Thanks for the submission. I think the author really nailed the genre and the atmosphere. I could feel it. The rain, the VO, the compromised hero... all great stuff. Leah was great too. Flawed, funny, smart. Good writing. It's a little messy. It feels overstuffed with plot: too many characters, too many chase sequences... but all that is editing.
​
We've all been there, right? The so-called "praise sandwich." A little praise. A little criticism. Then a little more praise to help the medicine go down.
Depending on where you are in your writing career, your reaction to that sandwich may determine just how far you're going to get in the business.
For the record, the "I'll do anything you say" approach can be just as damaging as telling the note giver they're as full of crap as the sandwich they just served you.
So where's the happy medium? Well, that's where maturity finally enters the conversation.
It depends on how close you are to the material. It depends on the quality of the note. Most importantly, it depends on how badly you want your story to work in what is, and always will be, a collaborative medium.
So here are a few thoughts on dealing with notes.
First, understand who's giving them.
What is their agenda? Are they frustrated writers secretly trying to sabotage your masterpiece? Probably not.
For the most part, story analysts, readers, producers, and development executives want their companies to succeed. They are not going to pass on something with genuine commercial potential simply because they're having a bad day.
Most notes are given in good faith. That doesn't mean they're always right. But it does mean they're usually worth considering.
Second, give yourself some time.
If your immediate reaction is anger, congratulations. You're a writer. We've all done it.
The problem is that when you're too close to your material, every note feels personal. It isn't. Take a breath. Sleep on it. Give yourself enough distance to evaluate the note instead of reacting to it. You may discover that the thing you hated hearing was exactly what you needed to hear.
Or not.
But at least you'll know the difference.
Third, know your story.
This is the big one. Addressing notes is not about adding scenes or cutting pages. It isn't about making random changes because somebody suggested them. It's about strengthening the story itself.
Every scene should lead logically to the next. Every character should have a purpose. Every beat should move the narrative forward. If you're an outliner, go back to the outline. If you're not an outliner, pretend you are for an afternoon. Look at the structure. Follow the chain of cause and effect. Make sure every scene earns the right to exist.
Most note problems are story problems wearing different clothes.
And finally...Congratulate yourself. Seriously. Most writers never get notes because most writers never get read. You did. Someone took the time to read your work, think about it, and respond to it. That's not failure. That's progress.
You are close enough for horseshoes and hand grenades.
Who knows? If you do the work properly and conduct yourself professionally, someday you may see your work up on the screen.
Now screw off. I have things to do.

Memorial Day Weekend. Three full days of BBQs, swimming parties, and embarrassing DWIs. I say all this because I just realized it’s Friday and I have absolutely nothing for Tuesday. Which means I am now forced to find something that will both be worthy of your attention while somehow benefiting my social media algorithm.
Sounds easy. It. really ain’t.
That good news I’ve been hinting at is finally here. The bad news is, I still really can’t talk about it. Well… maybe I can tell you this much.
Shish.
I’m currently working with an international producer with a proven record on my story’s genre. It’s  a project that I can’t name yet as it weaves its way through the various story departments of  your favorite streaming services. And while he handles the producer part, I sit back and do what you all expect me to do. Wait? No, that isn’t right. Oh, yeah…
Write.
And that is exactly what I’ve been doing. The really exciting part is that this new project happens to involve a subject I know very well and takes place in one of my favorite cities in the world. Here’s your hint:
Midwest. Slaughterhouses.
And with that, you are on your own.
And that’s not all.
Pleased to report that after finally finding a plot and villain worthy of the Son of Ravage, I am now proceeding full steam ahead and will return to it full time very shortly. Right now, the manuscript is well over 20,000 words and I am feeling very confident that fans will see Sequel of Ravage sometime this fall. So get ready to welcome Barry, Doc, Brain, Face, and Beast back into the world of pulp fiction. Believe me, they have missed you just as much as you’ve missed them.

For this week, I decided to dig into the old web comment section and address some of the many incredible comments that have popped up over the last few weeks. Please understand, this is only a small sampling and in no way reflects upon the intelligence of those who read my blog or visit my website.
First up, from someone calling himself “Flux 2.”
Flux 2 said:
I noticed the page's quirky script injection for the video iframe. Looks like you’re tinkering with how the media loads. That 282px video height from the Weebly-generated script gives me a retro-site vibe, which I somehow find charming.
Dear Flux,
Thank you for taking the time to visit the site and leave a comment.
First off, huh?
But I am glad you find the retro-site vibe charming. To be honest, that is kind of my whole deal. I have been told by friends that I am absolutely loaded with retro-site vibe.
Best,
J.P.

