The Ollie and Emma first look!

Please check out the first Ollie and Emma webseries trailer!  So excited to begin sharing this story I have been working on with Cheri Jacobs for over two years now.

The story to me is all about starting a conversation across divides, something that has to happen for everyone’s sake.  This can happen when we are inclusive, and everyone can join the fun.
So click below and enjoy!  Look for our show on Instagram, Facebook, Twitter and WordPress to find out about this upcoming release!

Ollie and Emma YouTube trailer

Ghost City

Ordos

It was the first time I felt I could relax, even for a moment.  I knew that it couldn’t last.  After the three-hour hike down the alien streets where the grass was beginning to push through the cracks, I was back at the building.  The silence permeated every cell of my being but I knew I couldn’t turn the music on.  The fact that I had turned the multi-module in my arm off was the only thing probably keeping me out of harms way.  Still it would have been great to listen to something.  The only solace I had as I came up the leaf strewn parking lot was the sound of birds.  Those crows that always gathered like a gang of spies that had never given up.

The door was left open, which I kind of expected, but at least it wasn’t smashed down in the final riots before we were all shipped east to the fence-line.  It was a little silly being here.  It was hardly like I could take the elevator up, let alone go in, throw my keys down and grab a beer from the fridge.  It would be probably white walls.  Nothing but white walls and dust stains from the scraping of the furniture.

I began my ascent up the stairwell, shafts of light coming in the windows, their frames high above where anyone could reach them.  The walls looked grimier and more battered that I remember.  Minette and I lived on the 5th floor which was I was sort of half thankful for at the moment.  I wasn’t in bad shape but I definitely began to feel it by the third.  I sat on the fading carpet and looked out the window across from the black-railed stairwell.  The orange yolk of the sun was broken by shafts of cloud, the afternoon sky a slight cedar that we always called the Curtain.  The Curtain never lifted where I had spent the last fifteen years since we were gathered.  Out here the effect of the great processors seemed slightly thinned, like when you add more water to a teabag.

I was also looking for movement in the city.  The skyline was grey and quiet like you would expect, but more unkept, with bramble and grasses turning everything into a strange sort of greenhouse solarium with the orange white roof above.  There was so many of us back in the camp that I suspected it would take some time before anyone noticed I was not around, but then all it would take was one idiot to say “Hey, where’s Yun?” and then the reports of a lost worker would set out the whole barrage of Shepherds into their roles as the people’s trackers.  I knew just how invisible I wasn’t, with how my heat register made it’s imprints on everything around me, sticking me out in Westwood like a beacon.  I almost considered staying exactly where I was.  Partly due to the fact that what I was after would have already have been stripped from the room to crush any thoughts of doing exactly this and partially because I didn’t even want to see our home like this.  It was one way to sleep in section twelve.  I mean, I had free Wifix at call and I was really careful about my credit points but that was just the crap they wanted us to see.  If I wasn’t reading what few pdfs were still out of their reach I would think back to when we had our last job, our last day of work, our last meal.  I can even remember my last employer on his knees crying, with his sister Satiyo beside him rubbing his shoulders and cooing to him like a child.  He wasn’t the nicest guy on the planet back then but of the four bosses I had, he was the last and to his credit he had tried to build the company from the ground up.  Now he was just a balding man in a dirty white shirt on the floor, his shoulders shaking with his hand to his face.  I remember I didn’t know what to say.  I just sort of stood there.

Back on my feet I continued up to fifth.

The inside of the room could have been anywhere, in any room all up the coast.  It was better than most I had passed in the halls.  No one had attempted to squat in it before the gatherings.  The walls were still mostly white.  Minette smoked back then, which was the only illegal thing either of us ever did, but we were excruciatingly careful about it.  A friend at the university had given us some Linethen, that blueish grey composite that cleans the air of cigarette smoke almost instantly.  We kept in buried behind the back of the fridge and even now I could see the trails up the wall, fanning out like so many spiders.

