Writing Arril Johnson - Side Salad - Writing
Whether it's a script, a poem, or a short story, the satisfaction and frustration of writing is fairly acute. I've done it professionally but, as with many of the other activities, there are times when it is going to happen anyway .... you're chasing an idea ....
The longer subjects have been added as downloadable files, while the shorter ones are pasted into the page.
The longer subjects have been added as downloadable files, while the shorter ones are pasted into the page.
Scratch Track scripts
Several long or short. monologue/dialogue scripts have been written and recorded over the years for use as performance/storyboarding/lip-sync teaching aids. They're fun to do and often have proved useful to various students. The texts are included here as a pdf, but four scratchtrack readings also have been uploaded as examples, although others can be found on my SoundCloud page at https://soundcloud.com/arril-johnson.
WEREWOLF from Arril Johnson on Vimeo. THE TEAM from Arril Johnson on Vimeo. |
TIN MAN from Arril Johnson on Vimeo. ENNUI from Arril Johnson on Vimeo. |
The Ice Dragon
'The Ice Dragon' is a narration script for a proposed half-hour animated television special. In this case, sample layouts and an experimental visual treatment accompany the pdf file of the initial text. Its treatment has gradually evolved over the years and it might be that 'The Ice Dragon' turns out to be a working title. Although I finished this first draft in 1984 and did the usual registering in the UK and USA, the idea of combining a magical being with an elemental force is fairly universal. My story is very different, but George Martin wrote about an ice dragon in 1980, an ice dragon features in Oliver Postgate's television series, Noggin the Nog, in the early 1960's, Edith Nesbit first wrote about hers around 1899, and I'm willing to bet that any ancient Nordic adventurer who managed to survive hypothermia had a few stories about such a beast.
So .... I have my 'Ice Dragon' .....
This story of The Ice Dragon is an allegory. In a forest near a mountain, a dragon is born. Like any animal, the dragon can feel hunger and curiosity, tranquility or fear.
It is the brooding resentment that grows out of excessive fear and the eventual power to act out that resentment that makes the dragon unique. In hate, he explores the limits of his power to destroy. In remorse, he learns the limits of this same power to create. In his desperate lashings out at forces that frustrate his attempts to restore a world he has grown to love, he both destroys himself and unwittingly does the good that he sought to do in life.
With the single exception of the dragon's self-awareness, none of the characters in the story are anthropomorphised. They and the dragon are simply animals. The allegory is about our relationship with nature; our fear of it, our desire to control it, our misunderstanding of it, and our love and need for it.
We are the dragon ...
A preliminary audio track of music, ambience, and sound effects which might be used for the project has been uploaded to my SoundCloud page at https://soundcloud.com/arril-johnson
ice_dragon.pdf |
Hillier's Pond
This was a short story initially written for children's television, but it could be a sweet little book some day. Currently, it's called 'Hillier's Pond' and it's about a serious little boy call Cyril ...
Awhile ago, at least last Sunday, something very peculiar happened to Cyril. It
happened while he was sitting by Hillier's Pond squinting out across the water
at the hazy shapes of rushes and the hazier shapes of trees on the far side. As
the warm glimmer off the water made things even less distinct Cyril squinted
even more. But Cyril squinted anyway. Cyril always squinted when he was
thinking and Cyril was always thinking.
At that moment he was thinking about nothing in particular, but he squinted
and thought hard just the same. Cyril hated to be caught out by an idea and so
his mind lay in wait, tense, ready to pounce on any ideas that came his way. It
would be unthinkable to let an idea find him first.....
Sneaking up on him. Now quickly. Now slowly. Now quietly. Aha! Like a
sudden tickle in his left ear....and then it fluttered past him. “Only a butterfly!”,
Cyril said out loud so the trees, the rocks, and the pond would know that he
hadn't been startled at all, but was quite blasé about that sort of thing;
butterflies in the left ear. It also reassured him to give it a name. It rendered it
harmless, thinkable. Even though he only saw a fluttering chip of colour go by,
“Butterfly” seemed quite suitable and Cyril squinted knowledgeably.
