End of the Word: Boondock Saints 3 Spec -- Deleted Scene

Well, the world didn't end, so as promised. Here is my "Conjugal Visit" scene from my Boondock Saints 3 speculative script. For those of you unaware, "Spec script" means that I basically just wrote a more technical fan fiction for my favorite movie series and have put the finished project into my portfolio for when I start handing out my CV and applying for jobs in the film and television industry. I write a lot and this was honestly a labour of love more than anything else. It definitely brought closure to my relationship with the Boondock Saints. And made me love the story even more. 

Anyway, I do hope that nothing actually happens in the next 24 hours... that would suck.

Enjoy.

Love,

Kai Kiriyama

SC. 8(a)

INT. PRISON – CONTINUOUS

Connor and Murphy sit quietly on their respective beds in their cell. A GUARD knocks against the BARS of their cell. Connor and Murphy look up at the guard, SLOWLY.

GUARD:

You boys have visitors.

CONNOR:

No press.

GUARD: (snorts in contempt)

It's not press. Move it.

Connor and Murphy exchange CONFUSED looks. They stand in UNISON and move towards the CELL DOOR. The door OPENS and the guard HANDCUFFS the brothers. Additional GUARDS appear and fall in to FLANK the brothers as they are led down the hall.

MURPHY:

Who d'you suppose it is?

CONNOR:

Your guess is as good as mine.

MURPHY:

What if it's Ma'?

CONNOR: (a beat)

God have mercy on us if it is.

Connor and Murphy are led to the VISITOR ROOM. It is empty of all other PRISONERS. A solitary GUARD stands at the DOOR on the opposite side of the room from where the brothers entered. Connor and Murphy HESITANTLY take SEATS at the TABLE in the MIDDLE of the room. The GUARDS who escorted the brothers in leave.

Murphy TURNS to watch the guards LEAVE, suddenly very NERVOUS.

MURPHY:

We're gonna die.

CONNOR:

We're not gonna die.

MURPHY:

There's no guards in here.

There's no one else at all.

And look.

Murphy POINTS out the CAMERAS on the walls. All of them are DEACTIVATED.

MURPHY: (cont'd)

All the cameras are turned off.

CONNOR: (dryly)

Maybe it's a conjugal visit?

Murphy gives Connor a look of DISGUST.

A KNOCK sounds on the DOOR where the remaining GUARD STANDS. He opens the door.

Detectives DOLLY and DUFFY enter the room. DUFFY speaks quietly with the GUARD. DOLLY simply STARES at the BROTHERS.

CONNOR:

Told ya'. Conjugal. We're

gonna get fucked either way.

DUFFY finishes his conversation with the GUARD and the guard LEAVES. The two detectives stand over the BROTHERS, looking MENACING. Connor and Murphy stare UP at the detectives, INNOCNETLY. A TENSE moment passes.

MURPHY:

God, it's good to finally see

a friendly face.

DOLLY:

Yeah, about that, we've got bad news.

Dolly and Duffy sit down across from the MacManus Brothers.

DOLLY: (cont'd)

This isn't a social call.

CONNOR:

Aren't you gonna get

in trouble for this?

DUFFY:

Actually, we're here to get

your story about Greenly's death.

MURPHY:

Why? You were there.

DOLLY:

We didn't see the shooter.

DUFFY:

The Chief wants you to confess.

MURPHY:

It wasn't us, so that's

not gonna happen.

CONNOR:

We're not “cop killers”.

We're not letting you pin

that shit on us, too.

DUFFY:

We know that, but our bosses

don't. The public wants

closure.

MURPHY:

How much fuckin' closure do they

need? The shooter's body was right

there!

DOLLY:

It's a little messier than that.

MURPHY:

Bullshit! Why don't you just

tell everyone that Greenly was helpin'

us? That'll clear a few things right up,

and it's not like they can fire him now!

DUFFY:

We've considered it, believe me.

CONNOR:

We're not takin' the fall

for Greenly's death, so you've

wasted a trip.

DOLLY: (hesitantly)

You know we don't agree with

this, right? It's just a cover?

MURPHY:

No shit, Sherlock.

CONNOR:

Haven't you learned anything yet?

Connor and Murphy LAUGH at the Detectives' expense.

DOLLY: (relieved)

You bastards are gonna give

me a heart attack.

DUFFY:

How are you two holding up?

MURPHY: (shrugs)

Roof over out heads, three squares

a day, we're pretty much left in our

cell all day 'cause every time we go

out, a riot breaks out.

CONNOR:

We're very social, made loads

of friends in the year since we've

been in here. We're pretty popular.

DOLLY:

What're you gonna do?

CONNOR:

Wait it out. We're model

prisoners. We only fight back

in self defence.

DOLLY: (mutters)

Jesus...

DUFFY:

You know they're sending

in a shrink?

