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    The Scriptwriter
    The Scriptwriter
    The Scriptwriter
    Ebook83 pages1 hour

    The Scriptwriter

    By Ron Aberdeen

    ()

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    About this ebook

    An unsuccessful scriptwriter throws his computer out and replaces it with an old Underwood typewriter, previously used to write “Psycho”.

    With his typewriter the characters from his dark twisted mind come to life with devastating consequences.

    WARNING - Excessive swearing, some degrading sex and some mindless violence. Well, it is a story about a writer and what can happen if you are rejected.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherRon Aberdeen
    Release dateSep 24, 2012
    ISBN9781301880065
    The Scriptwriter
    Author

    Ron Aberdeen

    Before I started writing in 2005 at the age of 60, I was the CEO for an International manufacturing company and prior to that a marketing executive for the Sony Corporation. I bring my commercial experience and world travels together with my business and marketing skills to create fast moving, exciting and entertaining stories for film. In my few years as a writer I have been commissioned by directors David DeCoteau, and emerging director Simon Foster and producers Bill Dever, Françoise Gouliardon and André Paquette and hired as a story editor for prize-winning director Andy Lauer. Recently I completed a screenplay commissioned for a prestigious Anglo/Chinese project and was commissioned to write a new TV series based on the short stories of the renowned horror author, Ramsay Campbell. Currently I have two screenplays going into production and two others that have won awards.

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      Book preview

      The Scriptwriter - Ron Aberdeen

      Front cover image from Dreamstime.com

      Smashwords Edition of The Scriptwriter.

      This eBook is licensed for the downloader’s enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or transferred to another person. If you would like to share this eBook with another person please download another copy for that person. If you are reading this eBook and did not download it or it was not downloaded for you, then please visit the authors website

      http://www.ronaberdeen.com

      Please download your own copy.

      Thank you for respecting the author’s hard work.

      Copyright © Ron Aberdeen 2012

      ISBN: 9781301880065

      CHAPTER 1

      The writer’s den in a Los Angeles apartment reflected its owner perfectly. A desktop littered with empty coffee mugs, an almost empty bottle of whisky, next to a glass half full with a dead fly floating in it and an empty cigarette packet, besides an overfull ashtray.

      All left randomly in front of a computer screen with a ‘Text Screen Saver’ that constantly displayed the words, ‘Fuck Off’, as the letters swirled around the screen, endlessly.

      A spacious dark room with red brick walls and stained wood flooring. Against one wall an old kitchen table with piles of old screenplays on the top, against another wall another, smaller table with stacks of typed sheets of paper, all unbound.

      A window, boarded up from the inside, allowed streaks of daylight to filter through the gaps in the boarding, just illuminating an old dark brown leather armchair, close to the window with Alistair Andersen, a scriptwriter, sat in it.

      In his mid forties, dressed in his usual baggy trousers and floppy shirt, he held a cigarette in his right hand with a line of ash about to drop. In his left hand he held a letter, as he stared at the ceiling, in a daze.

      Suddenly the ash fell and changed into another gray stain that almost disappeared along with the numerous previous ones already adding to the state of the trousers, as Alistair reacted with his usual expletive, Fuck!

      Alistair got up slowly and stubbed the cigarette out in the overflowing ashtray before grabbing the empty cigarette packet and seeing there were no more cigarettes in the pack.

      He let the letter drop to the floor and headed for the dark panelled door on the opposite side of the room as he repeated his expletive, Fuck! several times until he opened the door.

      It was the gateway to another world; a well furnished, up-market, well lit, lounge. Alistair glanced despondently at the two women; Katia Andersen and Melissa Fishbourne, who were sat on a long white luxurious leather sofa, drinking coffee.

      Alistair’s wife Katia broke the ice as she asked, Bad news? He responded in his normal way, They’ve got no fucking imagination. It’s always the fucking same.

      Melissa only had the best of intentions when she suggested, You should try writing something different, Ali, like a horror. Katia added to the fire with, Mel’s right, low budget horror movies are all the rage. Look at that ‘Blair Witch’ thing. Thirty thousand to make and it grossed over two hundred million.

      For a moment Alistair stood in silence as the wheels of his convoluted brain ground into action, Yeah, maybe. But I like writing thrillers. Was his reply after thirty seconds of thought.

      Melissa’s helpfulness wasn’t finished as she added; A horror can be a thriller, when you think of something like Psycho. A small glimmer of an afterthought registered as Alistair contributed, Ummm, maybe. Anyway I’m out of smokes. I won’t be long.

      Alistair made his way to the door as Katia complicated his journey with a request, If you pass the deli, get me some English ham, please. I want to do a salad this evening.

      ***

      Four minutes later Alistair stepped out of the elevator and bumped into his seventy-year old neighbour, Mary Greson. Her arms full of shopping, until one of the bags split open and its contents of fruit hit the floor. Mary looked over her spectacles into Alistair’s eyes, with disgust as she commented, God! Men, you’re so clumsy.

      Alistair stepped out of the way and walked on as he gave her his thoughts, Me! You need new fucking glasses, lady.

      The hall porter rushed towards the woman and helped her pick up her groceries. They both looked at Alistair as he walked out of the front door of the apartment block.

      Sorry for that, Mrs. Greson. He’s so rude. Fussed the porter. I don’t know why these youngsters are so aggressive? Mary added.

      His wife is so nice. I don’t know how she puts up with him? Contributed the porter. Within seconds the fruit was back in the remains of the bag, and the porter held the elevator door for the woman to walk in. She passed him a couple of dollars. He refused with a smile. My pleasure.

      CHAPTER 2

      In a fairly busy market area of downtown LA, people milled about as Alistair drifted between them, opening a packet of cigarettes. He let the cellophane wrapper hit the floor as he stopped outside a run down cinema and

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