Showing posts with label Amazon Kindle. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Amazon Kindle. Show all posts

Wednesday, March 12, 2014

Vanity, Thy Name is Cherney


I'm so vain...
I prob'ly think this blog is about me...

A brand new interview with the guy whose name is above the title of this here blog has been posted on the Awesome Gang website.Please go forth and check this out.

INTERVIEW W/SCOTT CHERNEY

Awesome Gang is a great little promotional site for authors. Their services range from free to inexpensive. Those of you with books you want to shill but have tight budgets will want to give them a look-see.

AWESOME GANG WEBSITE

I just found another interview from a  few years ago that I did with my friend Thomas Amo, author of FOREVER ME, AN APPLE FOR ZOE and the forthcoming horror anthology MIDNIGHT NEVER ENDS, this from Blogtalk Radio.

INTERVIEW W/THOMAS AMO ON BLOGTALK

After that, I had a lovely chat with the cutie pie known as Ashton the Book Blogger.

INTERVIEW W/ASHTON THE BOOK BLOGGER

I've also got a page on AuthorsDen where I have a couple of choice items including a short story and a long essay.

SCOTT CHERNEY ON AUTHORSDEN

I'm also on Goodreads where a chapter from all of my books are waiting for you.

SCOTT CHERNEY ON GOODREADS

Finally there's the matter of that website o' mine.

WRITTEN BY SCOTT CHERNEY-THE WEBSITE

And that's the name of that tune.

Wednesday, December 04, 2013

The Year of the Canyon Kid

For far too long, I've gone without publishing any new material-save this venue-and it's high time that I did. My last works were the South Africa true travel tale PLEASE HOLD THUMBS and some extra added attractions for the Special Edition of IN THE DARK. But since then?

Zippity-doo-dah, zippity-ay
My-oh-my, I've had nothing to say

It wasn't like I didn't try, fer garsh sakes. I attempted to kick-start a decades-old project with varying degrees of success, but I came to a screeching halt. I wasn't necessarily blocked as I was out-and-out constipated. I need a creative laxative. STAT!

I felt the need to mine the past for future gold. Thus, I dug into the manuscript vault (actually a Rubbermaid container) and snatched up some of my old work, namely, some old play scripts. The thought of a novelization had somehow entered my thought patterns.

Believe you me, I fully realize the stigma of this sort of cannibalization, but as long as I have my foot in my mouth anyway, I might as well make a meal out of it. Besides, it might help my inspirational digestion. I am, after all, full of natural fiber.
The Canyon Kid (Greg Pollard) serenades Darla Darling (Leslie Fielding)
After an aborted attempt at my Lone Ranger knock-off LEGEND OF THE ROGUE, I nearly gave up the entire notion and try a different tact. Instead, I latched onto a better script, my melodramatic magnum opus SONG OF THE LONE PRAIRIE or POEM ON THE RANGE.

I began by merely transposing dialogue and stage direction into prose. I tried to keep it as basic as possible, inspired by a glut of Elmore Leonard novels I had been digesting as of late. It actually began to take on a a life of its own which, off course, was the point of this exercise. Fleshing out the characters and situations began to flow like Ol' Man River. Tagging on a sweet lil' epilogue put on a smile on my face and I realized that relief was in sight.

The whole experience rejuvenated me. By returning to my roots, my right brain's pilot light has reignited. It has reminded how much I enjoy writing comedy. Whether the end result is funny or not  will have to depend on the individual reader since we're talking subjectivity here. (Or at least I'm talking about it. I can't hear you from here.) I can declare in all honesty that this whole experience has given me more joy since I wrote the original script back in the 1980s. Since this is a totally DIY project from beginning until end, I've been taking my sweet time editing and rewriting numerous versions. Each time through I find myself cracking myself up at the new material and even at some of the old. I just kill me sometimes. For someone with deeply embedded  insecurities, it's another mental wellness antidote that I apparently needed.

Where this leaves anybody else is,well, anybody's guess. It's not really my concern. I am pleased with the end result. All I can hope for is that readers will feel the same or get enough laughs to justify their time and, of course, money.

So allow me to introduce to you, the world, the first "new" Scott Cherney book of the 2010s:

THE SONG OF THE CANYON KID
A Western Comedy Romance
NOW ON SALE IN PAPERBACK
and on
AMAZON KINDLE
The story? I'm glad you asked.

