The Highs and Lows of Saba Saturdays

From the vault of (as of now) failed projects

As I toy with the benefits of paying for the newsletter, here’s my first perk: access to what I’m calling the vault of (as of now) failed projects.

Published novels are the tip of the iceberg in a novelist’s career. Beneath the surface there’s a bevy of outlines and synopses, of sample chapters, half-finished manuscripts, and completed screenplays that never saw the light of day. Until now, when you get to crack the door open. The secret code, as it almost always is: cold, hard cash, baby.

I’m at heart an optimistic person (I like gambling, and no one has exercised hope more than someone rooting for their $1.50 parlay), and I am not ready to declare anything in this “vault” truly dead or failed. Some are quite close. But some might still pulse to life in some as of now unseen and bright future.

All that to offer a fair warning to paying readers: items may disappear from the vault from one day to the next, as new life is breathed into them (by my hand, by renewed hope, or by someone waving a paycheck).

Today’s piece: a feature-length screenplay. Significantly lengthier than the average newsletter, I’ll admit. But I want this perk to feel…perky. The Highs and Lows of Saba Saturdays was originally conceived as a YA novel. I pitched it to my publisher at the time, who was surprisingly and a tad prudishly put-off by the story revolving around marijuana edibles. This was around the time that I was starting to really step up my interest in writing for film and TV. Then COVID hit, and I had nothing to do except write. So I wrote.

The premise: When Max and his friend Rafi accidentally eat his grandfather’s, Saba, marijuana chocolate on the day of his medical treatment, the two have to deal with trying to get Saba to the clinic on time while dealing with the unexpected chaos of being high for the first time.

It briefly elicited some interest from an agent in LA, who put together a list of producers she was going to pitch to. And then I never heard from her again, which seems to be the way of Hollywood. I knock at the door, someone professes their excitement and adoration from my work, and then they close the door. Still, I knock.

Here it is. Enjoy.