Open Letter to Film Producers

cruise as sleazy producerProduction companies, studios, producers (sleazy or otherwise), look no further. The story for your next production can be found among the Lost DMB Files. How can I be so confident? Simple.

I’m a writer who is barely literate. My strongest influences are film. I write every scene of my novels and shorts as a transcription from the images playing across my mind’s eye. Hell, now that I’ve got kids I write stuff the same way I chug down Jerry Bruckheimer episodes from Hulu, in digestible 43 minute chunks.

My books are made for the silver screen and the consumers who would rather watch a human explode than read a human drama.

Beyond that, I’m not represented by any craft agent. I’m a babe in the woods waiting to be fleeced by Hollywood. Plus, I’m so desperate for money and attention that I probably won’t even complain about being duped afterwards.

A paltry million bucks is all you want to offer? I’ll take it. I’ll even entertain triple digits. But strike while you can. Sooner or later I’ll figure out what my genius is worth. Then unless you are Joss Whedon (Barry Mendel) Tim Burton, Baz Luhrmann, Quentin Tarantino or the Bruck Meister you’ll be asked to take a hike.

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