if your woman got another man.
I got a rabbits foot in my pocket”. Jacob stands and plays.

Outside in the parking lot, a large area loaded with makes and models from the seventy and eighty’s era 1987 AMC Eagle series vanishes, then another, car after car, and another until one Caddilac is left alone in the parking lot. The newly cut grass looks flat from heavy tire tracks. The land runs an acre outside city limits because you can’t sell alcohol in the city.

Back at the bar inside Anna holds a broom sweeping the hard wood floor, tapping her feet a few times as she sings the chorus to.
Anna “If that don’t do it baby you better leave it all alone.” Did you see Mrs. Sampson up here doing the step, shaking her tail like that?

Emma, “She gone be up there in the choir tomorrow. Singing to God! With a headache.
Anna, “She gone be calling Earl instead of the Lord.”

Jacob, “Anna did you lock that door like I told you too? Jacob facing door but seem like miles away behind the bar but notices outside movement, stops counting money to get a green money pouch.
He places the money inside the pouch and uses a brown paper bag to conceal it. A man dressed in a suit, walking up the pathway leading to the porch of the club.

The man stops there in front of the window.
He appears conceited in all his rage. He takes a drink, a swig, from the bottle of whiskey almost on end. Emma holds a chair upside down to place on the table in front of her. Squint her eyes in disbelieve

Emma, “Is that what the” to see clearer the figure on the other side of the fragile screen door, with one hand cuffed at her forehead. Mr. Lang walks on the porch now. Anna holding the broom. “No I didn’t” Emma rushing over to the door to lock it. Her heels tap the floor as she walks. She reaches for the latch just as his foots steps inside the door. Emma and Mr. Lang face to face. She swallows, stares at him sternly.

Emma, “We closed!” Eyes glinting as she face him with no fear. The street light shining shadows the hard wood floor and makes a silhouette of their bodies. He grinned in her face as he stands about five inches taller than the full-sized chest she supports. Her dress falling low and opened slightly. He stands there puffing the cigar he already lit on the porch.
Mr. Lang, “I heard it was a party going on”.

Emma, “We had last call over an hour ago”. Jacob behind the bar with a pistol on his left side. He was searching for more bullets in a box he stashed behind a bottle of Rum. Lang opened his coat jacket and pressed himself against Emma’s body.
Emma, “You need to leave”.

Lang, “Easy now. Can I listen to a little music? He makes his way over the Jukebox and puts a few coins in and waits for the track to play. Anna looking over at Jacob still standing behind the bar.
Doing a little dance. He slides his foot and moves his body like he was in a band and tried to remember the steps.
“Yes I remember that time. Yes I think it was, let’s see here. Pulls Emma into him.
Jacob, “You heard her, we closed.

Emma struggles to get loose from his grip pushing his hands back and moves away from him.

“Man I don’t want to hear nothing from you man. You know, I don’t see how you got this place anyway”. Old man wouldn’t budge when I tried to buy an acre or two. Know what he told me.
Said he wouldn’t sell no land to a nigga. I heard you kin to that white man on down the line somewhere but actually not that far pretty close, he’s your Granddaddy,
your great granddaddy some shit like that.
Would you figure that?"

“I don’t think you really want to try me like that Son.”
Lang, swaying moving his body. "You know this is a small town.
When something new open up.
They go running. My club had three people in it tonight. Including me.

“You don't own it. It's a difference. You leasing from somebody for two nights only this is not the same thing.”
" Well ain’t that’s what this is. A blues and juke-joint. Old Minden Louisiana putting us on the map huh. Anna walks over to jukebox and unplugs it from the wall. The music stops.

“Run your business better you won’t have your customers leaving, or find something else to do.
Stop charging a fee to get in and ask for a percentage from the liquor sales. I know you not getting a dime off that.”
Lang stands while slamming both hands on the bar.

“You almost 30 miles from here man?

