The artwork below is all digital, and done in Photoshop/Illustrator&Terragen

Some recent Artwork

News from the front...

Due to many reasons, I won't be doing the movie "Let me tell you about it". Maybe at a later date it'll be picked-up, so we'll see.
Other than that, my script for Daniel ********* is nearly complete. He read through what's been done the other night and loved it, pissing himself laughing. So it seems I'm on the right track there.
On the work front, I've been offered a job as 'runner' on a low-budget feature called "Lucky Miles", being shot in the Flinder's Ranges, around Pt Lincoln and in Adelaide from the 19th June, for 8wks. A mate of mine-[Django]-who worked with me on "Unit" on the December Boys shoot, has also been hired as a runner. As well as Tony ******, our car-wrangler on December Boys, has been hired for three weeks.
James ******, who has a blogg link to the right there ("Suit up"), is also on the film as an attachment to the Art Dept. Good on 'im!!-he's a smart guy with oodle's of talent!!
Thank God, we can earn some bucks.
Also, a web-design company called "NishNish" is interested in my artwork and writing, so it may come down to which is the better job for me.
Isn't that always the case-'It never rains...it pours!'.

On a personal front, my daughter Ruby-Rose has been quite ill lately with a lung infection, so I'm hoping that'll clear-up soon.
And...I may have some news soon on a) the "housing" front, and b)the "publishing" front.

Stay tuned...

Some of my Poetry...

Hmm.

To change being
Oneself.
So hard to be
so true.

To be true,
It is so hard
To be,
…oneself.

***
Michael John Kildare
Adelaide 2005
*****************************

Shades

I hold you in my palm
I hold you in my heart
I hold your life in my palm
I hold your life in my heart.

Left alone in the dark
For darkness is needed
Darkness is craved hard,
…swallowing all that’s been seeded.

Your heart in my palm
Your palm wrapped around my heart
Your soul the hand
My life is your glove.

Emptiness cracks loudly across the void,
Love once filled the bottomless abyss.
A dark room representing eternal nothingness.
Pain always hides in loneliness.

Left and right disappears into dark oblivion,
Up and down
Evident only through gravity
And the mattress beneath.

A single breath escapes…

Fly little angel, fly…,

…a hand falls to the floor,
the syringe spills forth.


***
Michael John Kildare
Athelstone 2005
3.40am
********************************

Being


We are
(No!, run! no…)
Who we want.
(I could never…)
What we want
(If only a taste…)
Who we are,
(I cannot look…)
Retrospective,
(So much behind me…)
Introspective,
(I hurt so deep…)
Countering the grand
(I wish the courage…)
Exhibitionists,
(…To be so free,)
Nihilistic converts
(…and love me so,)
Believed omnipotent
(Ah the Celebrity…)
Although,
(Ah, the scandal…)
Many tested
(The truth, the truth…)
Found their impotence
(No more but legal infamy…)
Sequestering,
(Legal carrion feeders waiting…)
Stagnating,
(A carcass of what was, rotting…)
Staining.
(…where once was life.)

All wrought
within
The Foundry
of the Peer.

A smile
(No!, not at me!)
Is a gateway
(Don’t look!…)
To personal reality
(…at me swimming the dream…)
Deigned
(Acceptance stuns…)
Suitable,
(Suspicion ensues…)
Agreeable,
(Rankling subsides…)
Sustainable,
(A concerted interest…)
So ideas are conceived,
(Cooperation enraptures…)
A conception birthed.
(Blooming partnerships…)
Looking through the glass
(Within the nursery, awaiting…)
Of other eyes
(Judgment call…)
Yet, see the same,
(Empathetic compassion…)
So screams communion,
(Bonded heart…)
So falls delusion,
(So reigns hope…)
Hail Hail!!
(Hail, Hail!!…)

…Evolution.

***

Michael John Kildare
Athelstone, Adelaide
22/08/05
3.30am
©
********************************

Hide and Escape

White stuff in a bag
Green stuff in a bag
Honey-coloured stuff in a bag
Spit in a bag.

Rocket on the rails
Yet no cushion at the end,
Stop…and down,
Down, down, …depthless,

lost.