MURPHY:

'Bout time.

DUFFY:

You want a psych evaluation?

MURPHY:

Why not? S'not like we need

to prove we're not insane. Everyone's

already made that judgement call

for themselves.

CONNOR: (a beat)

You're the first visitors we've

had. No press, no lawyers, nothin'.

We're totally alone here.

MURPHY:

And we're still not “cop killers”.

The DOOR opens then, and the GUARD returns. Duffy and Dolly STAND slowly and follow the guard, leaving. Murphy halfheartedly WAVES goodbye as the DOOR slams shut.

Oh God WTF did I just read?

Okay, so I love to carouse fan fiction. I love it. It's hilarious, disgusting, thought provoking, emotionally draining, and a lot of the times is a serious ego boost for me.

And once in a while, you find some absolute gems.

Hell, a couple of very good friends of mine were met and made through fan fiction.

But I've also had my (un)fair share of reading REALLY REALLY GODAWFULLY BAD fan fics.

I have a few triggers, and lately I have unintentionally found all the stories that make me want to bleach my brain and gouge out my eyes. I have the worst luck ever.

But thinking about it, I have to stop and laugh. It's just so insane.

I was also talking to my sister about this, about the horrible, scary fan fics out there, and how we KNOW most of the actors who portray these characters are aware that these stories exist. So my sister asked me a very interesting question.

"What would your reaction be, Kai, if you found out there were stories written about you like this?"

First off, I'd be flattered. Even if it wasn't ME per se, but just my CHARACTERS? Oh hell yes, GO FOR IT. I think that means I've reached a certain level of notoriety right? If my characters are busily humping each other in someone else's mind? Cool. I'm cool with that.

If you're writing about me specifically? (And don't deny it, it exists.) Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! You really couldn't think of someone better to fantasize about?

Okay, well, let's pretend that someone out there is writing fan fics about me. Based on what I've read, my reaction would be three-fold after I get over the initial flattery, shock and embarrassment.

First, wow. What most of these bad fics are suggesting is highly unlikely to be possible. I'm afraid of heights, even standing on a chair to change a lightbulb or get something off a high shelf SUCKS. And I'm honestly not THAT flexible. I get it, it's fantasy, but you gotta work with realism. (I'm not gonna let myself be tied in a knot and put on a shelf for a harem of sex-crazy demons to do what they please with. Or whatever the hell that was that was happening in that fan fic.)

I AM NOT THAT FLEXIBLE. I don't think anyone is. Try to remember that, okay, erotica writers?

Two, just 'cause YOU think it's sexy, doesn't mean we all do. Gotta remember those triggers, man. If you wanna know what my big ones that hit the "NOPE" switch are, just ask. I'm really not that pervy, I just pretend like I am because this is the internet and girls aren't welcome here.

And finally...

Dudes, seriously? You're writing bondage? And you have to stop the 'action' to get something to tie your characters up with? Holy SHIT. I wear a paracord bracelet 99.9% of the time, and if I'm not WEARING it, it's somewhere close at hand BECAUSE I CAN NEVER BE WITHOUT MY STUPID FUCKING ROPE.

Good Lord, I guess it all really does boil down to realism, doesn't it?

Well, now, I guess I should go back and finish reading these bad fan fics. I don't plan on sleeping any time soon...

Kai Kiriyama lives in the frozen north known as Canada with her pet snake, Rhaegar.

Yes, she actually does have a paracord bracelet. The current one is purple.

If you wanna know what makes her tick, feel free to contact her at any of the following locations:

email: thekiriyamaheir@gmail.com
twitter: @thekiriyamaheir
facebook: facebook.com/authorkkaikiriyama
tumblr: thekiriyamaheir.tumblr.com

Singularity

So it might come as a shock to you, especially if you don't know me personally, that I have just undergone a breakup. I was with my now-former partner for 4 and a half years. That's a long time and a lot of experiences to throw away, in my opinion. But I think that it was for the best. In retrospect, having taken that step back, I can now say that the relationship had grown unhealthy and that if there was any hope of fixing the problems that preceded the break-up, it would only come from taking the necessary steps of backing up and looking at things from an outside perspective.

It sucks, going through a break up. There's no two ways about that. Sometimes, I wonder if it's harder for women than men, considering that I'm a girl and I swear to you, I felt like I was gonna die for a while there. Or at least shrivel up like a fish out of water from dehydration because of all the tears. (Okay, so that part is a lie, I don't actually cry. I save my tears for entertainment. I cried like a little bitch when Dale died in The Walking Dead, and the season opener of Doctor Who made me cry, too.)  I tend to let my emotions get the better of me and yes, I did consider apologizing and taking him back and trying again. But I let those emotions go, and tried very hard to look at things from a rational, logical point of view.