When a guitar-strumming, straight-shooting singing cowboy known as The Canyon Kid returns to Dirt Clod, Missouri, he finds his town in ruins and under the tyrannical thumb of a crooked "hanging judge". To make matters worse, The Kid also learns that his childhood sweetheart is set to marry a known outlaw who is now the town sheriff. How is The Canyon Kid going to save the day, let alone croon a few tunes, with a noose around his neck?

Guess you'll have to find out for yourselves.
CHECK OUT A FREE EXCERPT AT
MY WEBSITE

To coincide with said book, the source play, SONG OF THE LONE PRAIRIE is set to be the Summer 2014 attraction at the Great American Melodrama & Vaudeville in Oceano, California. It too is renamed SONG OF THE CANYON KID, even though their brochure calls it SONGS (their error). It don't make me no never mind. This announcement came right out of the blue and I am completely over the moon they wanted my show. What beautiful timing. It is also the first time my play will be produced since its debut in 1987 at the Palace Showboat Dinner Theater at Pollardville, a version I also directed. (Yes, I am a proud hyphenate)

So even though the book debuts here in December, I hereby declare 2014 The Year of the Canyon Kid.

Happy trails to me.

At last.

Wednesday, April 24, 2013

Guest Blog: Thomas Amo on Forever ME


Here's something I never do: Turn my blog over to somebody else.  He's not just somebody either. He's my good friend, fellow author and all-around grand guy Thomas Amo. His latest book, Forever ME, is quite the departure for Tom, his first foray into Young Adult fiction. That's right. TA does YA.

Here's the rundown:

Forever Me
Hannah Richards isn't your typical 16 year-old at Wichita Falls High. Fashion, trends, cosmetics and style are unimportant to her. An avid reader, guitar player, and classic movie and television buff, Hannah marches to the beat of her own drum. Visible only to her father, the town sheriff, and her two best friends, Lauren and Haylee, Hannah lives a simple, un-pampered life as an "Eastie."

After coming to the aide of Taylor Monroe, a popular member of the "Stilettos" at school, and a series of misunderstandings with her friends, Hannah is forced to re-invent herself. She quickly gets caught up in a life much different than the one she knows, where status, glamour, makeup, appearance and acceptance become her masters. And what of the dark secret that haunts the streets of Wichita Falls?

Can Hannah survive the lies, deceit, jealousy, and rage that are now waiting for her around every corner? Will she succumb to the pressures of popularity? Or will she be crushed under the heels of the "Stilettos"?

~High school is hard enough just being yourself, let alone trying to be someone you're not~


 
Interview with the Author

1. Q: I understand Forever ME is inspired by true events. Tell us how that came about?

A: I was just about to leave the house one morning when I caught a segment on morning television about a group of teen girls at a Texas high school who had organized a group called, “Redefining Beautiful.” They were trying to encourage fellow female students to go one day a week without makeup. They were stressing that you don’t need makeup to be beautiful. I was so amazed by their bravery and confidence to go against type, especially in high school and at an age where girls feel the most awkward with themselves. A close friend of mine who is a film producer had been asking me if I had anything I was working on I could share with him. By time the segment was over, I had the basic plot in my head and before I left the house, I already knew the ending of the story. I phoned my producer friend and told him I had something, we met that afternoon and I pitched the idea to him as a film. He loved the concept and told me he was interested. Could I write the screenplay? I went to work right away. But about 50 pages in, I found these characters were so lifelike, I felt it needed to be a book, it could always be a film later. I called my friend back, said, I have to write this as a novel. With his blessing and two years later, Forever ME was published.

2. Q: How are teen girls responding to a book written by male?

A: I was concerned about that. Would they relate to it? Would it seem real to them? Or would it come across as a guy giving his version of what he think teen girls are like today? Well, to my pleasant surprise, teen girls are sending me emails, tweets, and telling me, they completely relate to the situations, they’ve said, “OMG, that is so me!” “I’m just like Hannah!” Or they know girls like Shelby and the Stilettos. Or jerk guys who treat them like property. I got plenty of praise from some parents even grandparents on Forever ME, but the real vindication comes from the teens who love it. I couldn’t ask for better than that! (Plus I have a 19 year old daughter, so I wasn’t totally in the dark.) But I did do my research.

3. Q: What did you learn about teen girls that you didn’t know?

A: A lot! I learned that some girls lose precious hours of sleep by getting up at sometimes between 3 and 4 a.m. to begin their daily regiment of getting ready for school to make themselves look “normal” or what they feel they must look like to their friends and fellow students. Girls are under tremendous pressure to always look a certain way, weigh a certain amount. Often it is self-imposed, even the prettiest girls feel insecure about their looks. Girls who are bullied often feel completely alone with no one to turn to. Even if schools have zero tolerance for bullying, there’s always an unspoken rule to not tell. Being bullied is embarrassing, especially when girls get publicly humiliated in school and other students stand by, watching or laughing. School can more often than not, feel like prison instead of an educational institution.