“That’s the problem they don’t have to drive way out the way to me why when they can just come here.”
“We don’t have to be at each others throats over customers.
We can work something out.”
Lang at the bar facing Jacob takes a seat and continues to sip from his bottle. “You pay me.”
"pay you what?"
"Some of your earnings."

Jacob, “You need to leave. This conversation is over.”

Lang, “You want to tell me how to run my business now.
You think you slick don’t you?
Look at you.
I bet you got your shoes shined up nice and pretty. Hair slicked back.
Step out, come around here and let me see your shoes”.

Jacob puts his gun in front of him.
Lang, “You aint nothing but a greasy ass nigga.

Jacob holds the gun at Lang's head.
Jacob, “You think you got all the answers. You don’t.
If you don’t leave now this bullet going in your forehead.
Lang, "Alright man this your place. I'm just a customer. No need to go pulling out guns and shit. I'll leave".
Leaves the empty bottle there at the bar and walks to the door.
Lang, “Ladies have a nice night.”
He opens the screen door wide leaving it to slam on its own. Anna runs over to the door to lock the screen watching him leave.

Jacob, “No need worrying about it now, but he ain’t finished.
Emma at the window. “You should’ve shot him”.

Jacob, “We need to stay here for the night”.

Anna, “The kids Jacob",
Emma, "I knew I should've told Sunshine to stay?
Anna, "We can’t just leave them alone for this long Hannah’s probably waking up soon. I need to feed her”.
Jacob, “Kayla is there watching them. It will be alright. Look I just opened this place eight months ago. I don’t want to lose money.
Now we got a good start.
I can pay some people off make some real changes around here. I don’t need no problems.
Emma, “He is drunker than all the people that was here combined, but he smells like none of the whiskey even touched his mouth. Like he just wasted it all over his self or something.” Still watching for any movement outside.
Jacob,
“We need to wait him out, cool off, and sober up.”

Anna “He’s right,” Light the fire again. Its cold, might as well get comfortable. I need another drink.
Jacob, “What you doing”
Anna “What? It is cold in here. I’m getting the blanket from behind the bar, I don’t want to sit on that nasty sheet. I’m going to bring it with me so I can wash it.”

That morning the sun had barley shed to view when they all prepared to walk out the door. You could feel the coldness.
The air breathed like thick fog and it lingered around their faces.

Jacob the last one out, locks it. “Wait a minute. I should go walk up the road first. It’s long and he could be there waiting when we turn out”

“You already checked three times. Come on its cold, we out here now. If he is”.
The women walking a few feet in front of the car. Anna stops in her tracks
Anna, “You hear something?
Jacob, ‘Get in the car”.
The lights from Lang’s car are not needed as the sun has set.
Jacob takes his gun out and opens fire on the car speeding at them. Anna, “Shit”

The back window on the old Seville shatters.
Anna rushes in the car, slides over as another window shatters as she opens the door for Jacob. He throws the keys inside the car.
Jacob, "Start the car"
A shot fires, the window shatters.

The engine sounds and Lang drives around not knowing Jacob was outside the car kneeling on the grass.
He gets a clear view, aims the gun,
Shots fire directly at Lang's driver's side.

The inside view of Lang’s car shows blood seeping through, to his surface pocket, his mouth and nose. Losing control of the steering wheel.
Drives up the steep steps to the entrance. Crashing the front of the club knocking it off the high bricks .

Jacobs comes out from the side of the car. Hits his hand to the gun.

Anna, “What you doing? Don’t go over there. Come back".

Fire blaze into Lang’s car, then a deafening silence.

The doors of the ambulance open and Jacob is pushed inside.
The ambulance leaves them standing in the road.
The doors close.
One ambulance ahead and police cars already leaving the scene.

Anna and Emma are left in the road. Anna turns her attention back on the club. She looks at the damage to the building and the ground.
A totaled area and starts to cry.

“Can’t have shit”.
“It's always something”.
Throws another rock.