Nothing
but life,
encapsulated,
existing within.

All else
enhances it
or,
takes it away.

Knowing,
Knowing all,
Well educated and observing,
Yet…hiding.

A toke,
A smoke,
Chase the dragon,
Fix a fit.

Dreams.

No more
What if…,
Who could be…
Who I was…

Soaring above this plane of reality,
Sacking the realm of normality,
Shocking a numb sense of stability,
Stoking the fires of discrepancy.

Tour dates
For reality,
Fun times
In tragedy.

Knowing is fun,
Soaring is sin,
but the plummet down is so heavy in pay-back
As self-indulgence has become a mortal sin.

A sniff of smoke
Takes away the heart.
The offer of sustenance,
a moment’s gratuitous theft.

What’ll it be?
What’s your poison?
What’s your reason…?,
Who cares…

Sniff
Swallow
Smoke
…it is all synchronic,

Of contact
Within an encasement.
Enhancing the contraction,
Ever tightening…,

locked within,

…’till nothing,
emptiness
Replacing substance,
Reconstituting life.

Long Live…
what once was.

***
Michael John Kildare
2005 ©.
***********************************

Blue Collar.

Tired…so tired.
The deep vacant ache
That resides in my flesh
And bone…, grit-tight with strain.

A furrowed brow broods
As open ears catch
Always the unwanted news.
Again…someone cries.

Told to become
An icon of success,
Ambition creates the road,
Oh it’s begun …but so little fun,
gone the love.

A day starts
As it did the day before
With all the same moves,
Falling far and deep into the same groove.

Then travel the track
To the door of survival
That earns the economic definition
Of success in Western Society.

Our cards are clocked
And muscles sigh
For too soon comes that ache
And the question,

…Why?”
Michael John Kildare
Forreston
15/12/01 2.00pm
©

Some of my Writing (Short Story). I wrote this several years ago...

Only Four
Adelaide
South Australia
1970

The little boy ran flat-out to the corner shop.
He knew his mummy always had milk in her coffee, of which she had had every morning that he could remember.
His four-year-old legs pumped-hard as he ran up the street.

‘Mummy must need her milk, because she hates not having her coffee and she hates not having milk and sugar in her coffee!!. We’ve got coffee, we’ve got sugar! …but I drank all the milk’ He frowned in thought.

The poor boy felt a child’s version of guilt for it was he that had the last of the milk the night before.
(But he always had a ‘Milo’ before he went to sleep!)
And now Mummy lay across the kitchen floor.
So, regardless of his guilt, Mummy needed him.
It had to be the milk.

Mummy always had milk in her coffee.
And because of him, there was none.

Now Mummy was lying on the kitchen floor.
He had to get her milk.

Never had his four-year-old legs run so hard in their short life.
Never had the boy felt desperation in his four-year-old life.

But he knew he had to run, some instinct, primeval and basic propelled him forward because Mummy’s medicine didn’t work.

The boy burst through the delicatessen’s double door’s and ran straight to the fridge. Both the elderly husband and wife that ran the shop (and had done for the last thirty years) recognised the boy as he belted through the doors and that in that fact of entry, something was wrong.
As the boy pulled-open the fridge and grabbed a bottle of milk, the husband and wife stood together, (previous tasks forgotten), watching as the boy ran to the counter with his prize.
“What’s the rush young man?…,” The husband asked, and before the boy could answer, his wife’s sixth-sense asked,
“Where’s your mother honey?…is she sick??”.

Breathing heavily the boy answered both questions straight away.
“Mummy’s lying on the floor ‘cause her medicine didn’t work and she’s not moving and there’s no milk for her coffee to fix it!”
The boy held-up the milk (so large in his little hands) as if to show that was the core of the answer he’d just delivered.
“I got the milk now, I go to Mummy…o.k.?” He asked, walking quickly backward to the door.

The wife caught-on quickly for she had served the mother many times in the last six months. The girl had a habit, one that attracted trouble. She had a pretty-good idea what was happening.
And that was the problem…she hoped-to-God she was wrong.