4. Q: Speaking of Bullying, there’s quite a lot of it in Forever ME. Were you attempting to send a message?

A: Actually no I wasn’t. Not consciously anyway. My wife pointed out to me that bullying wasn’t just limited to the students. Friends bullied each other and even parents bullied their teens. It made me realize there are many different ways for kids to be bullied like there are as many forms of abuse. It’s not always physical, but it is always damaging.

5. Q: I see in several past reviews Forever ME gets compared to the film, “Mean Girls.” Did that have any influence on your writing?

A: Not at all, I have not seen the film. So I’m always surprised when someone compares it to that film. I imagine since the subject matters are similar I can see how someone could draw that conclusion. It was important to me in the beginning that my main character, Hannah was not the new girl at a school. That’s always tough on a teen to be the new kid. I wanted her to have her own friends, a well-adjusted home life and content with her life as it was. It was only when she crossed the invisible line of mixing with the social elite did it present a problem in her life. Wichita Falls is a place where a girl from her side of town is often reminded it’s best if she stays there.

About the author


Thomas Amo is the author over 20 comedies and farces for the live theatre. This former full time theatrical producer has spent the last thirty years writing in many different genres, from pilot scripts for television to screenplays on independent films. Outside acting, directing and producing, his first love has always been writing. Forever ME marks his debut into YA fiction

Excerpt from FOREVER ME


Wichita Falls High was your typical Texas educational institution. It boasted a fine athletics’ department with a focus on football. The student body was composed of about fifteen hundred students, the majority being mostly Caucasians and Hispanics. While the African American and Asian students were smaller in numbers, they all mixed well with one another. Like most high schools, you could find plenty of, emo, goths, stoners, jocks and cheerleaders. The only segregation that seemed prevalent at Wichita High was the one between the Clubbers and the Easties. Clubbers were the young adults whose families belonged to the country club. These were the students who went out of their way to not interact with the teens who were from, that part of town. Hannah and Lauren were Easties. If you lived east of Chester Street, then you were socially unimportant. To translate into pop culture terms, Easties were Mudbloods.

There was one other group at Wichita Falls High that commanded its own title, and it belonged to a small band of girls known as the Stilettos. They were Shelby Farrell, Courtney James, Vanessa Chezwick, Madison Winthrop and Taylor Monroe. They were Clubbers of the highest order. Their fathers had the most money, and they lived in the exclusive section of the country club, with the exception of Taylor. Taylor’s family lived just outside the club. Her inclusion in the Stilettos came in the form of a proxy, as her father was Shelby’s father’s best friend.

Taylor was easily one of the most attractive girls at Wichita Falls High. She had striking, golden honey colored eyes, set within an oval shaped face. Her dark eyebrows accentuated her luxurious long blonde hair. She was the most petite member of the Stilettos, standing only at five-foot-three. Shelby was the accepted leader of the clique; her tall five foot ten height alone made her appear like the one in charge. She had long brunette hair, porcelain skin, and emerald green eyes that seemed to peer directly through you. Like the rest of her clique, she too was sixteen. They all drove, but to be a friend with Shelby, it was a requirement to ride in her Mercedes. The way her tall legs carried her, she walked as if she owned the school. Her second in command was Courtney, a medium height and slight build of a redhead. She was freckled and pale and her disposition was always dour and disagreeable. She loved taunting other students, especially girls she considered ugly or fat. The two remaining members of the Stilettos were Vanessa and Madison. Vanessa was a stunning Japanese/Italian girl with rich, naturally wavy, black hair and almond shaped, chestnut eyes. Her olive toned skin appeared flawless and her heart shaped face was beautiful when she smiled. That, however, only happened when she was bullying younger students. She was just slightly shorter than Shelby, which was in her favor. Madison took care to be certain she never wore heels that made her taller than Shelby. Otherwise, it would be considered an act of defiance. Madison had been into Cosplay during her middle school years. Being a slightly overweight child, her involvement in costume play had been a means to find acceptance among others. She loved the idea of dressing up as a character from a film or television show. She mostly wore Catholic schoolgirl uniforms that were reminiscent of popular 90’s Japanese anime. By time she became a Stiletto, everyone was so used to it, it would have been odd for her to wear anything else. She too was pretty with brunette hair and blonde streaks. She wore glasses but Shelby forced her to go to contacts that year. She was slightly shorter than the rest, yet taller than Taylor. She was also a bit chunkier than the other girls but it didn’t take away from her looks in the slightest.

