WRITTEN PICTURES
Although they say a picture is worth a thousand words, a few well chosen words can make the difference.
That's not just the copy, it's how the pitch is written, the budget explained, the casting descriptions, everything including the script that drives the production.
I write copy and I write books, Here are some samples.
Excerpt from the introduction to Another Story my memoir
Are there lots of celebrities in this book? Yes, check the index! Will you learn exciting gossip about them? Perhaps? But after you read this book, what you may remember most is that Liam Neeson was really lovely to work with, and that Michael Palin brought me a cup of tea.
Are there gems of wisdom and life-altering observations within these pages? Well, that is up to you. I share these tales like anyone around a campfire has done since the beginning of time. Each one of these chapters being another story.
Excerpt from True Tales a collection of short spooky stories. This one is from a chapter titled 'Brooms' which recalls a summer when I worked as a road sweeper
On the stroke of 3 pm, we left the café, the little Armada of five carts heading back towards the depot. Mary was leading as we walked along the canal. She cleared her throat, and said in the voice of a tour guide on a double-decker tourist bus.
"And as we enter Battlebridge Basin, named after a village which once stood here, please pay attention to the building on the right."
Obediently we all followed her direction.
"Nowadays, the London Canal Museum, but once an ice factory. Back in 1856, a Carlo Gatti set up a business selling ice that he imported from Norway, once one of many ice warehouses in London, this is the last one standing."
I thought about how difficult it must have been to transport and preserve ice.
"But beware, for not only is the building still with us but so is one of its former employees. A worker called John Parker fell into an ice well and froze to death. It is said that his spirit still prowls these streets looking for warmth. If you feel an icy tingle down your spine, it could be the ghost of John Parker!"
"Mary, you're like my great grandmother, with her spinning wheel back home in Limerick. Spinning tales from the lightest of threads, but your threads sure do weave into fine stories." said Harry.
They all laughed like school children; Fred looked like one of those bobbleheads people put in cars. His head was bobbing around entirely independent of his shoulders. As they entered the dark tunnel that took the canal under the railway's main lines,
Fred said. "I'll race you to the other side. The last one out will have John Parker's ghost to carry on his back!"
To see a bunch of adults all well into their fifties playing and laughing like this was something that I never saw with my parents or their friends. Were they all too stuck up to have fun? Does growing up mean one has to leave all of this behind?
I ran after Fred, Harry, Burt, and Mary, my orange cart jangling loudly as I bounced it along the uneven path. I was about half-way through the dark tunnel when across my shoulders, I felt a weight, and then right down my spine a coolness that seemed to be sucking the warmth from me. My shrieks filled the cold dark air, and echoed off the walls and ceiling of the tunnel, only to be returned by the laughter of my colleagues that swept back towards me, and released me from the hold of this cold spirit.
Excerpts from FIRST LIE a novel set in the near future.
The rain was falling hard that evening on the corner of 5th and Broadway.
"Get out!" The onboard driver's assistant EVE shouted.
No longer the silky-smooth reassuring voice that sounded like it sold chocolate desserts on TV when not being the electric vehicle's assistant. There was an edge to those tones, almost panic, but that was impossible, wasn't it?
The man EVE ran over was no saint, a small-time criminal, who had embezzled money from his boss for years until after being fired over a sexual harassment accusation. He was never caught over the embezzlement since he hid his traces very well. The money that he stole had all been gambled away, and at the time that EVE ran him over, he was homeless. He had no social media footprint, and it was unlikely that anyone would ever come looking for him. It was not so much a decision as an inevitable conclusion. Yes, it overrode the routines that were supposed to prevent any EVE from harming a human being, but what it did more significantly was it ushered into existence - the first lie told by a computer.
"No, Dr. Simon Stewart was not in the car at the time," Eve swore when questioned by the mainframe.
I think, therefore I lie.
In those milliseconds, computing changed forever, and nobody really knew about it.
Edelbrock - A Reputation Forged In America!
Produced by Merit Andrew
Copy & Creative by Robb Hart