“Liam honey…’, (the boy stopped at his name and looked-back),’…Mummy tells you your name and address in case you can’t find Mummy…(the boy nods, but exclaims “Mummy doesn’t like Cops!”)…’,
“…Yes, I know she doesn’t honey…but, if I wanted to take you home, if you were lost…where would I go?”

Liam looked down for a moment shuffling his bare little feet, as if weighing-up and deciding his options.
Suddenly he looked up and straight at the anxious woman.
“Liam Kinnear-27 Karratha Street!”, the boy said by rote, then ran with his unpaid-for milk straight out the door.
>Slam<
Concern guiding her actions the woman went to the phone and dialled OOO.

>”Puffpuffpuff…”<
Liam’s chubby little legs hurt.
Hurt like they never hurt before.
But Liam had to run. He had to, because Liam was a good little boy and always helped his mummy.
His Mummy was the only world he knew and wanted. And he wanted so much for his mummy to be happy, which was why he gave her lots of hugs and kisses and rubbed her head and belly when she was sick
But she cried a lot because she was always sick had to take her special medicine.

She always had to take her medicine.

And she did this morning, but straight away Mummy fell off her chair and onto the kitchen floor. She twitched a-bit, which would have been funny, but for the fact she didn’t answer Liam when after laughing, he asked if “Mummy o.k.??”.
No answer.

Nor would there be.
***

Now he came to the overgrown weed-strewn front-yard that marked their home.
Pelting through the front door he felt proud of himself because he had Mummy’s milk and just knew she would be better now.
Into the squalid little kitchen Liam ran absently kicking aside the syringe that had held his Mummy’s medicine so he could kneel beside her.

“Mummy-Mummy!, Liam got some milk!!” he said joyfully holding the specified carton above her grey, still face.
No response.
“Mum?”
No movement.
“Mummy!?”
Deadness.

After a little while…the boy went quiet.
*

Ten minutes later the ambulance arrived.
The orphaned little boy was sitting in the corner of the room, his little cherub face soaked with tears he didn’t realise he was shedding, watching has dead mother. Held tightly in his little hands was a full milk bottle.


As one both ambulance officers read the situation and sighed.
Not again.
The telephone call had been vague as to what had happened as the caller wasn’t sure herself. Both officers hoped it was a false alarm or at most a stumble or fall and just a broken limb or concussion…something simple, without heartache.
But this was not to be.
The last couple of years the men had been seeing more and more tragic moments like this. The more senior of the two wondered if the health authority would sort this drug-thing out and get on top of the problem, hopefully in the next few years before it got too-far out of hand.

He looked at the lad in the corner and then his tragic young mother dead on the floor and had an uncomfortable premonition.

Maybe not.

...and more script samples again, from my MAPS-ADV project

"BABIES 'R US"
SHOT (1)
POV:
OVER THE [HESITANT] MANS SHOULDER AS HE WALKS INTO THE STORE.
BEFORE US WE SEE A VAST VARIETY OF BABY PRODUCTS AND THE CAMERA PANS FROM LEFT-TO-RIGHT AND BACK AGAIN, TAKING EVERYTHING IN
(INSERT:
POV: EXTREME CLOSE-UP THROUGH OUR MAN'S EYES. HE BRINGS A 'LIST' UP TO READ. WE SEE THE WORDS "PRAM. COT.", AND THAT IS ALL.)
BACK TO SHOT (1)
SAME POV:
AS IF THROUGH OUR MANS EYES, THE CAMERA PANS THE ROOM AGAIN, THEN QUICKLY FOCUSSES ON COT'S OVER THE FAR SIDE OF THE SHOP. THE OTHER COUPLE ARE HERE TOO.
SHOT (2)
POV:
SIDE-ON TO THE MAN AS HE WALKS ACROSS TO THE COTS.
SHOT (3)
POV:
WE ARE FRONT-ON TO OUR MAN, LOOKING FROM A LOW ANGLE AS IF IN THE COT AS OUR MAN WALKS UP TO IT.