BRANDON JAILAL said:
MS HYSENI T L KENNEDY SECONDARY SCHOOL DISTRICT PROGRAM MY MOM NAME IS MAHALIA JAILAL WILL YOU BE HER NEW GIRLFRIEND
Dear Brandon,
Obviously, you are very excited by my site as you chose to write your comment entirely in CAPS. That level of enthusiasm is rarely seen outside of professional wrestling promos and certain family Thanksgiving dinners.
As for becoming your mother Mahalia Jailal’s new girlfriend, I appreciate the offer, but I am still transitioning into this exciting new phase of my life. Please be patient. I should be fully operational any week now.
Always appreciate a kind word,
J.P.

Then we have this message from “dijital pazarla”:
Bozygo, dijitalde fark yaratmayı hedefleyen bir İstanbul sosyal medya ajansıdır. Sosyal medya yönetimi, kreatif içerik üretimi, Meta & Google reklam yönetimi, marka stratejisi ve dijital pazarlama çözümleriyle markaları sadece görünür kılmaz; etkileşim, güven ve büyüme sağlar. Bozygo’da yaratıcılık stratejiyle buluşur, sonuçlar konuşur.
Dear Sevgili Dijita,
Nazik sözleriniz ve ziyaretiniz için teşekkür ederim. Bana bir bot göndermek için zaman ayırmanızı her zaman takdir ederim. Bildiğiniz gibi, çoğu insanın bot etkileşimleri hakkındaki düşüncelerinin aksine, ben bu konuda son derece olumlu düşünüyorum.
Brandon’ın annesinin erkek arkadaşı olmakla meşgul olmadığım zamanlarda, botlarla vakit geçiriyorum. En yakın arkadaşlarımdan bazıları bottur.
En içten dileklerimle,
J.P.
Well, there you have it. Just a small glimpse into the literally thousands of visits my website receives weekly. And as I can’t get through all of them, please know this, every few months I will actually read them.
So,  please keep  those cards, letters and comment forms coming.

I once heard tell of a certain actor who claimed he wrote a complete screenplay in three days.Now, I don’t want to disparage the actor, but the only thing that could realistically be written in three days is Party at Kitty and Stud’s, aka The Italian Stallion.Anyway, Sly said it, damn it, I gave it away.
According to legend, he wrote the screenplay for Rocky in three days. Let me break this down while we do the math. I don’t care how many Academy Awards Rocky won, the script eventually projected onto the screen was not the exact same word-for-word draft written in those three days. I’m willing to bet on it. Any takers? I thought not.
I once had to do a page-one rewrite on a horror script called Axe to Grind and was expected to turn it around in a week. After I submitted it, I was given another week for revisions, and production started a week later. Even then, the script kept changing. The director changed things. The actors changed things. Even the original writer changed things. I did get to sit in the director’s chair, though. Thanks, Matt.
Three days might be enough time for an outline. Maybe even a rough first draft if the caffeine is strong and personal hygiene becomes optional. But it is hardly enough time to turn in something truly camera-ready.
Now, I do have one caveat to all this. If you happen to be a major movie star with multiple Oscars, people will absolutely let you turn something in and say it’s camera-ready.
Here endeth this week’s lesson.
BTW, have you watched The Life of Chuck yet? I hate to keep harping on this, but you really are missing out. And, I have it on good authority that the finished screenplay did not take three days.

It’s been a while since I’ve even thought about posting a review. There are a few reasons for that. The most troubling is that there simply haven’t been enough films lately worth talking about. The Life of Chuck is not one of them.
I went in with no real expectations. I knew it was based on a story by Stephen King, and that was about it. Let me be clear. This is one of the best films of 2025. Any year, for that matter.
It’s rare that a small film carries such emotional weight. Rare that it trusts its audience this much. Rarer still that it delivers in such a quiet, mesmerizing way. Not since Bill Forsyth’s Local Hero have I been moved by a story like this.
This is a small film, but not a small story. In fact, it is a story as big as the universe itself.
Told in three chapters, and in reverse order, even the head-scratching Chapter Three is hypnotic in its themes.
I can’t say too much without spoiling it, but this is a true work of heart.
Written and directed with a steady hand by Mike Flanagan, this is the kind of film that answers the question: why can’t we make movies like this anymore?
More importantly, it reminds us why we should keep trying.
See this movie. Now!