Then I heard it, noise from far away like the mewing of a small cat. 

Scrambling onto the counter-top next to the gaping hole where our old stove had been, I opened the cupboard.  The sound outside grew just slightly.  They knew where I was, and they knew that I knew.  I looked for the slight edge upside down in the cupboard, my eyes squinting as bits of old wood unsettled all over my hands and face.  With the other hand I began to punch the top of the stained cupboard wood. 

The sound grew louder, coming from the living room.  In the giant square empty room, the windows remained open with just one frayed curtain remaining, it’s flag swaying just slightly in the wind.  Across the way was the other block of flats, patio rails like bleached bones.

I punched harder and the sound grew.  Finally, the roof of the cupboard cracked and dust and particles spewed out, causing me to look away again.  In the living-room the curtain began to flap more in earnest.  They were very near.  I found what I came for and stashed it into the pocket in my leg where a hole turned the rest of the pants into an accidental deep pocket.  I dropped from the counter just as the sound of the chopper blades became obvious.  The rag by the window flapped violently as the giant glass globe of the Shephard’s vehicle rose with the blades roaring invisibly above their heads.  I walked towards them, looking straight at them in their black silk uniforms and red helmets.  What was there to say or do at the time?  I simply waited with my arms out so they wouldn’t strip the flesh from my bones.

There was noise behind me which I expected.  My leg was kicked out and I fell into darkness.

Home

 

This is my refuge but it’s also my study, my factory.  Here I build for better things to come.

Dreams are dreamed, coffee gets shared and things are at their softest and least diffused.

I work here with music on, seeking the truth, elusive as clouds and you can find me writing, playing, rewriting, waking up, cooking.

Memories find tin boxes, plastic containers with dusty lids and new ones get their little births.

Everything I’ve ever done sprouted from the walls of home.  Sitting on the floor with a guitar and an old Panasonic tape deck.  Silly thoughts pass here like fish in a stream.  Some sparkle so bright you can reach out with your hands.

She’s from the Rez! An interview! Whoa!

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I’m sitting in Cook Street Village with a girl who you may have seen popping up on my different social media sites.  Her name is Cece (Cecelia) Sawyer and she is not only my sweety but she is also the in house consultant when Cheri and I are working on bits for our character Mandy, as a cultural consultant and she has been our photographer, extra, and more assistant on everything we do.  She is not only First Nations but she is born and raised on a reservation, namely the Scianew Beecher Bay Reservation near Metchosin, British Columbia.

Q. So, Cece, what was it like growing up on the Rez in Beecher Bay?

A. It was beautiful.  I lived with my grandparents for most of it.  I remember learning my manners and being polite.  I also learned a lot about Native traditions.

Q. How long were you there?

A. I was there all my life, until I was about twenty two I think.  My grandparents looked after me and my cousins.  I remember going to the First Nations church.  That was me and my grandparents and my mom.

Q. What kind of church was that?  Christian or Native, or a mix

A. It was Christian, praying to the same God.  Everybody thinks its not but it is.  I remember my mom using shaker bells and everyone singing Native Songs, in our language.  I remember shaking each others going around before we would leave.  Everyone in the church had to wear all white.  Some of the songs were healing songs.  That was cool

Q. What was in the Rez besides obviously homes.

A. Dogs!  Just kidding.  There is the Longhouse which I also call a smokehouse there.  They do ceremonies.  It’s called a smokehouse because of traditional fires used during ceremonies like funerals.  My uncle use to own a corner store there.  If you wanted to go off the reserve you had to get someone to take us because there was no bus service.

Q Is there a shuttle now?

A. No.  I’ve heard people to talk about it at the Treaty Conference at Ocean Point.  Once and a while you get to go to these.

