franchise and ip writing - SAMPLES

A rewrite of The Last Jedi that addresses issues with character motivation, plot/theme inconsistency, and conflict resolution. Embraces the film’s deconstructionist viewpoint, reworking key scenes in the climax, ending with a character-driven cliffhanger finale that flips the Good vs Evil motif on its head.

EXCERPT

INT – TRANSPORT SHIP - DUSK

FINN and POE have arrived at Nar Shaddaa.  Rain falls, soaking the urban city sprawl.  Gusts of wind buffet their tiny transport as it makes its way to a landing pad. Miles below, thousands of lights twinkle through the storm.

In the cockpit, FINN gazes out the window from the navigator’s chair.

FINN:  Never thought I’d actually be here.

POE:  You and me both, pal.  The things I’ve heard don’t exactly put this place at the top of a vacation list…

FINN turns.

FINN:  Like what?

POE:  Kidnappings, smuggling, mobsters, hitmen, drugs…it’s Hutt territory.

FINN:  Hutts.  Great.

POE:  Yeah. Thankfully they aren’t too friendly to the First Order, so we’ve got that going for us….for now.  Might make things a bit easier.

FINN:  Until they figure out we’re Resistance.

They both pause for a beat while the heavy implication sinks in.

POE:  …uh, let’s hope we’re already off-world by then.

FINN:  Yeah.

POE:  Yeah…

The comm system crackles alive with a gruff Aqualish demanding a ship ID.

POE:  Control, transmitting ID now.  Merchant vessel, transport class one-one-three-eight, requesting a docking bay for freight pickup.

FINN: (in a hushed tone) Here we go…

POE: (covers his mic) We’ve got this.  It’ll be okay.  Trust me.

Another stream of gutteral chatter through the comm.

POE:  Thank you, control.  Starting our descent.

POE glances back at FINN with an “I told you so” wink.

The ship touches down.  FINN and POE begin to make their way through the congested minor spaceport, narrowly avoiding collisions with seedy, unsavory types, droids, and private security guards.  Finally, they manage to reach the exit and step out into the city.

The sense of scale is overwhelming, with vast expanses of high-rises stretching across a series of platforms, bridges, alleys, and catwalks, punctuated by deep, dark chasms that seem to have no end.  Finn glances down a nearby shaft.

FINN:  I can’t see anything there!  No lights, no movement, no ships.  Nothing.  This place is crazy.  This whole plan is crazy.  How are we gonna find this one guy in all of this?

POE:  Take it easy, Finn.  Just take a breath.  We can do this.  We’ve just gotta keep our heads, okay?  I have no idea what’s in those gaps but we’re probably better off not knowing.  All we need to worry about right now is finding Dash.

FINN:  Y-yeah.  I’m good.  Just a lot to take in.  Let’s do this.

They start down the main skywalk, headed toward the Corellian Sector, unaware that FINN'S outburst has attracted some undesirable attention.  A shady DEVARONIAN taps a few keys on her wrist-mounted commlink, then returns to her drink at the spaceport cantina...

[...]

EXT – CORELLIAN SECTOR, NAR SHADDAA – NIGHT

FINN and POE carefully weave their way through the crowd of sharp-dressed elites.  Drinks are flowing.  Spice and muon gold are shared between friends and strangers.  Neon lights bathe everything in vibrant blues, greens, and pinks, and music drifts out of every other bar, filling the night air with a symphonic cacophony.

FINN:  You know…this is a lot nicer than I expected.

POE:  Weird, right?  Ain’t no slum anymore, that’s for sure.

FINN:  Almost seems…inviting?

POE turns and smirks.

POE:  You don’t want to check out a club, do you?

FINN:  Huh?  No—er, yes, uh—I mean…

POE laughs.

POE:  Easy, bud.  Just messing with you.  If we had some time to kill, I’d totally be up for a drink.  It’s been a long time since I had Vasarian brandy.  Dunno if they still make it.

FINN:  Never had it.

POE:  Oh, man, you’re missing out.  Last time I had it, I blacked out for like two days.  Woke up in the middle of nowhere, wearing nothing but my holster.  So worth it, though.  Made for some strange tan lines, come to think of it…

A re-telling of the original trilogy from the point of view of two independent investigative journalists hired to unravel the Rebellion's network of counterspies and help bring the terrorists to justice.  The story might begin in a seedy cantina deep within the scummiest corner of Alderaan, but these two reporters are about to embark on a galaxy-spanning adventure that will take them into the heart of Korriban, itself.

EXCERPT

The cantina, the most wretched hive of scum and villainy, and the best source around for anything contraband.  If you’re looking for someone, ask around in a cantina; you’re bound to hear something.  Looking to get in on the spice trafficking, cantina’s where you need to be to make some contacts.  It’s easy to disappear in there, too.  Sometimes, people just don’t want to be found—the outside world’s gotten a bit too hot for their liking.

A few droids are idling outside of the entrance.  Guess the barkeep doesn’t take too kindly to their kind, but that’s not very surprising.  It’s pretty common.  Droids don’t drink—not Juma juice, Talusian ale, or anything like that, at least—and there’s no room in the bar for cheapskates.

It takes my eyes a few minutes to adjust to the dark, murky haze.  The overhead lights are dimmed, probably for the Chadra-Fan.  They don’t take too kindly to bright lights.  Their bat eyes can’t handle it.  They’re in here, too—I can hear their high-pitched squeaks.

I take an open spot at the bar and tug on the bartender’s sleeve.  He could stand to lose some weight…cut back on “sampling” the products.  Drink enough Juma juice, and you start looking like a Hutt slug, and this guy is starting.  He turns and hands me…something.  Smells like brandy.  I start to protest, because I’m not terribly fond of Vasarian drinks, but he’s not going to listen.

“Tough to get what you want in this dump, huh,” a voice to my left asks.

“Yeah,” I turn, “sure is.  I swear…Alderaan is getting crazier everyday...”

It seemed indestructible.  It resisted everything I shot.  Plasma.  Ice.  Wave.  Everything.  It never stopped.  It just kept coming.  No matter where I turned, no matter what hallway I ran down, it was there, hunting me.  Stalking me.  I couldn’t get away.  I couldn’t escape.  Every planet I ran to, it was there.  SR388…Zebes…Tallon IV doesn’t even seem safe, but I have no choice.

[...]

I touch down in the calm, grassy fields of Tallon Overworld.  There is a light drizzle and the sky is a gray blanket of clouds.  I have to get underground.  SA-X would be coming out of light speed in a few moments and it would be my death should it find me.  I start running.

[...]

Tallon IV may very well be my final resting place.  I may never again have the chance to soar across the stars, exploring the farthest reaches of space.  My ship will become a relic.

I glance back at the craft.  The SA-X could detect it with a simple surface scan.  It has to be destroyed.  I step through the hatch that leads into the bowels of the planet and hear the detonation.  The cavern shakes and rubble hits the outer walls.  The sabotage worked.  I just hope it’s enough.

Hope.  Such a strange word.  I never had to hope before.  But now, hope is all I have.  Who knows.  Maybe somewhere in the depths of Tallon IV, I’ll find a miracle.

Until that happens, I have to keep running.