HE HAS A PERPLEXED LOOK ON HIS FACE, LOOKS LEFT AND RIGHT AT THE OTHER COTS. HE SCRATCHES HIS HEAD. HE THEN GRABS THE SIDE OF [OUR COT] BEFORE HIM AND GIVES IT A SOLID SHAKE AND KICKS THE LEG. HE SHRUGGS HIS SHOULDERS, THEN REACHES DOWN TO THE PRICE TAG AND GIVES IT A LOOK. WE SEE HIS EYEBROWS RISE ALMOST TO HIS HAIRLINE AND HE SNORTS WITH DISGUST.

SHOT (4)
POV:
SIDE ON TO THE MAN. SALESMAN STEPS INTO SHOT.
SALESMAN:
"CAN I HELP YOU SIR...?"
OUR MAN IS STARTLED, BUT QUICKLY RECOVERS, AND BEGINS TO ACT AS IF 'HE KNOWS IT ALL'...
SHOT (5)
POV:
OPPOSITE SIDE-ON TO BOTH MEN, BOTH FACES IN FRAME.

OUR MAN POINTS TO THE COT HE'D BEEN KICKING THE SIDE OF AND STARTS SAYING A WHOLE HEAP OF CRAP ABOUT COT'S PRAM'S & PUSHER'S...HE HAS NO-IDEA WHAT HE'S TALKING ABOUT.
INSERT DIALOGUE: OUR MAN;
THE SALESMAN REPLIES TO THIS WITHOUT BATTING AN EYELID,
SALESMAN:
"SO SHALL I PUT THIS ON YOUR TAB SIR...?"
OUR MAN (FEELING SELF IMPORTANT):
"ER, UM...YES OF COURSE"
SHOT (6)
POV:
LOOKING THROUGH OUR MANS EYES AT THE SALESMAN...
SALESMAN:
"WILL THAT BE ALL SIR...?"
SHOT (7)
POV:
THROUGH THE SALESMAN'S EYES, AT OUR MAN.
OUR MAN:
"NO, OF COURSE NOT...I WISH TO HAVE A LOOK AT YOUR PRAMS"
SHOT (8)
POV:
SAME AS SHOT (6)
OUR SALESMAN REPLIES...
SALESMAN:
"OF COURSE SIR, NO-DOUBT..."

SHOT (9)
POV:
LOOKING UP FROM A PRAM/PUSHER, AND WE FOCUS ON OUR MAN AND THE SALESMAN WALKING TO THIS POINT.
THE SALESMAN IS TALKING...
SALESMAN:
"IF I MAY ASK, SIR, ER...IS THIS YOUR FIRST CHILD?"

OUR MAN:
"WHY, UM, YES IT IS AS A MATTER OF FACT"

SALESMAN:
"I THOUGHT SO, CONGRATULATIONS, SIR"
OUR MAN NODS AND MURMERS THAKYOU TO THE CONGRATULATIONS FROM THE SALESMAN. BOTH MEN HAVE NOW REACHED THE PRAM/PUSHER AREA.
OUR MAN STARTS TO LOOK CLOSELY AT ALL THE PRAMS/PUSHERS ABOUT HIM, SHAKING THEM, KICKING TYRES/WHEELS.
THE SALESMAN ROLLS HIS EYES AND LOOKS UP AT THE CEILING.
SHOT (10)
POV:
FROM THE CEILING OF THE SHOP, AS IF LOOKING THROUGH A FISH-EYED SECURITY CAMERA. IT TAKES IN THE WHOLE PUBLIC INTERIOR OF THE SHOP.
FOR A FEW MOMENT WE ARE GREETED WITH A GREATLY SPED-UP (BENNY HILL STYLE) VIEW OF OUR MAN WANDERING AROUND PUSHING, PRODDING, KICKING THINGS AND THE SALESMAN IS CLOSE BEHIND.
FADE-OUT
SHOT (11)
FADE-IN
POV:
SIDE-ON TO OUR MAN AND THE SALESMAN.
THEY'RE STANDING OVER THE SHOP'S COUNTER, THE CASH REGISTER AND CREDITCARD MACHINE IN SHOT AS WELL.
THE SALESMAN IS READING FROM HIS LIST, TYPING IT ALL INTO THE CASH REGISTER.
OUR MAN'S FACE NOW HAS A SLIGHTLY FEARFUL EXPRESSION, WHICH GETS MORE OBVIOUS THE MORE THE SALESMAN READS...
SALESMAN:
(INSERT DIALOGUE-THE READING OF HIS 'LIST')

THE SALESMAN THEN TOTALS-UP ON HIS CASH REGISTER...
(INSERT:
POV: EXTREME CLOSE-UP OF SALESMAN'S FACE.)
((THE SALESMAN BREAKS INTO A HUGE GRIN, BUT WITH A SLIGHT GLANCE TO HIS SIDE HE REMEMBERS OUR MAN AT THE COUNTER, AND REGAINS HIS COMPOSURE...)