Q. Is there anything else you remember?

A. Lots of Chief elections.  There was some partying back then.  I’m glad it’s not as much like nowadays.  I like going out to my Uncle’s for Thanksgiving.  He has a beautiful home that he built right on the Pacific Ocean.  The rez is now called Spirit Bay and it’s definitely changing for the better.

Days are like little lives

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Perhaps it helps that I’ve had some background of being a morning person out of work related necessity.  I worked a lot in cafes and therefore being ready and bright early just started to flow after a while.  I’m also an insomniac so I kind of get a version of both with exhaustion kicking in somewhere midday. As I steer closer to my existence of working on my creative endeavours full time, my focus has become more about how to best use my time.  I’ve always had the job that set the days program and now I will be doing that.  I won’t go into the specifics of it all because it is not as mountaintop-with-guitar/notebook-and-windswept-hair as you think.  The image I chose probably doesn’t help with that.  I wanted to represent time.

So much gets piled on mornings I’ve found.  There is so much of that “first thing in the morning” suggestion out there that I almost think it is like your early years of child development.  Everything calls for attention.  The evenings are like later in life when you can relax. 

Which thing do you do first?  For me its morning-page like free writing with coffee and something light after a walk and then bass practice before steering into the primary work that I do.  I’ve heard exercise and water should be first.  The Artist Way series got my writing going first.  Some of these things I like at home and others out.  I don’t know who else feels this but there is some thing in leaving the home to work on a creative process elsewhere.  Your away from home distractions and you know are there to do the work.  The word work shouldn’t scare creators away.  Its still creative but as Billy Joel said “there’s a job…there’s a gig here…”

All of this hinges on any kind of major event.  And yeah, I do like structure.  It’s my parents coming out in me.  My mom is the creative and my dad is the logical former service planner for Hydro.

And so I’ll be up again, in the young hours with the practical and exhuberant playing out.

Houston, we’ve left normal

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My long time co-writer and friend Cheri Jacobs

     It’s really early.  It’s early enough to still be considered late.  Making coffee now because I know I won’t be going back to sleep for quite some time.  That’s the perfectly normal thing right about now.  I have never slept well, due to a large part that I never liked to do that.  My schedule has little power naps and as I type this on the tablet Cece is sleeping.  I give full points to a girlfriend who sticks by her creative man.  We’re the most difficult breed there is if we’re good and likely worse if were not.

      In now less than two weeks I voyage out into the waters that I have always wanted to sail.  Thanks to a mixture of my work with Cookeilidh, my work with Cheri Jacobs and our partnership with Less Bland Productions I have made the leap to being a writer and musician full time.  I do feel ready for these waters but naturally it is a place that I sort of half thought I wouldn’t be sailing.  The choice to make the leap is one that does scare me since it’s not as though I have made it in the conventional sense.  The work I do is exhilarating in both fields (two sides of my expression  that have always been there relentlessly since I could make baby noises most likely) but the work is still very much in the day to day grind of a local craftsman.  That is something that doesn’t bother me that much.  If you want superstardom you don’t really pick the fields of bass player and screenwriter.  I’ve certainly stepped out of those less lit parts of the stage to do things like acting (in little bits with Cheri on the Tom and Cheri Show) and singing (open stages and backup for Cookeilidh) but with those the need to do that came from the fact that there is this material and its simpler just to do it.  I swear its not false modesty.  I have, when a singer has been I’ll in the past, tried to fake that role for the evening.  Didn’t like it.  Much more relaxed to stand on my side of the stage and focus on making the best work I can.  Its similar to writing.  I want your imagination or the actors to take my ideas and make them soar.  I far prefer to get up early, make coffee and get an idea that makes my toes wiggle in the carpet.

But I won’t say that the ides of venturing out into doing this full time isn’t scary too.  Part of me does feel like “who do I think I am?”. I have routines down so I am always busy, which can include blogging at 4:30 a.m.

Still less than two weeks to go before I officially sail.  With all the making preperations for the journey I still wonder how I’ll feel when the anchor rises.