"What are we doing out here?"
Anna, "I have to get the liquor from out of there. I'm not leaving here without it".
Anna leads to the back of the house and finds her way opening the door. The liquor bottles are in small open boxes.
She slides the liquor over enough to pick up, passing it off to Emma. Grabs the left over box from the house and walks on.
They stand at the car together.

Emma, "Why did you tell the police we would meet them at the station".
“Who is going to drive us home?”
"You know you never learned how to drive and neither did I”.
"How are we getting out of here?”

“Where are the keys?”

“Oh no, I’m not fixing to get in this car with you. be in the hospital our damns selves.
Anna ignoring her, walking towards the car faster, till she makes it inside and starts the engine.

Emma stands, looking as Anna move the car. Holding the wheel study enough to speed.
Emma, and you not leaving me out here either”.

She runs closer to the moving car. Jumps in the car on the passenger’s side.

Hannah’s place midday. She leaves the picture on the table in the kitchen and pours more coffee in her glass. Walks to the table to smell the fresh violets and take a few out.
Shower running in the bathroom.
Walks the pavement of the cemetery leading to the Hill. She had to unlatch the small wooden fence. Passing graves to her right and left.

Making visits, leaving flowers. She walks past them and further to the back near the edge of the hill. In front of the grave on the row.

The inscription of her Mother’s name and prays.
Thou I walk through the valley of the shadow of death. I shall fear no evil for God is with me.

Hannah lets the tears comfort her. Looks away, but a feather follows her eyes to the sky.

hiatus
March 14th, 2013, 02:42 AM
Is this a script or something? If so you might want to double space when they speak; helps with the clarity. I had to stop and re-read some parts out of confusion.

There are some spelling errors, like "Mutty Waters" I'm not sure if you meant to do that or you simply made a mistake, but "Muddy Waters" is the correct way to spell his name.

Punctuation and blah blah blah. but I'm sure you weren"t looking for an editor right?

You asked for help with genre selection? I don't exactly understand the question. Do you want to do something other than drama? Or do you need help making the drama better?

Roscone
March 14th, 2013, 05:05 AM
Oh my God I changed that forever ago. I edited it Thank you.

Roscone
March 14th, 2013, 05:11 AM
And yes I wrote it as a screenplay at first. I am converting it from the original format so it’s me changing writing styles and yes editing is needed thank you. I do hope you go back and take another look at it. I’m sorry I jumped the gun and you caught me.

Roscone
March 17th, 2013, 12:39 AM
Dear Roscone, I really enjoyed seeing a little of your writing today. Your descriptions are gorgeous and I saw that room and the woman working in it as clearly as if I was at the movies. And the nightclub and its patrons also come completely alive because your sensory work is so detailed. Really, your writing is just lovely‚€¶I felt transported to these places and I wanted to know a lot more about these characters and their world. But as it‚€™s formatted though, Roscone, it‚€™s extremely hard to follow. I found myself having to read sentences twice through to understand them and I wasn‚€™t sure who was talking at any one time. But once the syntax was straightened out and the work was formatted to fit style guide rules about grammar and punctuation and so on, it was abundantly clear that there was a really lovely voice speaking here.

The place[CE1] (http://www.writingforums.com/#_msocom_1) where Hannah sits is reminiscenting of an old stage, although several halogen lights are mounted to the ceiling. The room is shadowed and dim. The sun shines in from the opened window, marking its relevance on the wooden floor. A Polaroid photo has been left on the window ledge. The Chez Larsson curtain lifts inthrough the breeze. A large blue and white Kangxi,, sitting[CE2] (http://www.writingforums.com/#_msocom_2) on top of a glass table, runs a small water fountain over many black pebbles sitting on top of a glass table., Awhere above it, a Victorian gold-plated mirror, hangs on the wall.
The plush, Soho, platform bed, sits atop the elevated floor, giving the room a modernized look. ItsThe[CE3] (http://www.writingforums.com/#_msocom_3) tall, white-marble, head board frame leans against the wall. It has cCushioned white soft leather near the headrest and pillows. [CE1] (http://www.writingforums.com/#_msoanchor_1)For variety from ‘room’ which is used in the next sentence.