It's been 3 weeks as of this writing since we split and I admit that I still wake up sometimes wondering when he's gonna get home, or curled up with my arm around my pillow only to wake up and realize that yes, it is indeed a pillow that I've been spooning (and occasionally, drooling on.) I'm still a little bummed out over the whole thing, though the initial depression and doubts that I suffered have lessened significantly.

On the other hand, I have noticed a lot of things that have changed in my life since the break up. I've gotten a HELL of a lot more productive. I have filled my days with things that hadn't been happening in the last few months of the relationship. I'm writing every day again. Lots, actually. I've picked up crocheting and sewing again. I'm prepping for a new business venture and am creating amazing products for my current business venture. I'm editing my writing (and we all know how much I hate that!) I'm back writing scripts and am working on several specs that I fully intent to query out within the next few months. I have secret projects happening. I've lost weight, and inches, off of my body. I feel less stressed out about everything. I'm still not sleeping most nights, but hey, you win some, you lose some.

I have moved beyond the point of feeling like I need to fulfill the expectations of someone else. If I feel like staying up all night writing in bed, with the lights on, listening to my Devil's Carnival soundtrack on repeat without headphones (or doing the same things but instead of writing, crocheting because it's more mindless than trying to make proper words at 5 in the morning on no sleep) I can. If I feel like staying in my pajamas all day and eating nothing but microwave popcorn I can. Granted, I tended to stay in my pajamas all day if I wasn't doing anything anyway, but now I feel like there are no expectations. I don't have to have dinner at 5 p.m. every day. I don't have to go to bed at a normal hour. (Not like I do, can we get a hello for the incorrigible insomnia?) I don't have to share my video games or my computer and I certainly don't need to allot time to spend with the significant other. I have a Thor poster on my wall that I picked out myself, I have my favorite art pieces hanging on my bedroom walls. I don't have to ask opinions or permission to put something else up, or to take something down. I dyed my hair pink and purple. (Although, I used to do that anyway, but had to stop due to work not liking it.)

I feel like I have gained back of the old spark that I had lost as my relationship had deteriorated beyond the point of repair. This makes it sound like my ex was to blame for all the unhappiness in my life. That's not true. Situations arose where there was nothing either of us could do to make things happy, but that is neither here nor there. The relationship had just run its course. I'm just glad that we hadn't tied the knot when we were planning to because the break up wouldn't have just been as simple as it (kind of) was. I just feel like there is now a sense of self that has returned to me since breaking up with my partner. I feel like all the problems we had during our relationship had kind of put a stopper on my whimsy.

I know that a relationship, especially a long-term relationship, is about compromise. You have to share your life, and share your living space with this other person. You share your body, your soul, your home, your life... it's a lot of compromise. And that's the way it should be. I felt like there was no compromise, there were just changes that weren't always for the better.

Do I regret the relationship? No. Have I grown as a person for it? Yes, I think so. Do I know more clearly what I want in a partner now? Oh hell yes.

And that's a good thing.

I do admit, though, that I have a Queen size bed and I've grown accustomed to curling up against the wall, so there's more than half the bed just going to waste. I'm more than willing to let someone into my life to fill that other side of the bed. I'm just warning you though, I tend to hog the blankets, so for that, you're on your own.

Kai Kiriyama is a weirdo. She's still working towards publication of her novels and her scripts, but she is a current contributor to Zombie Training Magazine, which you can find at www.zombietraining.com.

Kai lives in the Frozen North with her pet snake, Rhaegar.

You can find her on Twitter at: @thekiriyamaheir
You can email her at: thekiriyamaheir@gmail.com
You can catch her on Facebook at: http://www.facebook.com/authorkaikiriyama
And she has a tumblr at: thekiriyamaheir.tumblr.com

Degrees, Diplomas, and Daydreaming

I got into an argument with a friend of mine recently.

Not so much of a surprise there, I argue with everyone. And I mean everyone. If you say something I think is dumb or incorrect, I'll argue with you. If  you say something that I know is incorrect, I'll fight you harder. I'm a Gemini, and a Tiger in the Eastern Zodiac. It's just the way I am.

But I digress.

I got into an argument about whether having a degree in writing - whether for film or television or just literature in general - is an absolute necessity for making it in the writing world.

They think it is crucial that you go out and spend $30,000 or more and 4+ years on a piece of paper that says you are capable of writing fiction to a specific format.

I laughed at them.

Then I showed them my bookshelf. I have books from the same sort of classes, plus scripts for television and stage and film, as well as workbooks for literature. My collection is more succinct and to the point than the books this friend has for school.

I spent under $250 to acquire all of these things. I've read most of them at least twice. And I reference them when I'm looking for specific answers to things I'm unsure about.

Neither of us are published, so if that was your next question, no. At this point, I don't think either of us are closer than the other, so it's not like that's a factor either.