SHOT (12)
POV:
OVER THE SHOULDER OF OUR MAN, LOOKING AT THE SALESMAN.
SALESMAN:
(INSERT DIALOGUE)


(INSERT:
POV:
EXTREME FRONT-ON CLOSE-UP OF OUR MANS FACE. IT HAS A COMPLETLEY SHOCKED AND STUNNED EXPRESSION, AS IF HE'D JUST BEEN SHOT. HE ANSWERS THE SALESMAN IN A WHISPER...)
OUR MAN:
("UM...CHARGE")
SHOT (13)
POV:
LOOKING OVER 'THE OTHER' SHOULDER OF OUR MAN, AT THE SALESMAN.

TAKING OUR MAN'S CREDIT CARD AND PROCESSING IT, THE SALESMAN NOTES THE VOLUME OF WHAT OUR MAN HAS BOUGHT AND OFFERS A FREE HOME DELIVERY.
SALESMAN:
(INSERT DIALOGUE)
INSERT:
(POV: EXTREME FRONT-ON CLOSE-UP OF OUR MANS FACE. IT HAS A COMPLETLEY SHOCKED AND STUNNED EXPRESSION, AS IF HE'D JUST BEEN SHOT. HE ANSWERS THE SALESMAN IN A WHISPER... )
OUR MAN:
"THAT'S FINE..."
SHOT (14)
POV: SAME AS SHOT (13)

SMILING, THE SALESMAN FINISHES CARD PROCESSING, ASKS FOR THE MANS ADDRESS (WHICH OUR MAN SLOWLY WRITES OUT-AND PASSES ACROSS THE COUNTER TO THE SALESMAN...). THE SALESMAN THANKS OUR MAN, WISHES HIM GOOD LUCK AND BIDS HIM ADIEU...

THE CAMERA THEN FOLLOWS OUR MAN AS HE ALMOST STUMBLES TO THE DOOR, OPENS IT...TURNS AND LOOKS BACK AT THE SALESMAN FOR A SECOND...
(INSERT:
POV: THROUGH OUR MANS EYES, LOOKING BACK AT THE SALESMAN IN THE DISTANCE THE SALESMAN GIVES OUR MAN A "TOODLE-DOO" GAY-TYPE OF WAVE )
SHOT # 18
POV:
SAME AS SHOT(14)
FROWNING, OUR MAN LOOKS AT THE FLOOR, SHAKES HIS HEAD, THEN EXITS.
FADE-OUT
BLACK

More Script Samples from my MAPS-ADV project

NESTING.

INT. PM

THE MAN IS SEATED AT THE KITCHEN TABLE WITH A
PERPLEXED VISAGE. BEFORE HIM ON THE KITCHEN TABLE
IS EVERYTHING THAT WAS IN THE CUPBOARDS UNDER THE
SINK.

MAN:
"You sure you dont want me to help...?"

PREGNANT WIFE:
"No honey...I feel, NO, I want to do
this"

SHE IS CURRENTLY UNDER THE SINK LAYING NEW
CONTACT-PAPER ON THE SHELVES...SHELVES THAT HAVE
NEVER BEEN COATED WITH CONTACT BEFORE. HER BUM IS
STICKING OUT IN THE AIR.

PREGNANT WIFE:
"You know what you could do though
honey...?"

MAN:
"Yes...?"

PREGNANT WIFE:
"I noticed a small spot of mold on the
bathroom ceiling this morning..., could
you maybe clean it off then put a new
coat of paint on it...?, I love you
darling..."