To be a member of this clique, looks were not enough. You had to be beyond good looking if you were going to walk with this privileged collection of goddesses, and you better have the money, the heels, and social standing to go with it.

Hannah didn’t care she was considered an Eastie by the Stilettos or the Clubbers. She was happy with who she was. Designer labels and loads of makeup didn’t make you prettier in her mind. Hannah never bothered with makeup; why spend hours in front of a mirror trying to become something she wasn’t. She tried it once when she was twelve to impress her friend Haylee’s older cousin, Nick. She applied false eyelashes and blue eye shadow, complete with bright red lipstick. She thought things were going well, until Nick asked her how much she charged. Hannah was as embarrassed as any preteen girl could ever be. Makeup became a thing of her past after that day.

Purchase Forever ME and Tom's other fine books on his Amazon page, the place to go for all your Amo needs.


                                                                    

Follow Tom on Facebook and Goodreads

Remember the name:
Forever ME
A novel by Thomas Amo

And now we return you to our regularly scheduled blog...

Saturday, July 21, 2012

Bad Timing

Timing is everything, even when it’s bad.                                        


Last week I ran another free promotional giveaway on Amazon for the Kindle version of my novel, RED ASPHALT. This was to be a virtual online onslaught of plugola in order to hopefully kick start some sales and interest into a piece of work that is essentially a piece of me. (If you were to read a few choice comments from a couple of Amazon customer reviews, it is also a piece of shit. I respectfully disagree. Strike that. I disrespectfully disagree.)

As usual, I digress.

All the pieces were put into place with announcements placed on various e-book sites, my blog and website. The first day seemed to go quite well, placing RED ASPHALT into the top 1000 freebies of the day.

Then midnight struck.

The shooting in Aurora, Colorado put the brakes on everything. I’m not about to bemoan the fact that a tragedy of this magnitude ruined my day in the sun. I am totally insignificant in this whole ordeal. There are people who lives were brutally and senselessly altered and dismantled forever by a raging psychopath. I can’t even begin to tell you my feelings or thoughts about this insanity other than my heart goes out to the victims, their families and friends. That this massacre occurred in a movie theater, my favorite place in the entire world and my own personal sanctuary, sickens me to no end. But I can’t realistically comment on the situation with any insight so I refuse to do so. Leave that to the 24 hour news cyclists because they have airtime to fill with enough speculation, disinformation and shit-spewing talking heads that will blather on about this until the cows come home and become tainted hamburger. I also won’t speculate about the effect this will have on THE DARK KNIGHT RISES because in the grand scheme of things it doesn’t matter at all, artistically, financially or philosophically. Others can, I won’t.


What this has to do with me at all concerns my book. I restrained myself from promoting RED ASPHALT any further than what was already out there, which was beyond my control, due to the nature of the book itself.


RED ASPHALT’s main character is an unhinged individual who takes his pathetic frustrations out on the world with the use of a gun and his car, just to add road rage into the mix. It is not a sympathetic portrait in the least. It doesn’t justify his actions though it does try to explain them. Conclusions can be made that Calvin, the main character, is just a whiny little twerp who decides that everyone is out to get him so he’s going to get them first. He’s blaming everyone else for his pathetic life and, oh boy, he’ll show them. Unfortunately, once he acquires a gun, he tries to "solve his problems" by using it on others instead of himself.

I wholeheartedly confess that Calvin is pretty much of a stand-in for me. Much of his back story comes from my own and his voice, for the most part, is mine. How he handles it all is pure fabrication. I wrote this to alleviate my own stress in life, to blow everything completely out of proportion in order to make what I considered to be a compelling story. I poured my heart and soul into it and attempted to exorcise as many demons as I possibly could in the process. That’s the difference. Calvin picked up a gun. I picked up a pen. There are more, but I must point out, that’s key.

But after early Friday morning, I left the promo for RED ASPHALT alone, not out of guilt or respect, just because I didn’t know what else to do. This doesn’t make me a good guy, an upright citizen or a moral midget. It just makes me conflicted and, just as I did in the creation of my novel; I’m trying to work it out by writing about it.


RED ASPHALT stands on it own two feet. Those are my words, good and bad and I’ll stand by them. But for the moment, maybe a little off to the side, at least for a time.