[CE2] (http://www.writingforums.com/#_msoanchor_2)Keeping the modifier close to the subject and breaking up the sentence for better clarity. Lovely images though.


[CE3] (http://www.writingforums.com/#_msoanchor_3)So two sentences in a row don’t start with “the.”

The curved side-railing of the bed is linedaligned with the same leather padding. The white, high thread-–counted, queen sheets are unturned but ruffled from the night before. A microphone stand near the bed is, still plugged intoat the periwinkle-colored wall.

Her the homey space is enough to take her mind off her past but she pulls itthem[CE1] (http://www.writingforums.com/#_msocom_1) nearer with her thoughts and her music selection.
A vintage record player streams an old Muddy Waters blues tune;, Catfish, flooding. Floods the room with its eclectic guitar strings. Her petite frame sits on the floor, atop a white sheet on the floor, stained with black glue. She pours the melted beads into a bowl. Making a vintage microphone is a lengthyong task;, she’s [CE1] (http://www.writingforums.com/#_msoanchor_1)This corresponds to ‘past’ which is singular.



been at it since the early morning hours, trying to get her mind off not being able to sleep. She adds a layer of water to keep the plastic from sticking.
Hannah stuffs the metal ball bearings into the center, and closes the ball shape around them, and blows it; until its starts to turn opaque on the inside. She then rounds the outside edges to resemble the shape of a round microphone head. She handles a square plastic foil shield, [CE1] (http://www.writingforums.com/#_msocom_1) placing it down for the design and instrument, and turns. Turns the small fan around to make the plastic cool and harden.
LookingShe looks around the room, Hanna, wearing[CE2] (http://www.writingforums.com/#_msocom_2) a black seamless camisole and a pair off ripped jeans, and notices the daylight rushing in for the first time. She
uUses a towel to wipe sweat from her face and, wearing a black seamless camisole and a pair off ripped jeans, goes to the window to look at the rain that’s starting to fall outside. TAt the window, the[CE3] (http://www.writingforums.com/#_msocom_3) cold forces her to close the window and she , noticesing the black and white photo of her mother Anna, she had been looking at earlier of her Mother Anna.
She picks it up to hold it toup in the clouded light outside.


Hannah sits on the ledge, rubs the photo and notices something in the background for the first time.
Hannah, “Kathleen?” she says.
[CE1] (http://www.writingforums.com/#_msoanchor_1)Not clear what this is. If it’s foil, it’s metal not plastic. Perhaps: She handles a square foil shield. Or: …handles a square plastic sheet.


[CE2] (http://www.writingforums.com/#_msoanchor_2)With all the action in the next sentence, it seemed a little cluttered to have the description there too,


[CE3] (http://www.writingforums.com/#_msoanchor_3)It’s already established she’s at the window and this saves the repetitive use of ‘window’.

Roscone
March 17th, 2013, 05:50 AM
The Frying Pan Savage
Chapter 1
The Photo
The place where Hannah sits is reminiscent of an old stage, although several halogen lights are mounted to the ceiling. The room is shadowed and dim. The sun shines in from the opened window, marking its relevance on the wooden floor. A Polaroid photo has been left on the window ledge. The Chez Larsson curtain lifts in the breeze. A large blue and white Kangxi, sitting on top of a glass table, runs a small water fountain over many black pebbles. Above it, a Victorian gold plated mirror, hangs on the wall.
The plush, Soho platform bed, sits atop the elevated floor, giving the room a modernized look. It’s tall, white- marble head board frame leans against the wall. It has cushioned white soft leather near the headrest and pillows. The curved side- railing of the bed is lined with the same leather padding. The white high thread –count, queen sheets are unturned but ruffled from the night before. A microphone stand near the bed is still plugged into the periwinkle- colored wall.
Her homey space is enough to take her mind off her past but she pulls it nearer with her thoughts and her music selection.
A vintage record player streams an old Muddy Waters blues tune; Catfish. Flooding the room with its eclectic guitar strings. Her petite frame sits on the floor, atop a white sheet stained with black glue. She pours the melted beads into a bowl. Making a vintage microphone is a lengthy task; she’s been at since early morning hours, trying to get her mind off not being able to sleep. She adds a layer of water to keep the plastic from sticking.