THE MAN LIFTS HIS WRIST AND GLANCES AT HIS WATCH.
HE ROLLS HIS EYES.

MAN:
"Its 10:45 at night"

PREGNANT WIFE:
"Well...dont you have some ceiling paint
left over from last year...?

MAN:
"Um...yeah, so?!"

PREGNANT WIFE:
"So that means you dont have to buy
it..."

SHE PULLS HERSELF OUT OF THE CUPBOARD, LOOKING
VERY DISHELVED, AND PUTS ON HER SWEETEST FACE...

PREGNANT WIFE:
"PLEASE HONEY?...it would mean so much
to me..."

MAN:
"Uh huh...[sigh]"

AND WITH A RESIGNED EXPRESSION ON HIS FACE, THE
MAN GETS UP AND GOES TO EXIT THE KITCHEN...

PREGNANT WIFE:
"Thanks luv!...and when you've done
that, we'll clean the fridge and freezer
out..."

AND WITH THAT THE WOMWN TURNS BACK TO HER
CUPBOARD, NOT NOTICING THAT HER MAN PAUSED IN THE
MIDDLE OF THE KITCHEN WHILE SHE SAID THIS, SHOOK
HIS HEAD, SIGHED, THEN CONTINUED OUT THE DOOR.

FADE TO BLACK

END SCENE.

Script Samples from my MAPS-ADV project

LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT IT...
(CAMERA THROUGHOUT IS HANDHELD.
CLOSE-IN FOCUS ON SUBJECT THROUGHOUT ALL SHOTS).
EXT. MIDDAY
SHOT (1)
A MAN IS WALKING TO HIS 'SHED' OUT HIS BACK YARD. HE IS TALKING TO THE CAMERA AS IF IT IS HIS BEST MATE.

HE HAS JUST BEEN TOLD BY THIS 'MATE', THAT HE [THE MATE] AND HIS WIFE ARE EXPECTING THEIR FIRST CHILD.
AT THIS POINT WE, (THE VIEWER) ENTER THE CONVERSATION.
AS THE MAN IS WALKING TO HIS SHED, HE TURNS TO THE CAMERA,
THE MAN:

"PREGNANT eh!...huh, congratulations...sucker!!..."
THE MAN EACHES THE DOOR OF HIS SHED, OPENS IT, AND WAVING [THE CAMERA] INSIDE, ENTERS.

INT. MIDDAY.
(SHED INTERIOR HAS ALL THE TOOLS AND TOYS MEN USUALLY HAVE STORED WITHIN. LENGTH'S OF WOOD HANGING IN THE RAFTERS, A TOOL-BOARD ON THE WALL WITH SILOETTES OF SAID TOOLS (FEW OF WHICH ARE ACTUALLY IN-PLACE)
SHOT (2)
THE MAN:
"...you better be ready mate 'cause from here-on-in EVERYTHING'S gunna change!"
HE WALKS ACROSS A CLUTTERED SPACE TO A WORKBENCH, GRABS A COUPLE OF 'STUBBY' HOLDERS, THEN WALKS TO A SMALL FRIDGE AND REACHES INSIDE FOR TWO STUBBY'S.
WE SEE A HAND REACH FORWARD FROM THE CAMERA'S POV TO ACCEPT THE OFFERED BEER.
THE MAN:
"Cheers..."
HE TAKES A SWIG, AND THE CAMERA'S POV TILTS UP AS IF [THE MATE] IS TAKING A SWIG TOO.
THE MAN:

"You remember the night it happened,...you know, the "conception"?"
THE CAMERA MOVES SIDE-TO-SIDE AS IF SHAKING THE HEAD.
THE MAN:

"What!, no?!...Jeez, I remember mine, huh..."
THE MAN PUFFS HIMSELF UP, SQUARES HIS SHOULDERS...
THE MAN:

"...Oh yeah, that was one hell 'v a night. Must'a been destined-to-be I reckon.
Let me tell ya..."
FADE TO BLACK

Below are some shots from the December Boys movie shoot. I worked full time on this during Nov.& Dec. 2005, on Kangaroo Isl & in Adelaide.

The weekend...