Judge for yourself.


Not buying it is also a statement.

Thursday, November 17, 2011

The Cinema of My Mind's Eye

On the occasion of the publication of the Special Edition of In the Dark: A Life and Times in a Movie Theater, I offer the following, a piece that says a lot about me and the inner workings of my cinematic mind.

Most people have a memory bank. Some unfortunate souls, merely a savings and loan. But me, I have something entirely different sitting inside of my skull and that would be a movie theater.

It’s certainly not one of those generic multiplexes that are so prevalent, they have become the standard of how we view film in today’s world. They aren’t theaters so much that they are just screening rooms, stacked together like so many shoeboxes. What kind of nostalgic memories will those conjure up for future generations? You might as well get all warm and fuzzy for a parking garage.

Not for me.

My internal cinema is an ornate structure from an era before my very own, a time when attending the movies was so special, they were shown in a palace. The huge marquee out front, over lighted in all of its bombastic neon glory announces the current attraction in typical Hollywood hyperbolic fashion. The art deco lobby is trimmed all in gold, including the staircase to the fabled and forbidden Loge section where the really good seats are. The concession stand is not ostentatious, almost a footnote rather than the lobby’s primary focus. It sells treats that can only be purchased in a movie theater like Raisinettes and ice cream Bon Bons.

Inside the slightly darkened auditorium, the air is always cool, no matter what the time of year. Illuminated by black lights on each wall are identical day-glo murals of a wild white stallion in full gallop, ridden by who appears to be the Greek goddess Athena, flying back to Mount Olympus after an all-nighter at Bacchus’ place. The intermission music, set at an appropriately low volume, contains classic motion picture soundtrack music by such composers as Max Steiner, Dmitri Tiomkin and Miklos Rozsa. The massively wide screen is draped over by a majestic burgundy colored velvet curtain.

While the seating capacity of the auditorium can easily accommodate several hundred, there is always an audience of just one. That would be me, sitting smack dab in the middle with my feet up on the seats in front of me, thank you very much. I’ve got the place all to myself ‘cuz that’s the way, uh-huh, uh-huh, I like it.

Now playing in the Cinema of My Mind’s Eye are not only recollections of what I’ve seen on the Silver Screen in my lifetime, but also the life and time I’ve spent doing so. As the years pass, so goes the memory, yet I still retain near-total recall of my tenure as a movie patron. Give me a title. I can tell you if/where/when I saw it, who (if anyone) I was with and how I was feeling at the time. “Going to the show”, as we used to call it, was a very special time for me. It formed the nucleus of this passion I have for an art form that has enriched my spirit and consistently given me great joy over the years.

This passion in question has manifested itself into an obsession to be sure. It’s harmless, but not entirely healthy either. Maybe the hermit-like existence I’ve spent at the movies has been instrumental in the creation of the oddball I am today, one whose quirks, phobias and eccentricities can be easily traced back to way too much time spent in a celluloid trance and not nearly enough human interaction.

My belief system is cockeyed as well to be sure. Film, after all, is my religion and a theater is my church. For me, attending a film is not unlike attending Mass, except with Coming Attractions. (Your theological debate begins here) With very few exceptions, I prefer to fly solo in my own particular pew so I may worship in peace. If I had my druthers, I would actually watch movies Elvis Presley style. Big E would rent out a theater after hours for private showings and insist that any guest he invited act accordingly. Keep your yap shut. I’m tryin’ to watch a movie here. You don’t like it? Lump it, Jack. Hit the road and don’t step on my blue suede shoes.

You could say that mine has been a life of too much viewing and not enough doing. If that’s a crime, it’s victimless because the only person that could possibly have been hurt is yours truly. If I’ve wasted my time on Earth by going to the picture show, at least I’ve been entertained in the process.

As far as the theater inside my brainpan, I guess, for lack of a better term, you could call it my Happy Place. (Normally, I would send anyone using that particular phrase to a Sad Place by way of the back of my hand. But, I’m unable to perform that task upon myself. The angle is all wrong.) Safe Haven might be more apropos, but doesn’t that sound more like a halfway house? How about Sanctuary? How about who cares? Whatever name or label you want to slap on it means nothing to me. All I know is that when I am there, I find solace.

I am one of those who Norma Desmond referred to in Sunset Boulevard as “one of the wonderful little people in the dark”. In that darkness, I have found enlightenment. Sure, I know it comes from the lamp of a motion picture projector, but it would be unfair to call it artificial. How is that possible when that light can recreate dreams? My dreams. My past. My present. My future.