Til then…

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Interesting...

I actually was looking for that image of Richard Dreyfuss at the very end when he says those words (or close proximity to them).

I have really enjoyed keeping this on as a daily practice but the next few months are going to get really busy around here.  I have a day job and then on top of that I have my band Cookeilidh which is going into a very busy festival season including shows at the Butchart Gardens, Bastion Square, Car Free Day to name a few.  Ollie and Emma is also gearing up to go into it’s primary shoots which include our application to Bravo Fact and two mini shoots at least prior to that.  I like to approach each one of these entries with care and consideration, despite how short they are and I don’t want to put out material that is literally “I have a few minutes…bang something out…” 

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Will stop occasionally for lunch...

I don’t know how much time I will have for the “Closer to Heaven” blog either, but I’ll see how that goes.  There will be updates on the Ollie and Emma WordPress blog as that’s a necessary part of the show and I want to keep everyone updated on how things are going.  We recently lost a member of not only our cast but also a friend and my girlfriends beloved cousin Wolf Rick Patterson so we want to make our next blog a tribute to him before we move on to other behind the scenes filmmaking writings.

I should probably be back to working on here regularly somewhere between August and September after principal photography is finished and festival season draws more to a close.  Until then feel free to check out some of the links up above as well as some of the other parts of the site.  There are links to a number of platforms which I have been using including my twitter site which I am probably the most frequently on (it takes the least actual time)
Follow on Twitter!
So I’m going on a bit of a WordPress summer vacation.  If all the images aren’t a clue definitely rent Rosencranze and Guildenstern are Dead or take it in live.  It’s weird but full of cerebral fun including the fantastic game of questions.
Have a great summer everyone!

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Statement...

Created by TomPogson.com

The writer’s journey

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Last night in rehearsal

There’s that moment when your wheels grip into the dirt and you surge forward.  You get that when you ride a track as a cyclist and your out of your seat pedaling hard towards those mini bumps that you can jump from the first one, over second and down third if you’re on it.  You can’t do that quiet the same with a hybrid bike.  I tried that on a BMX trail, jumped the first and came down on the next two and got stuck.  Fortunately there was no crowd for that.  That’s why I don’t race.  Well, that and my days of cycling just aren’t what they use to be.

Writing has also been around since I can remember and the idea of doing something serious with it has been at my shoulder likewise.  But there wasn’t really any special drive before.  I just liked riding and writing and fighting Ganon on level 9 like I alluded to in the blog on Nintendo gaming.  There was the occasional story that was inspired by my love of Red Dwarf and other British comedies that between that, computers and so on, yeah I was a nerd.  I still am, but now there’s this nerd cool thing that I sort of fit into, but it’s mostly as an extra.

The process began with a mixture of Ricky Gervais, a Sol Stein audiotape and Uvic.  I had some academic success with scripts and working as a janitor I had time to listen to these to others basically showing me the finer points of writing comedy which I had wanted to do.

Eventually it was the first small production and even though it crashed and burned badly I do remember those moments along its trail.  There is the first time a real actor emails for an audition.  The first time you see the name of your project on a slate.  The more you put in the more you realize you want to make this world happen.

It was also around this time that I started working with Cheri Jacobs.  I had wandered into my first comedy writing completely alone and I felt like having a co-writer would help with this so I put out an ad.  Cheri’s response was the most down to earth and enthusiastic so I met up with her.  It was a great working partnership right away as we finished seven episodes of the old project before that couldn’t move forward and then starting playing around with new ideas and pitches.  From this came Ollie and Emma and our own production company, Jacob Pogson Productions Ltd. 

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Each step along the way has been great with sharing of our enjoyment of what we’ve read and our work which comes from some different and some like backgrounds.  We still work on new ideas and feed off of each others energy and what I can’t wait is to share that energy with the world out there.  The road continues…

Cheers,
Tom

Created by TomPogson.com