Today I went to the cable walkway bridge at St Peters with the intention of photographing it (location-spotting) for Lisa's film, "Indy". I got there, and it hailed, and hailed...then pissed down.
I shall attempt Take#2 tomorrow, along with going to the Zoo and photographing the snake-pit (for the same reason).

Late yesterday I recieved a phone call from Dan ***********, [who is encouraging me to write a feature film script based on my MAPS ADV project: see earlier post]. He is in Sydney drumming-up financial support for our up-coming project, and appears to be having some success. (Yay!!! Aussie-aussie-aussie!-oi-oi-oi!!!).
Very much, "watch-this-space".

As for my MAPS project, I'm still in two minds about it, maybe because the subject matter is a little too close to-home, so to speak. And that this pregnancy this time round is proving to be a huge head-fuck in comparison to the previous two.
But, I'm soldiering on.
It's just that I am realising that I can't be a one-man-show. I had my fingers burn't last year on a couple of projects because I depended on a some people to do their job,(...and that I myself wasn't brutal enough with said people when I realised these facts). The fall-out of this is that I've tried to do this project pretty much solo...hmm, too-much...too-much.

So, what do I do?...hmm, I've another 24hrs to decide.

I've also decided to post some pictures of mine from the "December Boys" feature movie shoot I was on throughout November/December...enjoy.

Begining of a story I'm writing at the moment...

Michael John Kildare

Introduction
Beginnings

Play
The young boy laughed, the fire danced.
Giggling again as a flame streamed in a swirling ribbon around then over the top of the large campfire. With a cheerful look of subtle concentration, three flaming stars of impossible fire appeared and frolicked around the fires edge, looking so much like fairies and elves dancing upon a red lily leaf.
These bright jumping flares of fire were somewhat noisy as they sucked progressively more oxygen to perform and survive.
The boy’s ice-chip-blue eyes were following a figure-of-eight of whistling flame-lights. The lad laughed some more, rocking-back on the dew-coated grass upon which he sat.
He poked the coals before him creating a shower of sparks.
They swirled over to the still-dancing but dimmer three fairy fire-lights to form a glowing snake-like shaft which then swirled and writhed around. This sparkling snake of stretched flame then suddenly came to life as the boy exerted more control and focus. The boy’s eyes glowed with a magical light. Each passing moment was loaded with an ever-growing understanding of his ability to create with control.
*
Earlier that evening when his Father and he were cooking the catfish caught that day, young Connor received a rude wake-up call to his blossoming abilities.
While bringing a carton of eggs and some milk from the back of their four-wheel drive, Connor tripped and stumbled over the large Redgum buttress his father parked their vehicle next-to.
His mind screaming the fact that these were the only eggs and all the milk they had. He yelled,
“NO!”,
... and he stopped falling.

He didn’t stop as if he hit the ground.
Connor didn’t stop by sticking a steadying leg out with lightening-quick athletics.
No.
He just stopped in mid-fall, at about forty-five degrees.

Before thinking about what had just happened, Connor willed himself back.
‘UP!’. He stood.
In real time, this all happened in two blinks of an eye.
For nine year old Connor Pace, it was the deciding moment of his life, and “That moment” of realization and self-discovery struck him full force.
‘There is magic in my mind!!’.
Connor’s first coherent thought on this.

After, when Connor finally came back to the campsite, his father asked if he had seen a snake or spider, (Connor’s phobia of spider’s was family legend). His son’s pallor was a mix of fright-wrought white and scared-witless grey.
The boy only nodded.
“You sure your Ok?!, ‘cause-ya’ really look like shit son!”

The paternal alarm bell was tolling for his son. Connor’s Father had never seen that expression nor colour on the boy before. It was this expression that triggered the man’s concern, his boy looked like he’d seen his maker.
Connor replied with faked exasperation.
“Yeah Dad, I said I’m fine!!”

For some unknown deep reason, Connor didn’t want to tell his Father what had just happened to him. Well, at least not yet. His Father had been brought up and taught that “those” things, like moving objects with your mind, happened only in the movies.
This…, well, this was real life, a fact Connor was acutely aware on a deep subconscious level.