Hannah stuffs the metal ball bearings into the center, closes the ball shape around them and blows it; until it starts to turn opaque on the inside. She then rounds the outside edges to resemble the shape of a round microphone head. She handles a square plastic foil shield, placing it down for the design and instrument, and turns the small fan around to make the plastic cool and harden.
Looking around the room, Hannah, wearing a black seamless camisole and a pair off ripped jeans, notices the daylight rushing in for the first time.
She uses a towel to wipe sweat from her face and goes to the window to look at the rain that’s starting to fall outside. The cold forces her to close the window and she notices the black and white photo of her Mother Anna, she has been looking at earlier. She picks it up to hold it to the clouded light outside.


Hannah sits on the ledge, rubs the photo and notices something in the background for the first time.“Kathleen?” she says.
The still photo image Hannah holds turns to live motion. The woman in the picture is in movement. Anna smiles proudly in the house her husband bought and converted into a club; Louisiana Red. Jacob stands in the crowded room, holding a Polaroid camera. The camera flashes and a photo of Anna slides out. Jacob hands the camera off to Emma and she walks to the bar. Anna and Jacob dance together for the first time that night. Finally she has gotten him in her arms and they stay around him as the song plays out.


The mood intensified by heavy Marker's Mark whiskey, Bombay Sapphire gin, and cheap Thunderbird wine. The room has more men than women but is full. It’s good enough to say they are doing well for the night. With the abundant drinks flowing, no one notices the planks rising as they dance, or the inexpensive lamb shades vibrating off the tables.

Most call the area in the corner; the love shack. Known for the one brown couch propped up against the wall, where couples sit, making out, as sheetrock sprinkles their hair white. The same particles are scattered on the floor. There is a clear view of a patch missing from the wall; exposing the wood insulation. The thumping sounds and the beat comes from the jukebox in the corner. More bodies dancing close together means big money for the owner.


The inexpensive paintings with a small rope attached to a nail, they’re slanted and barley hanging on. The disco light is spinning. Men and women are standing, and drinks are being served at the bar.



Anna says, “Your love shack is the talk of the town Jacob.
I see a lot of women in here trying to get your attention”.
“I’m taken, I’m a married man. I’m off limits.”
Anna smiles and moves closer to him planting a kiss on his lips. “You sure Mr. Triland?”
“You will always be the most beautiful woman in the world to me”. They’re in motion, dancing close; like newlyweds.
“I’m so proud of you.”
Emma is at the bar, serving drinks along with a man.
“Who wants Anna to sing a song for us?”
The crowd cheers, “Anna, Anna, Anna.”
Jacob stops dancing with his wife and bows to her. He smiles and claps for her with the others.
“You going.”
When the record stops, Anna walks to the microphone and clears her throat. Jacob dims the lights in the club, making the only visible bright light focus on Anna.

“I want to give ya’ll something, I know you want to hear. I need a little music though,” she says.

Emma, Go one Jacob get old Red out”.
A red guitar sits up against the wall beside Anna and the microphone. Jacob pulls the stool up and starts to play the instrument, which is already plugged into the wall. The crowd gets louder; cheering and standing, watching the performance.
“Yeah, how ya’ll feeling tonight? What you wanna hear? Ya’ll wanna here some KoKo Taylor?”
The crowd eat it up-the performance, the way she moves in her dress, and the sexiness in her voice, as she signs the sultry melody.
“They call me the voodoo woman, and I know the reason why. They call me the voodoo woman and I know the reason why.”