Welcome to F.C. Irish's Flight Log

Feel free to comment, discuss, add, or challenge anything on this blog. The idea of the Flight Log is to find our common culture amidst the regional differences. I'm looking for a clear understanding, and everything I write is meant to facilitate discussion toward that goal. Enjoy.

19 August 2015

An Excerpt From The Original

Entry 1

So, I've been struggling with the fourth scene yet again... Though ink is finding its way onto paper, the continuity and the actual, just, flow of the scene is all wrong. To recenter myself and recall what these characters are supposed to be capable of, what their lives are meant to express, and to remind myself where these Reefermen come from, I pulled out the scene that started it all.

What follows is an excerpt from the ten or so pages that created the universe for me. To set the scene: it is 1924 in an undisclosed flat in Anycity, USA. A man dressed in green has just purchased all the jive(weed) at this particular tea shop(dealer), much to the chagrin of another patron who has just left the three men. With all their business taken care of they are sitting around the table, smoking a gauge(joint) and talking. The Stranger changes the subject...


     "Speaking of killed, have you guys seen the paper?"
     "No, what?" Johnny's voice sifted through the cloud of smoke in front of his face.
     "Someone is killing people and setting the places on fire. It's crazy how people are in the city." The stranger took the gauge from Johnny. "I've never heard about such a crime."
     "Well they got another thing coming once we find them," Johnny grinned, "we're going to break every bone in their bodies."
     "Their?" The Stranger took a drag and passed the gauge back to Albert.
     "We aren't sure how many people are in on it," Albert began. He pulled slow on the gauge, thinking. "Our best guess is that it is some kind of hit squad. I knew some of the victims personally, and there is no way one guy killed them all."
     "You two should be careful."
     "We are," Johnny giggled. "I got a forty-five and Albert there has a shotgun under the sink."
     "Never can be too safe," Albert smiled as he handed Johnny the gauge.
     "No, you can't." The stranger pushed his chair from the table and leaned back. "Albert, are you a betting man?"
     "That depends on the bet."
     "Let's say a thousand dollars," the stranger pulled another wad of cash from his jacket pocket and laid it on the table.
     "That's the stakes, what are we betting on?" The gauge made it back to the stranger before Albert continued. "If it is some kind of rigged game, I ain't playing."
     "No no no," the stranger took a hit and passed to Albert again. "It is a simple bet."
     "I'm listening," Albert leaned forward with the gauge in his lips.
     "I bet that I can get the smoke of Johnny's lungs without him opening his mouth." The two men broke into laughter as the stranger sat in silence.
     "This is a sure thing Al," Johnny grabbed at the gauge.
     "Yeah alright," Albert laid out one thousand dollars. "Now, let's see you lose a thousand." Johnny took a large pull on the gauge, holding in the hit as he returned the joint to the stranger.
     "You holding it?" Johnny nodded at the stranger's question. He looked over at Albert, sitting with a smug look on his face. A loud pop drew his attention to the stranger once more, pistol in hand aimed at his chest.
     "What the fuck?!" Albert was in shock.
     "Just watch..." The stranger pointed to Johnny's chest as smoke slowly began to drift from the bullet wound. "I told you."
     "Oh my..." Albert was cut short, a bullet passing between his eyes. Johnny watched as Albert's body fell backward to the floor.
     "Wrong profession kid. Sorry for your luck." One last pull of the trigger scent Johnny on his way.


I always liked that part. Whatever the case, the stranger did not have a name... He wasn't even called the Reeferman at that point. But, his vendetta is the same one shared by the characters I write now. Stopping the bad stuff... The stranger, now known as Ashley Balacort, was a character created out of hate. A singular purpose to wipe out the people who sell heroin. Not much more went into him...

Meanwhile, Overholt, being the second Reeferman to be motivated by vengeance, is much more complex. The Texan has relationships that he needs to maintain, memories he's trying to repress, and a drug lord to take down. The action scenes are easy for me. It's the damn cool down sections that really throw me for a loop.

10 August 2015

Taking to myself.

Entry 1

What you are about to read is a self-interview. I figure, it's been so long since the initial posts on this blog explaining everything, and with the ability to post said blog on Twitter, I should reintroduce myself. This just seemed like a good way of doing that. So without further ado...

Who are you?

I go by the pen name F.C. Irish. When you are talking, writing, and drawing the things that I do, the last thing you need is to have what you're presenting effect the people you care about. In order to protect these people from any repercussions that may come along due to association, I can't use my real name. It's just a precaution that I feel is necessary at this point. It is my life, my choices...

Describe yourself.

I would call myself average... 6 foot tall, toned muscles because I work on a farm, tan because I work outside, told I'm handsome but don't believe that. I'm college educated with a four year degree; history major with no declared minor. I took courses that I thought would help me in life: politics, writing, geography, and humanities. I smoke weed... It's kind of obvious, I think, if you were to read some of the posts and tweets. I smoke cigarettes, because I like smoking cigarettes and they go really well with all of the coffee I drink. An ungodly amount of coffee, everyday. I also spend a lot of time thinking, and because of the thinking, I spend a lot of time awake. Life's fun.

List 3 strengths/weaknesses.