“I beg your pardon twice.”, said the butterfly. Cyril hadn't thought of this and
his eyes widened. “I beg your pardon twice!”, the butterfly went on. “Once for
landing in your ear, I misjudged the breeze and I’m sincerely sorry, but
secondly, I beg your pardon! I am not only a butterfly. I am not even a
butterfly, and would therefore appreciate an apology from you!” “I'm sorry that
you're not a butterfly.”, said Cyril, his voice distracted by what he finally
saw. “I'm sorry you're not a butterfly because it would make things so much
simpler if you were.”
Hovering not twelve inches away, roughly at eye level, was a small blue
creature with a sandy coloured belly and two wings which together were only
as large as a rose petal; a coral coloured rose petal. Its body was about the size
and shape of an almond, its head as big as a bean (or as small), and the two
glossy black mouse eyes seemed huge and staring, twinkling with a lively
intelligence on either side of a small yellow beak. In all the little beast was no
more than two and one half inches long and Cyril felt sure that, in its own
curious way, it was smiling.
“There's nothing simple about a butterfly.”, said the creature. “Those long
coiled tongues, leaf shaped antenna quivering with radar, and polychromatic
wings every bit as scaly as my body; no, nothing simple at all!” “Well,” said
Cyril, leaning back nervously as the mite settled on to his knee, “what are
you?" "Guess...", it said. “Well, you've got a beak and wings and tiny talons on
your feet. Are you a bird?” “As a matter of fact, no, and don't point!”, chided
the little enigma, and perched on Cyril's finger.
“Your eyes are mouse-like, you've got a tail and seem to have ears....but you
couldn't be a mouse, could you?” “Absolutely! Correct! I am not a mouse, not
even a rodent! Try again”, chuckled whatever it was and clambered along
Cyril's sleeve.
Cyril felt very uncomfortable and thought furiously. “You're pale blue, rather
scaly, and your wings are almost fin-like, but how could a fish be out of
water?” “There are such things, my boy, lungfish that live through droughts.
But no. Not today. Not at Hillier's Pond!”, and it settled on Cyril's shoulder.
“A lizard!”, Cyril shouted, “I should have known!” “You don't know now.”, it
said. Most lizards are more sluggish than I am, and besides, who ever heard a
lizard speak?”, and the tiny animal leaned on the lobe of Cyril's ear.
“It was true,” thought Cyril, “how could a lizard or anything else speak, and
even then.... English?!” “I give up! I give up completely! I am totally
confused. Please tell me. Tell me! What, after all this.... what are you?”
“Exactly?”, asked the curious thing. “Exactly!”, insisted Cyril.
“A daydream.”, was all it said and faded away like laughter on the wind.
Cyril hadn’t thought of that and scratched his left ear.
happened while he was sitting by Hillier's Pond squinting out across the water
at the hazy shapes of rushes and the hazier shapes of trees on the far side. As
the warm glimmer off the water made things even less distinct Cyril squinted
even more. But Cyril squinted anyway. Cyril always squinted when he was
thinking and Cyril was always thinking.
At that moment he was thinking about nothing in particular, but he squinted
and thought hard just the same. Cyril hated to be caught out by an idea and so
his mind lay in wait, tense, ready to pounce on any ideas that came his way. It
would be unthinkable to let an idea find him first.....
Sneaking up on him. Now quickly. Now slowly. Now quietly. Aha! Like a
sudden tickle in his left ear....and then it fluttered past him. “Only a butterfly!”,
Cyril said out loud so the trees, the rocks, and the pond would know that he
hadn't been startled at all, but was quite blasé about that sort of thing;
butterflies in the left ear. It also reassured him to give it a name. It rendered it
harmless, thinkable. Even though he only saw a fluttering chip of colour go by,
“Butterfly” seemed quite suitable and Cyril squinted knowledgeably.
“I beg your pardon twice.”, said the butterfly. Cyril hadn't thought of this and
his eyes widened. “I beg your pardon twice!”, the butterfly went on. “Once for
landing in your ear, I misjudged the breeze and I’m sincerely sorry, but
secondly, I beg your pardon! I am not only a butterfly. I am not even a
butterfly, and would therefore appreciate an apology from you!” “I'm sorry that
you're not a butterfly.”, said Cyril, his voice distracted by what he finally
saw. “I'm sorry you're not a butterfly because it would make things so much
simpler if you were.”