As I close my eyes, I open my mind into the theater inside of my head. I sit listening to the final moments of Ernest Gold’s “Theme from Exodus” and I smile at Athena’s ascension to the heavens. The lights begin to fade and the curtain starts to rise. Suddenly, I am basking in the glow of the illuminated screen. It is then that I realize that the world-THIS world-is mine, all mine.

Copyright 2011 by Scott Cherney


Thursday, August 11, 2011

Tales from the Ville-Hi Yo, Silver!

In honor of the debut of NOW THAT’S FUNNY! The Comedy Sketches of Scott Cherney on Amazon Kindle (on sale here), I hereby present this excerpt for your edification concerning a very pivotal time at my dearly departed Home, Sweet Home-The Palace Showboat Theater at Pollardville. It all revolves around what was my best produced piece, The Lone Ranger Rides Again. 

Nostalgia’s a funny thing. It usually puts a warm golden light on our memories to conveniently make our past a lot more significant than it really was. That really doesn’t apply in this case. It’s hard not to look back at Goodbye TV, Hello Burlesque as a pivotal moment in time for everyone and everything involved with the Palace Showboat at that point. GTV, HB, the vaudeville The Lone Ranger Rides Again was written for, set the standard for just about every show that followed it. For one thing, it represented a definite changing of the guard at the theater. Many of those who had been responsible for the development of the standard Pollardville formula decided it was time to move on. That’s when the new kids on the block moved in and with them (or us, as the case may be), a new sensibility. As a result, the bar was raised for on what this theater was capable of with just a little bit of imagination and throwing off some of the shackles of the past.

Bill Humphreys, who conceived and directed this show with Goldie Pollard, brought some of his professional experience in stage and television production to the Ville and turned the olios into a full multi-media experience combining both film and video elements with live-action for the very first time on that stage. Like moths to a flame, this show, as well as the melodrama that preceded it, Seven Wives for Dracula, a better than usual script by Tim Kelly and directed by D.W. Landingham, attracted pretty much what I would call an artists’ collective of actors, writers, musicians and, well, artists. We all congregated in a harmonious convergence in what I unashamedly refer to this as our “Renaissance period”. (Whew!) Okay, maybe some of that is nostalgia speaking again, but the truth of the matter, or the proof in the pudding, was what ended up on that stage and that end result was sensational. We all went to the next level. The music was better. The choreography was better. The makeup, the costumes, the sets-painted by an actual artist, Karen Van Dine…all better than they ever were before. And the cast matched them every step of the way. On top of all that, it was the first show to not only utilize original material but also actually encouraged the creation of such material. That’s where I came in. It all stemmed from the previous production when I helped Bob Gossett punch up the melodrama The Downfall of the Uprising or Who Do the Voodoo? with a bunch of new gags. I tried to do the same with the vaudeville, but, with one exception, was shot down every time. When GTV, HB came along, I was welcome with open arms by both Bill and Goldie, the rest being history.

Goodbye TV, Hello Burlesque traced the world of entertainment back in time from the television age through radio and ending up in the burlesque era. The Lone Ranger Rides Again obviously fit into this middle section. As far as the origin of this sketch, I honestly do not remember. It’s the only one that I’m a little hazy about how it actually began. Perhaps it had been the result of just another idea jam session. I don’t know. But, a few years ago, I caught a rerun of an old Dean Martin Show on TV Land or something. On this episode, Dean and Orson Welles were recreating a radio show. Orson read the script leaving Dean with all the sound effects. Now this must have stuck in my head because I remembered seeing this sketch as a kid. In case you’re wondering, the only thing I retained was a variation of the stairs gag, so I didn’t really steal anything.

Everything clicked on this sketch and it evolved into something even more wonderful than what existed on the page. It began with a kid listening to the radio and changing the channel as a medley of radio show themes and commercials played. When it ended up on “The William Tell Overture” (AKA The Lone Ranger Theme), the audience went nuts every single time. Then the curtain opened on that great set of a radio soundstage from the 1940s and that superb cast took my words and spun their own magic for the next ten minutes. I can say without hesitation that this was the best sketch I had written and certainly the best produced.

