More Boring or More Alive?

I know I intended to use this blog for more fictional expression ongoing. But such a wonderful burst of thought and emotion came upon me this evening, and poured out the following sentiments, that I felt an old familiar inclination to share them here. So hope you don’t mind this temporary divergence from the fictive freeway I’ve recently begun accelerating, and enjoy a moment’s pause for my real life.


See, I was walking down College Ave in Oakland tonight, and it being around 11pm on a Thursday, it would strike any normal outgoing person to be a prime night for social activity. In fact, as I walked I passed many a fun looking group of persons who seemed to be out and about on their night excursion. And then there I was, walking back to my friend’s apartment (where I was currently crashing), slightly drunk off one beer I drank while waiting for my pizza order for one, now carrying said box of To Go pizza under my arm on my way back. And let me tell you, I’m not the hermit type. You may already know this about me, but if you don’t, let me assure you I am quite the opposite… or at least I used to be.
Thursday nights used to be my excuse to go wild, get in a night of crazy adventure and let really loose before the mad dash at the end of the week. Thursdays were the new Fridays for partiers, and I was no exception. There were specific late night dance events I used to attend on a weekly basis on Thursday nights. People would even come to ask me what was the haps that night, as I was usually in the know.
And now look at me. I’m walking alone at 11pm on a Thursday night, to an apartment where I will be alone, and will eat my newly purchased small deep dish pizza alone, while I madly type out my feelings into a computer. How did I become this?
Have I become boring?
No, no that’s impossible. I chose this life on purpose to avoid the boring, to escape the uneventful routine my life had become. Working at a corporate desk job, I had found such lack of creative stimulation and freedom, that I’d turned into a machine of boredom and stagnation. Sure I had a great social life then, but that’s because I only had that to look forward to upon leaving the office each day. I had to party harder than my brain suffered everyday. It was like playing eternal catch-up, and I never quite did.
So I made the leap. I left the world of comfort and security, which had its motivations for a spicy social life, but no life besides. And I’ve arrived here, where my day-to-day work and life are one and the same, and more invigorating and exciting than I could have ever dreamed. True by the time the social hour rolls around, having spent all day exchanging emails with lawyers and insurance agents, reading and negotiating contracts, defining and redefining marketing goals and analyzing distribution platforms, it’s understandable that I’d be pretty burned out. It’s honestly quite acceptable that at that point, all I want to do is get a nice juicy deep dish pizza to myself, curl up with my computer, and type out all the non-work related thoughts that have been bouncing around patiently in my head all day. It’s forgivable that I’d prefer to give my brain a break, rather than force it into interactions with strangers, and often fruitless attempts to extract meaningful and worthwhile conversation from them.
So perhaps it is quite a natural ending to my day to sit here typing away, having spend the bulk of my day expressing more creative passion, and experiencing more autonomy, than most people garner from their entire career. Perhaps it is not that I’ve now become boring, but rather the opposite. Perhaps now I am actually more alive than ever.

Flash Black: A New Story

As pre-production ramps up on my exciting new indie action film, Death Grip, the little wheels inside my writer’s brain have launched into high gear. The result? I’ve begun writing a new script of my own! The goal is to eventually turn this into another action screenplay, for a potential future The Stunt People project.

But for now, it’s just an idea in the earliest infancy of development. As it matures, I will share bits of it here for your amusement and my assessment (in the best attempt at screenplay format I can manage on this blog). So now to kick it off, here is the opening scene of…

by Rebecca Ahn


The sound of a gun cocks.

A VOICE from the darkness: ‘Any last words?’

A black sack is pulled off of BRYNA BLACK’s head and the scene slowly comes into focus. Bryna sits in the middle of a small dark room on a dingy metal chair, her hands tied behind her back. The rest of the room is empty, except for one hanging lightbulb shining straight down into her face, making her squint. Through the light’s bright beam, she can barely see the outline of a dark figure in a long cloak and top hat. As Bryna stares at the figure, her face adjusts to the light, and her features settle into an indifferent expression.

BRYNA: ‘Nothing clever comes to mind.’

MAN IN TOP HAT: ‘That’s a first. Nothing you want to be remembered by?’

Bryna cocks her head to the side, looking away from the light to scan the empty darkness around her.

BRYNA: ‘There’s nothing here I want to remember. So why should it remember me?’

MAN IN TOP HAT: ‘Interesting choice of words. I’ll just count those then, shall I?’

The figure in the top hat turns and nods to someone next to Bryna, off screen. A fist comes flying in from the side (off camera) and punches Bryna across the face. She whips her head back from the impact and spits blood at her unseen attacker.

MAN IN TOP HAT: ‘Tsk, tsk, tsk. You’re going to have to learn how to play nice.’
Bryna’s expression gives way to her brewing anger. (CLOSEUP – Bryna’s Face) Her nostrils flare and her eyes open so wide they seem to swallow all the light coming from the one blinding bulb. Her breath quickens and her pulse races madly, so loud the beating seems to fill the room with its ominous rhythm. Her body knows the end is near, and is trying to squeeze every last heartbeat of life into the time it has left.
(BACK TO SCENE) The man in the top hat laughs, then turns to walk out of the room. He pauses at the door and turns back to Bryna.
MAN IN TOP HAT: ‘Oh, and give my regards to your sister.’
He closes the door behind him, its square of darkness slowly growing larger, pressing the outside light into a smaller and smaller sliver. The door is so heavy that when it finally shuts completely, it echoes a loud thud around the small room that causes the one remaining lightbulb to start swinging.
Bryna’s anger has doubled now, and her fierce features are lit up like fire each time the bulb swings past her face. She sits there stewing under the swaying light for a second or two. Then suddenly, the swinging light clicks off, and the looming darkness swallows up the rest of the small room. Nothing can be seen, and the only sounds are the pounding of Bryna’s thumping pulse and her heavy breaths. Bryna is alone.
Stay tuned for the next installment of Flash Black!