thought every story idea I ever had was totally lame at first. But they come alive when you film them. So far this is good because it’ll be simple to film if you’re going to confine the action to this guy in a bed, with people coming in to see him. But it runs the risk of being boring that way, and the whole burden is on the dialogue. Unless you plan to show the backstory through flashbacks.”
“Hmm. Flashbacks would be more interesting. I also have this idea for, like, a dream sequence or fantasy sequence where a mythical figure or creature or something comes and tells him to stop fucking up his life.”
“Cool. Archetypes and all that good stuff. So, have you written this up?”
“Well, no. Not fully.” Or at all, but jeez, I just decided to do it.
“Okay. Start writing your screenplay, and then let’s get together again and begin to visualize how this is going to look on film. I’ve got a good screenwriting guide I can e-mail you.”
“That’d be great. Thanks for helping me out on this.”
“No problem. How are your classes looking for this year?”
“Good. I’m pretty psyched about the program I’ve come up with.”
“Program?”
“Um, yeah. I’m an Echols Scholar.”
“Are you?” Matthew leaned forward. “I’m impressed.”
Pete shrugged. “Well, maybe you should wait until I do something impressive first.”
“Stop being modest. Getting selected as an Echols Scholar is already impressive enough. So what are you doing with your major?”
“Well, I’ve decided I want to focus on nineteenth-century literature and explore how the themes of that period are expressed in modern art, music, and film. That way I get to take all the courses I’m interested in, since I’m pretty much a humanities whore.”
“A ‘humanities whore’?” Matthew laughed. “I like that! So am I. Do you have a working thesis yet?”
“No, Dr. Burton is my advisor, and we’re going to get that fleshed out this semester. I still have next year to write my thesis.”
“Well, let me know if you need any help with the modern art and modern film stuff. I’m pretty good on that.”
“Okay.” Pete took a sip of his drink to hide the goofy smile that had spread over his face at the prospect of Matthew helping him so much this year.
“So what classes are you taking this semester?” Matthew asked.
“Film Aesthetics with Professor R. Music and Discourse of the Twentieth Century with Millgrove. Nineteenth-Century Lit—the graduate-level one—with Cantwell. Thesis prep with Burton. Oh, and singing in University Singers.”
Matthew whistled. “That’s quite a load. You sure you’ll have time to make a movie too?”
“Sure. Piece of cake. As long as you and Parker don’t have parties every night. I still haven’t recovered from the last one.”
“Really?” Matthew’s face creased with concern as he looked Pete over, presumably for ailments.
“Yeah,” Pete said, deadpan. “That karaoke totally took it out of me.”
Matthew’s concern turned into laughter. “Jerk. You had me going for a minute.”
“How about you?” Pete asked, enjoying the crinkles around Matthew’s eyes when he smiled. “Cleo said you’re a graduate student?”
“Yes, I am. What can I say? I liked this place so much I couldn’t tear myself away.”
“That’s good,” Pete said without thinking.
“It is?”
“Yeah, because if you’d left after fourth year, I never would have met you.” He realized belatedly how suggestive that sounded, and felt himself blush.
Matthew looked pleased, though, and the color rose in his cheeks as he said, “You have a point there, Mr. Morgan.” He took a sip of his Americano. “Anyway, I’m doing a doctorate in the history of art and architecture. It’s a very cool program, but I’ve got a huge interim thesis due this year because I’m at the halfway mark, which is where I get my master’s en route to my doctorate.”
“Sounds scary, man. Also,
“Hmm. Flashbacks would be more interesting. I also have this idea for, like, a dream sequence or fantasy sequence where a mythical figure or creature or something comes and tells him to stop fucking up his life.”
“Cool. Archetypes and all that good stuff. So, have you written this up?”
“Well, no. Not fully.” Or at all, but jeez, I just decided to do it.
“Okay. Start writing your screenplay, and then let’s get together again and begin to visualize how this is going to look on film. I’ve got a good screenwriting guide I can e-mail you.”
“That’d be great. Thanks for helping me out on this.”
“No problem. How are your classes looking for this year?”
“Good. I’m pretty psyched about the program I’ve come up with.”
“Program?”
“Um, yeah. I’m an Echols Scholar.”
“Are you?” Matthew leaned forward. “I’m impressed.”
Pete shrugged. “Well, maybe you should wait until I do something impressive first.”
“Stop being modest. Getting selected as an Echols Scholar is already impressive enough. So what are you doing with your major?”
“Well, I’ve decided I want to focus on nineteenth-century literature and explore how the themes of that period are expressed in modern art, music, and film. That way I get to take all the courses I’m interested in, since I’m pretty much a humanities whore.”
“A ‘humanities whore’?” Matthew laughed. “I like that! So am I. Do you have a working thesis yet?”
“No, Dr. Burton is my advisor, and we’re going to get that fleshed out this semester. I still have next year to write my thesis.”
“Well, let me know if you need any help with the modern art and modern film stuff. I’m pretty good on that.”
“Okay.” Pete took a sip of his drink to hide the goofy smile that had spread over his face at the prospect of Matthew helping him so much this year.
“So what classes are you taking this semester?” Matthew asked.
“Film Aesthetics with Professor R. Music and Discourse of the Twentieth Century with Millgrove. Nineteenth-Century Lit—the graduate-level one—with Cantwell. Thesis prep with Burton. Oh, and singing in University Singers.”
Matthew whistled. “That’s quite a load. You sure you’ll have time to make a movie too?”
“Sure. Piece of cake. As long as you and Parker don’t have parties every night. I still haven’t recovered from the last one.”
“Really?” Matthew’s face creased with concern as he looked Pete over, presumably for ailments.
“Yeah,” Pete said, deadpan. “That karaoke totally took it out of me.”
Matthew’s concern turned into laughter. “Jerk. You had me going for a minute.”
“How about you?” Pete asked, enjoying the crinkles around Matthew’s eyes when he smiled. “Cleo said you’re a graduate student?”
“Yes, I am. What can I say? I liked this place so much I couldn’t tear myself away.”
“That’s good,” Pete said without thinking.
“It is?”
“Yeah, because if you’d left after fourth year, I never would have met you.” He realized belatedly how suggestive that sounded, and felt himself blush.
Matthew looked pleased, though, and the color rose in his cheeks as he said, “You have a point there, Mr. Morgan.” He took a sip of his Americano. “Anyway, I’m doing a doctorate in the history of art and architecture. It’s a very cool program, but I’ve got a huge interim thesis due this year because I’m at the halfway mark, which is where I get my master’s en route to my doctorate.”
“Sounds scary, man. Also,
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