The cast-Bob Gossett as The Lone Ranger, Ed Thorpe as Tonto, Cory Troxclair as McGuirk, Lisa Smith as Annabelle, Paul Stolberg as Zorro (who originally came out of the bathroom in the end, a gag I never liked which is why I changed it) and Bill Humphreys as the Director all contributed to its great success each and every performance. Of course, I would be remiss if I failed to mention the real star of this bit. Jim Walsh became an absolute superstar in my eyes as the Sound Effects Engineer. His timing was immaculate and his energy non-stop. When he got to the aforementioned stair gag, he ran in place, counting down with each finger. The biggest laugh of the night. This was Jimmy’s best show all around from his performance as Renfield earlier in the Dracula melodrama to singing “Hot Patootie” (from The Rocky Horror Show and the very first rock ‘n roll number at the Ville) to just about everything he contributed to this production-on and off the stage. Small wonder why we used to call Jimmy “The Hardest Working Man in Show Business”. Never mind no James Brown.

Without a doubt in my mind, Goodbye TV, Hello Burlesque remains one of the best experiences I’ve ever encountered in this business we call show. More than that, it solidified for me that Pollardville was more than just a theater, but a way of life. It became a surrogate family not only for me, but pretty much for all of us who stayed there throughout the years: One big nurturing, often dysfunctional but ultimately supportive family.


How could we not? After all, we had a place to call Home.
And that ain’t nostalgia talkin’ neither.





Now THAT’S Funny! is available on Amazon Kindle for just 99 cents. Also available in paperback and download . For more information, head on over to http://www.scottcherney.com/ . Tell ‘em I sent you.

Wednesday, May 18, 2011

A Hoot is as Good as a Holler

Hidy-hi, there, friends and neighbors near and far, over, under, around and through.

It's time once again to revisit the SPECIAL EDITION of the one and only IN THE DARK: A LIFE AND TIMES IN A MOVIE THEATER now available on Amazon Kindle

IN THE DARK is what I call my movie memoir, a book that spans a lifetime spent in my natural environment watching one great film after another. Well, maybe some aren't so great, at least not in the traditional sense, as this excerpt will illustrate for you. This is a little to-do about a special movie classification I've coined that I affectionately call Hoots.

HOOTS
A Hoot is a special breed of movie that makes you laugh, whether intentionally or not, in that very special fashion as only a private joke can. A Hoot can vary in quality from a well-made, big budget extravaganza to an absolute piece of dreck. A few examples that I consider Hoots of the highest order: MOMMY DEAREST, QUEST FOR FIRE, THE CANNONBALL RUN and FOOD OF THE GODS. Regardless of its pedigree, you will take a Hoot to your bosom and claim it like your own personal pet. For all of the love you bestow upon it, a Hoot will reward you with much joy, especially with repeat viewings and you will want to share the experience with others. Such a Hoot is:

BILLY JACK (1971-d. T.C. Frank) Its intentions are strictly honorable yet its execution is so dubious and amateurish that it is an instant Hoot classic. I can recite entire passages from this film, especially Billy Jack’s monologue in the ice cream parlor when he goes BER-ZERK! Still, as laughable as Billy Jack is, it always manages to touch some of my deep-rooted knee-jerk liberal sensibilities and I moronically blubber, “Don’t worry, you damn lovable little hippies! It’s alri
ght! Billy Jack’ll save ya!” Then I yell for the spilling of redneck blood like a crazed vigilante as Billy beats the shit of every bigoted asshole from one end of town to the other. That’s right. In the name of peace, Billy Jack kicks ass. Such is the contradictory magnificence of Mr. William Jack, Esq. whose film holds a very special place in the Hoot Hall of Fame.







Tell 'em Billy Jack set ya!

No, don't say that...He'd probably take his right foot and whoop me on this side of my face...and there wouldn't be a damn thing I could about it!
Really?
Really!

Oh, that Billy Jack.

What a Hoot.

Tuesday, May 10, 2011

Oh My Gaga

Hope y'all had a swell Mother's Day, at least half as good as we did this year. It kinda gave me a warm fuzzy feeling all over, enough to counteract the mishegoss of the last little while. Adding to the family-friendly atmosphere of this past weekend was a lotta Gaga. HBO ran the Lady's Monster Ball Tour special taped at Madison Garden in a marathon 24 hour showing from Saturday night to Sunday. I never usually watch concerts since I get bored less than half-way through. 'Twasn't the case here. This girl doesn't have time for dull stretches. That girl's fierce energy is contagious! Not only did I watch it the whole hour and 55 minutes show, but also watched the encore about three extra times.
Love that BORN THIS WAY finale. I know it's pretty derivative of TLC's WATERFALLS and Madonna'a EXPRESS YOURSELF, but I cannot resist its heart and soul...or the Gaga either. To me, she is the next step on the evolutionary staircase. Cher begat Madonna, Madonna begat Gaga and on the 7th day, She was exhausted.