Hovering not twelve inches away, roughly at eye level, was a small blue
creature with a sandy coloured belly and two wings which together were only
as large as a rose petal; a coral coloured rose petal. Its body was about the size
and shape of an almond, its head as big as a bean (or as small), and the two
glossy black mouse eyes seemed huge and staring, twinkling with a lively
intelligence on either side of a small yellow beak. In all the little beast was no
more than two and one half inches long and Cyril felt sure that, in its own
curious way, it was smiling.
“There's nothing simple about a butterfly.”, said the creature. “Those long
coiled tongues, leaf shaped antenna quivering with radar, and polychromatic
wings every bit as scaly as my body; no, nothing simple at all!” “Well,” said
Cyril, leaning back nervously as the mite settled on to his knee, “what are
you?" "Guess...", it said. “Well, you've got a beak and wings and tiny talons on
your feet. Are you a bird?” “As a matter of fact, no, and don't point!”, chided
the little enigma, and perched on Cyril's finger.
“Your eyes are mouse-like, you've got a tail and seem to have ears....but you
couldn't be a mouse, could you?” “Absolutely! Correct! I am not a mouse, not
even a rodent! Try again”, chuckled whatever it was and clambered along
Cyril's sleeve.
Cyril felt very uncomfortable and thought furiously. “You're pale blue, rather
scaly, and your wings are almost fin-like, but how could a fish be out of
water?” “There are such things, my boy, lungfish that live through droughts.
But no. Not today. Not at Hillier's Pond!”, and it settled on Cyril's shoulder.
“A lizard!”, Cyril shouted, “I should have known!” “You don't know now.”, it
said. Most lizards are more sluggish than I am, and besides, who ever heard a
lizard speak?”, and the tiny animal leaned on the lobe of Cyril's ear.
“It was true,” thought Cyril, “how could a lizard or anything else speak, and
even then.... English?!” “I give up! I give up completely! I am totally
confused. Please tell me. Tell me! What, after all this.... what are you?”
“Exactly?”, asked the curious thing. “Exactly!”, insisted Cyril.
“A daydream.”, was all it said and faded away like laughter on the wind.
Cyril hadn’t thought of that and scratched his left ear.
I had originally uploaded the grouping on the left, but a recent visual treatment of some of the characters and their 'state of mind' environment led to the test shown below. It was primarily prepared for use as a teaching aid, and yet it allows me to explore possibilities. Like my life, this is another project that's a work in progress ....
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pasq_format_ep_5.pdf |
An Ode of Old Phut
This epic nonsense verse about tragic lovers, a village nestled between cove and forest, and an all-seeing fool was penned by William Crimple Struth .... apparently.
Unfortunately, it escaped. Equally regrettably, the author managed to record it using the technology available in his century. Had he been born sooner ....
The track foisted on you here has been digitally remastered, but the addition of even more crackle has failed to render his words inaudible. It does happen ....
Unfortunately, it escaped. Equally regrettably, the author managed to record it using the technology available in his century. Had he been born sooner ....
The track foisted on you here has been digitally remastered, but the addition of even more crackle has failed to render his words inaudible. It does happen ....
AN ODE OF OLD PHUT from Arril Johnson on Vimeo. |
|
CLANGER!
The following pdf contains the opening pages of a draft script for a television period comedy with dinosaurs. Science, politics, love, epiphanies, danger, history and a vast amount of silliness. A work that transcends genre and is probably doomed .... fun though ....
clanger_pg1-11.pdf |
Auggie
There was a gentle, sympathetic little dinosaur character called Auggie that I originally created and animated for the BBC children's programme 'VisionOn'. The idea of a book crossed my mind and having the book incorporate text into the illustration was another fundamental idea. I think it could work and these are the layouts .....
This short, short story started with a long walk ... and a snowball ...
In 2012 I was invited by Yiorgos Tsangaris to the Animafest animation festival in Cyprus and there I met, filmmaker, Victor Orozco and his little daughter who kindly selected and gave me two stones from her personal collection. As a thank you, I wrote her a very short story about the two stones and, as a way of thanking Yiorgos, I wrote a somewhat longer short story based on the stones that I found on the Cypriot beaches while visiting.
These are the stories that the stones told me ....
the_story_stones.pdf |
the_lightning_stone_and_the_diamond_stone.pdf |