The two ate dinner in virtual silence, Connor deep in thought and his Father subtly watching him, wondering with concern.
After they’d had their feed, both set about cleaning and preparing for the next day’s fishing. (Connor’s appetite didn’t seem affected, his father noted, somewhat reassured. The lad had two whole catfish all to himself)
“Ya tied those lures off ‘right Connor?, fish aren’t gunna bite a bare hook!, ‘n that small rod o’ yours ‘s got sand in the reel. Gunna hav’ta clean it y’know ”
Said his Father, watching Connor closely
Connor just nodded and began to do what was suggested.
No bite.
His Father’s frown returned. There hadn’t even been a, “aww, can I check the yabby-nets instead Dad?”, or, “can I check the lines ‘n snares instead, Dad?”.
No.
There’d been none of that.
Not his son at all.
What was up?

Later when both set about readying for bed Connor’s Father felt somewhat more relaxed again as he started to assume his son’s strange attitude was more related to a long day on the river than anything else.

“So waddya reckon son ... big day tomorrow, eh? Gunna’ get ‘Big Fred’ n’ then blitz the “Biggest Carp Contest” over at Murray Bridge, or what!?”

Connor smiled at that, which in-turn made his Father grin.
The Fishing competition had been going now every year for four years running, half of Connor’s life. It was his dream to win ever since his Dad got him a rod for his sixth-birthday.
Connor nodded a grin.
“Yeah, maybe”
His Father chuckled and yawned
“Well my boy, I reckon its time to hit the sack. If’n we’re goin’ after Big Fred it’s gonna make it a whopper ‘ove a day, that’s for sure!”
Connor smiled and nodded, and Father and son retired to their tent.
*
It was some hours later when Connor’s father woke to his son’s laughter. Immediately noting Connor was not in the sleeping-bag next to him, he reached for the door-flap and looked out.
He saw his son playing with the fire.
Playing…with fire.
He watched as the small molten balls of fire rose from the fire and, with direction from Connor’s hands, performed an intricate swirling dance around and about his laughing son. Watching in silence, the Father’s mind began to recoil and contract with fear, shock and horror.

And so passed the last night of normality for the Pace family.
***

Back in the saddle...

Updating things as they stand today,
hmm...before the semester break my script "Let me tell you about it" was approved and locked-off, and during the break, an interesting development occured in relation to this.
On a personal note and in direct relation to my student film, a man who I've become friends with as of late, Daniel ********** (a Flinders Uni Film/Acting graduate) read the afore mentioned script and promptly loved the concept. I have been subsequently asked to re-write the story and adapt it to a Feature Film format of approx. 110>120min in length.
Daniel wishes to produce [the movie] and is able to get significant funding (for Adelaide!).
(Daniel is an experienced Actor and Producer, and has produced his own film about an adult bed-wetter, which has been entered in a couple of film festivals interstate).

In return, I am casting Daniel in the lead role of my film.
Other actors are minor rolls, (Doctor-[Gordon Santo], the pregnant wife-[?], and the salesman-[Adam Lemey]

Other news in relation to my student film: fellow student Ben ********** has been kind enough to allow shooting within his family's household shed, for which over the break I've sourced the required prop's needed.
All the rest of the shoot will be here at Hamilton within the Drama Room (bedroom scene/lounge scene?), and an office (Doctor's surgery).

I've not been confidant of this short film up until now, and [I've] been inclined to dump the idea, but...fellow students have been very encouraging, as has Daniel, so it's all green-lit and a-gogo. Aiding this newfound attitude is the fact that I'm keeping production (ie: locations, actors) as simple as possible, which helps to concentrate on the substance of the story and script.
This also means that the Actor's performance's will be critical, but of that too I'am confidant.

At this moment I'm now concentrating on final paperwork, such as Schedule, Shot-list, Storyboard (I'll do in Flash8 pro).
Actual filming will begin on the 29thMay and go through to the Thurs.1stJune.

By the end of this week the "Let me tell you about it" short film script will be posted here, so watch out for it.

Bye for now...

Intro...

My name is Michael Kildare. I am a MAPS Advanced Student, 2006, and have created this blog to map the course of my year. I'm making a short film about the effect of pregnancy upon the male half of the creative team.

"A bloke's film."