 

Tuesday, August 26, 2008

Dog Days (and Nights)

Sliding into home base of Summer 2008. So little to say. So much time to blog it all down.


(Strike that. Reverse it. Thank you.)


First off, a hail and farewell to two more greats that we lost this year, Bernie Mac and Issac Hayes. We're worse off without you, but better off to have known you at all. You made the world a better place.



History has been made with Barack Obama's nomination as the Democratic candidate for President of the United States. If the the Demos fuck this one up, they should be disbanded.

Anything's possible. After all, GW was not only elected (thank you, Mr. Gore) but RE-elected
(thank you, Mr. Kerry). Still, other than his choice for VP (Joe Biden? Really?) We should be getting used to saying President Obama real soon.

At the beginning of the summer, did anyone other than me think that Obama was going to pick John Edwards to fill out the other side of this ticket? The Wacko Conspiracy Theorist in me has a feeling that was the case until the DNC found out about Edwards' little bastard bundle o' joy and they were the ones who tipped off the National Enquirer. Even if it's not true, not a bad little story, huh?

As for John McCain, he picked Sarah Palin as a running mate. (Who?) If she's not related to Michael, then I've never heard of her. Still, you gotta hand it to him for going after the Hillary vote. (By the way, don't the Hillary supporters remind you of the Ellen Jamesians from John Irving's THE WORLD ACCORDING TO GARP?) Another way McCain can pick up support at the Republican convention is to appear onstage with GW, raise the President's arm in the air with his left and then clothesline him across the throat with his right, WWE style. When he tries to get up to his feet, a DDT, slamming his head straight to the stage. I still wouldn't vote for him, but I would shake the man's hand after that.

Next order of business:

RED ASPHALT is now available for download on the one and only Amazon Kindle.


What's a Kindle? I'm glad you asked. The Kindle is the wireless reading device sold exclusively by Amazon. You can download books, newspapers and magazines at a fraction of their newstand or bookstore price. In fact, RED ASPHALT, normally $17.50 in paperback, carries a Kindle price of just FIVE BUCKS. But, if you act now, Amazon will take 20% off which means you can read RED ASPHALT right this minute for just $4.oo. Holy smokes! In the immortal words of Crazy Eddie, "Their prices are...


IIIIIIINNNNNSSSSSAAAANNNNNEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

It always warms my heart when another of my Pollardville bretheren surface and make this nimrod proud. I couldn't have been more pleased than see an article about my old friend, Artis "A.J." Joyce in last week's Stockton Record.


There is to your left, the master of the bass guitar and one of the sweetest souls who ever walked the planet, looking a little grayer, a little wiser and a little like he's about to tear it up on that bass he's peeking behind. A.J. taught me the significance of the bassline in music and how to listen for it. He made me appreciate how the pieces are fit together and putting it all in perspective. What A.J. teaches me now is that he, like
so many of my friends, make me proud because there's still out there getting it done, fighting the good fight and making the world a better place. Yep. He's the Man.

Check out this article about A.J. on Recordnet.com



I highly recommend the French thriller TELL NO ONE, written and directed by Guillaume Canet from the Harlan Coben novel. As densely complex as any mystery I've ever seen, TELL NO ONE tells the tale of a doctor who is falsely accused of his wife's murder eight years after the fact when new evidence surfaces. A classic Hitchcock-like scenario, this has something the Master often lacked and that was a deep emotional involvement, thanks mostly to the extraordinary performance of Francois Cluzet as the doctor. While TELL NO ONE has a few too many red herrings, it pays off like no other film so far this year.

One of my favorite moments of this summer was after the screening (which I took in after my MILES AROUND interview-that's me all over). I was walking to my car, following a married couple as the husband tried to explain every little twist and turn of the movie to his wife, a difficult feat indeed since the story requires a lot from its audience. DAMN good film.

And finally, if you've already read RED ASPHALT (which I know is a lie since I've checked the sales figures) and you need something to feast your eyes upon, please check out the website of a better writer than me, Chris Kuhn. Okay, I'm partial because he is my son-in-law, but the fact of the matter is the boy is talented. Do me a favor and visit his site at:
He's posted some of his work there, including the sensational stories IMPALA and CROCODILE TEARS. After you read his stuff, I'm sure you'll agree with me. In fact, what would you want to return here to read this drivel?
WHAT AM I SAYING?
ABANDON SHIP!
HAPPY LABOR DAY!
EJECT!