Weaknesses first, cause my mom always says "if you are going to say something negative, say something positive". Depression is most definitely my biggest weakness, genetic by nature, so it's always been around. I guess my second weakness would be my inability, really a lack of desire, to keep up with the times and technology. I like that I can literally just sit here, and talk, and this phone that I just happen to be using is typing all of this for me. But I really miss my typewriter ( No, I'm not that old. ) and writing letters as a means of communication. My third weakness is also my first strength: an overactive imagination. For the sake of explaining it as a weakness; anytime that I am left wondering, my mind creates every single possible scenario. Spend the day doing something mindless, while you wonder about a relationship and how it's going... It's hell.
Strengths, obviously the overactive imagination first. Sometimes, I get lucky and writing for me is merely an exercise of describing the movie that I get to watch in my head. It's pretty awesome, especially some of the action scenes in my Reeferman stories. Strength number two, a thirst for knowledge. I like learning, and not necessarily in an academic manner cause that gets pretty boring, but in a real world sense of learning. Living life for what it's worth, through the good and the bad, for the experience of it. Don't take life for granted, it's a gift that you are supposed to enjoy. And finally, strength number three, ingenuity. I'm always trying to figure out how things work, how to improve them or how to redesign them to be something else, to be something better. Go back far enough in this blog and you will find a post about Behemoth, a solution to a common problem that opens up more possibilities. Makes me feel like I'm tooting my own horn.

What motivates you?

The idea that life will get better. You have to believe in something, at least that's what I think, so why not believe that you can improve upon where you're at in life? I have to believe that life will get better, and so I strive to achieve that.

List 3 hobbies.

Right now, my main hobby is writing. I don't make very much money at all writing, definitely not enough to live off of. So it's just a hobby right now. Building things would have to be my second hobby. It's very broad, I know, but I build a lot of random things. Sometimes its furniture, other times its a smoking device, farm equipment,... I build a lot of things. Reading would be my third hobby for only limiting it to three. I'm a voracious reader, history mostly, with comic books and the news thrown in. I like reading, it's a good hobby to have.

What makes you uncomfortable?

Unwanted physical contact. That makes me uncomfortable as hell. Back pain, in a physical sense, that makes me very uncomfortable a lot. Awkward silence in a two person conversation, that's uncomfortable. Being forced to give a complex answer to an intricate question within a three second time frame, very much so uncomfortable as well.

What is your dream job?

To be able to wake up in the morning and decide "well, I feel like doing this today so that's what I'm going to do". I guess you'd call it independently wealthy, right? Everybody's dream. And I consider it a job, because I'd still be working. I can't sit around and just do nothing, that drives me insane. If I had money? I would be able to take all of the hobbies that I have and actually turn them into something that will go somewhere. The furniture building, I could start actually making nice furniture instead of the rustic hodgepodge artwork that passes for a chair. I'd be able to take the Behemoths and mass produce them, make them available to anyone who would want one. I would be able to make rum! But if I have to narrow it down to one dream job, it would have to be writing. I have stories to tell and I think they'd be rather enjoyable.

I'm aware that these questions are very narrow in scope. I picked them, they serve a purpose of explaining some very basic things about me to help you know who I am. This blog has always been about discussion and the exploration of commonality. That being said, ask me a question and I'll answer you: @FCIrish51 or here on the flightlog.

01 August 2015

A Mirror of Sorts


I've been working on the second Reeferman story for eight months now, and I've had a lot of trouble trying to invoke the emotions that the character needed. I wrote over twenty pages for a scene, lost control of the characters, and had to scrap it all because it wasn't working. Work on the story was frozen for a few months, with nothing coming to mind. And then, not too long ago, the spark was re-ignited. There was a reason to go on with the task, a motivation that came from outside.

I spent the time to read everything I had written, to reacquaint myself with Tom Overholt: the Green Coyote. I was reminded of his sense of humor, jovial when first we met then dark and cynical as he took his revenge. I relived the rage that had brought his vengeance to life, enjoyed the pleasure he felt at finishing his personal war on a cartel. And as I sat there, staring at four out of six needed scenes, I questioned what I needed to feel if I intended to finish my own task of a completed story.

The mind is a funny thing, and insomnia is a bitch. For a few weeks now I've been having bad dreams, for lack of a better word. Waking up in the middle of the night sucks, especially when you are waking someone else up in the process. It puts a strain on things. On top of it, this entire week I have found myself unable to shut my brain down, to find the sleep that I desperately need. So, I decided I would put my sleepless nights to good use.

Since Monday I have finished the fifth scene, pushing the thoughts that kept me awake out of my mind, choosing instead to focus on the destruction of a hidden airport belonging to the fictitious cartel that Overholt is fighting. It worked out well to say the least. However, the last remaining scene, the one part that I have struggled to wrap my head around, is proving difficult to put on paper.

Not because I don't know it; the emotions and the visuals needed aren't a foreign concept anymore. The problem is that, right now in my life they are a little close to home. As fountain pen glides across the notebook paper, I'm not expressing fallacies or mere shadows of a memory. I'm writing out my own life as it happens. Though the setting and circumstances are impossible to compare, the thoughts and fears are quite real I can assure you.

That makes it hard to write... Because I'm not sure I want to recognize these emotions in myself. I don't want to feel these feelings, and yet here I am at five in the morning, thinking the thoughts that have been keeping me awake all week. Why? Because they are feelings and emotions that Overholt just happens to be dealing with in this particular part of the story.

It was always meant to be this way, he was always supposed to struggle with these thoughts and these emotions. That's where the hard part came in at first, I had to fabricate them and it wasn't working. Now the problem is that I don't have to fabricate them, I just happen to find myself feeling them and thinking them and worrying over them. And that's not where I want to be right now. It sucks.

Thankfully, or tragically, I'm a method writer. It's a lot like being a method actor in that I need to be that character, but instead of playing at it, all I have to do is write. But, I still feel it... And that is going to make this scene hard as hell to get out.