Something strange has happened since I put my ears in. I’m listening more. Not just hearing. Listening. And believe me, there’s a difference.
Before, I caught pieces. Now I listen for the whole thing. The rhythm of it. The hesitation before someone answers. The way a sentence, even the topic, suddenly changes direction halfway through. The things people almost say, then don’t.
Writers have always been eavesdroppers. It’s part of the job whether we admit it or not.
Hemingway sat in cafés and bars, listening. Not for plot, not for big dramatic moments, just for how people actually spoke. Raymond Carver built entire stories out of the way ordinary people circle around what they really mean. David Mamet made a career out of capturing the music of conversation. The interruptions. The overlaps. The power plays.
Nobody pulls this out of the ozone. You have to listen. You file it away. And later, when you need it, it shows up.
I used to think dialogue was something you painfully shaped on the page. Now I’m starting to think it’s something you recognize.
While in Santa Barbara, I was sitting a few tables away from a couple having what, at first, sounded like a perfectly normal conversation.
“I just think it’s interesting that you suddenly like Old Fashioneds.”
“I’ve always liked Old Fashioneds.”
“No, you’ve never ordered them before.”
“I enjoy them.”
“What’s in one?”
“Bourbon.”
“What else?”
There was a pause. Not a big one. Just enough. He didn’t answer right away. Took a sip of his drink. Looked out toward State Street like the answer might be out there somewhere.
“They sound sophisticated,” he said.
And there it was. Not about the Old Fashioned. Not even close.
That space is where the story lives.
I don’t think I would have caught all of that a few weeks ago. Or maybe I would have, but I would have missed the important part.
So now I sit a little longer. I pay a little more attention. Not in a creepy way. Just enough to catch the edges of things. Turns out, the world is talking all the time.
You just have to have your ears in.

"That's all that I am at liberty to say." Biff

I lost another friend this year to cancer.
His name was Robert. He was a friend, a fellow actor, my director, a mentor, a teacher—and a damn fine kite flyer.
I first met Bob when we did Godspell in 1974. He played John the Baptist. I played Jesus. Which, in hindsight, feels like the beginning of a joke someone never quite finished.
Later, when I was doing summer stock with the Portland State Players in 1979, Bob showed up at the beach with two kites and a case of beer. What followed was an afternoon of wind, laughter, and—eventually—a shared case of heat stroke. After that, we went our separate ways, and I don’t think I ever saw him again.
But in the last few years, we reconnected over social media. Turns out, politically, we hadn’t changed all that much. I always looked forward to his take on whatever madness was unfolding.
I’d like to think he’s somewhere now where the wind is just right. Not sure about the beer—but I’m pretty confident they’ve got kites.
Rest in peace, Robert Allen.
Okay… now if I can just manage to dry my eyes.

God, I wish I could tell you what’s going on right now. As much as I want to, I just can’t. Nothing legally binding is stopping me from spilling the news—but still, discretion being the better part of valor, I simply can’t. For my sake, for your sake, for the good of the entire industry—no, the country—I cannot, in good conscience, tell you what’s happening.
Okay… you talked me into it.

I have new hearing aids.
Now, before you get too excited, let me frame it properly. I couldn’t hear anything. So I got my ears tested, and now I can hear like Superman. Really—I can hear the pitter-patter of children’s feet from a block away.
Seriously. Pretty amazing, huh? I thought you’d be impressed.
And just for the record, ladies love the quiet sophistication of a man wearing industrial-strength hearing aids. As Walter Brennan used to say on The Guns of Will Sonnett, “No brag, just fact.”
​
I also wear glasses, so every time I adjust them, it sounds like I’m rummaging through an empty paper bag.
But still… the ladies—they love paper sacks.
So that’s the news from where I sit. Not much—but at least I can hear myself think.

​Somebody recently forwarded me a review of one of my earlier books. It was one of the first times I was able to read a definite “meh” review and not feel my blood pressure rising to the point of cardiac failure.
My reaction was completely dispassionate—and that got me wondering why.
So let’s examine this, shall we?
First, if you’re interested, the book is Son of Ravage—a pulp pastiche that is part satire, part travelogue, and all me. The idea had been floating around in my head since college and finally made it onto the page. It was released less than ten years ago, sold a few copies, garnered a few positive reviews, and that, as they say, was that.
Now, on the reviewer’s side: a man I have never met. From what I can tell, he’s a true fan of the genre. I believe his screen name even includes the word “fan.” He clearly read the book, as he described it in detail. He even went so far as to say he would read a sequel if one were ever written.
The humor and satire simply weren’t for him.
Hey, I get it.
So what if he got a few of the details wrong? He called a Weight Watchers meeting an AA meeting—but hey, he still obviously meant what he said.
Now for the payoff.
What did I write in response in the comment section?
I simply replied: “Thank you. Next time I will try harder.”
Brief, probably. Truthful definitely. And hopefully, I responded in kind. As with him, there was no anger on my part—because there was none on his.
Maybe he’s seen the comment. Maybe he hasn’t. I think he meant what he said. And so did I.
Hey—and for the record… I really am trying harder.