Am I a better writer? I think so. Why? Because I haven't had professors breathing down my neck for 4 years telling me how to write. I have found my own 'voice' in literature, and have picked up the format for screenwriting again after 10 years of neglect. I'm comfortable with how I write and I am comfortable with my stories. I know that this person in question can't say the same thing.

What I will concede to, however, is the hands-on. Personally, I wouldn't know the ass end of a camera from a chocolate bar, or some other sort of simile of equal ridiculousness. Well, okay, I know where to look into a camera, but I wouldn't be able to operate it with any level of proficiency. And that's okay. I can learn.

I think it's sad that we have put a price tag on the arts. at least on the things like writing that anyone should be able to do with a relative knowledge of story structure and grammar. Oscar Wilde didn't have a degree. Neither did Shakespeare.

I guess time will tell us who gets published first.

Cocky bitch. I'm gonna win that race.

Kai Kiriyama should know better than to write blogs under the influence of alcohol. She is currently having a mental breakdown and drinking beer. It's pretty amusing to watch.

As always, follow her on twitter @thekiriyamaheir
Or to argue with her through email, you can reach her at: thekiriyamaheir@gmail.com 

Dear Murphy: Several things We May or May Not Need a Stupid Fuckin' Rope For

Dear Murphy,

You still seem rather skeptical about Connor's insistence on bringing rope to every job, to every event, and to every place you go that isn't in and out.

You seem to be convinced that rope is a non-essential item in our day to day lives.

Now, I'm just a writer, what do I know about the ins-and-outs of your specific job? But I think that there are a few things you are overlooking in your dear brother's insistence of having what you refer to as "stupid fuckin' rope."

Let us first consider that there are many different kinds of rope. There are different materials and textures, gauges and thicknesses. Hell, you could consider twine a kind of rope, or yarn for that matter, depending on how you want to define it.

But for your consideration, we shall just stick with the thick, black nylon kind of rope that you always seem to end up lugging around.

You should first and foremost consider yourself lucky that you're not a pirate. You'd have to spend all day lugging rope around. And half the damn ship is made of rope, you know. All the rigging is rope, all the ropes in the sails. And you always need extra rope to tie down loose cannons - and people - in violent storms. You'd swing across the ropes to board another ship, just like in the movies. And when the ship crashes and sinks and you are stranded and your clothes have become to big because you've lost so much weight and are starving, that rope will be your belt.

Or you could hang yourself. Or the mutineers who crashed your ship in the first place.

I think thirty pounds of rope is getting off lightly when you consider that you could be a pirate.

I grew up on a farm, Murphy. Trust me when I say that a good piece of rope can come in so handy for things like tying equipment and tarps down on the back of my truck. Or for making a makeshift halter to lead my horse. Or worst case scenario, a quick fix for lashing together the fence posts while we bring the materials to fix them properly. The same idea goes for working construction. Again, we see tarps and tools and heavy things that need to be lifted - what else are you going to use on the pulley?

You could also be a rock climber. They rely on rope to make sure that they don't fall to their untimely and ultimately gross demise.

Or you could be a mercenary. (Or is that what you think of yourself as, already?) You could use your rope to set traps. Again, with these things that we see in the movies! But you're considering it now, aren't you? A rope trap, or a string of rope with tin cans attached to warn you when someone is coming. You can stop the ambush that way. (Watch out for the zombies.)

You've done some insane things (shall we refrain from mentioning Copley Plaza?) and have been very lucky to have rope on hand. That in itself should be enough of an argument in favor of having rope.

But I know you. It never is.

So what else can you use this rope for?

For starters, I will suggest that you could use it as a whip. Because it's honestly the first thing you do when you have a piece of rope. Not you, specifically, dear Murphy, but the general 'you' in reference to anyone who may or may not be reading this. Admit it, you've done it.

And now you have a piece of rope for which you have no use. You've whipped it around like Indiana Jones and you're bored holding your piece of rope.

Save your rope, dear Murphy, you do need to keep yourself in top physical condition. Use it as a jump rope, you have it anyway. And I know that the thick black nylon rope you have is an excellent weight. You can also use it for resistance training. Those pitiful elastics the gyms overcharge you for ain't got nothing on a good piece of rope. And you could always try climbing the rope to build your upper body strength. But you won't, 'cause that was the worst part of grade school gym class.

And you're giving me that look that says I'm insane.

We could always use our imagination a little more, couldn't we? Do you truly want me to go into kinky details about what you could do with that rope?

...too bad. I'm not going to. But your mind went there too. So maybe reconsider your rope.

Besides, Murphy, you never know when you'll have to save a damsel from her tower. Not everyone can grow hair long and thick enough to hoist you into a tower. You'll be thankful you have your rope then.

I think I have made my point quite clear, dear Murphy.

So quit arguing about what you're going to need the stupid fuckin' rope for.

You could be a pirate.

Sincerely,
Kai.