Brent Forrester and My Office

The only thing the two have in common is an actual office.

Brent Forrester, former writer for the Ben Stiller Show, the Simpsons, and King of the Hill and one of the "current" (well, they're not working right now, are they?) staff writers from the Office, was gracious enough to come out and chat with me and my fellow screenwriting students last night. I'm not a television or a comedy writer, but he still had a lot of interesting things to say.

He said a couple of really insightful things about situations. He quoted Charlie Chaplin who said, "A man falls into a manhole; that's slapstick. A man steps over a manhole and gets hit by a bus; that's irony." And it's so much more creative and complex, too. The Obvious doesn't always make a bad story, but the Unexpected always makes a story better (the justified Unexpected. Can't be throwing random, unmotivated things in everywhere. We call those stories "Films that frustrate film students because their professors will teach them not to do such things then show 'classic hits' that do just that." But I digress). Or he used an example from the Simpsons of when Bart was running away from someone (I'm not up on my Simpsons lore, obviously) and ran into a room, looking for a place to hide. There was a huge fish tank that he ducked behind - making his head ten times bigger. A solution that just ends up being a bigger problem. The other thing he mentioned was that when he was just starting in comedy writing, a comedy writer who was his friend's mother gave him the advice of writing about what is difficult, maybe even a little painful. His first script to get attention drew on some of his personal experiences and feelings about his brother which were difficult for him. Comedy isn't silly, he said. It really isn't just about getting a laugh. It's about good story telling, and those principles can be applied no matter what you're genre.

On characters, he suggested that when we write, we think about what a character does in an attempt to conceal himself and how that reveals the character. How does your character try to portray himself and how is he actually portrayed? I think this is a fascinating concept for either comedy or drama, because it's so real. I try to be a really honest person, an open book, and even this week I realized how much I wanted people to think I am a certain way when I emotion/word vomited all over my poor friend. But then again, I may be a little biased, because I think the risk/gain aspect of relationships is one of the most film worthy things around.

Perhaps the funniest moment was when he was talking about how he gets hired to comedy "punch ups" on films and his contributions to one particular movie, and he said, "I don't know if any of you have seen Office Space?" Does he not realize it's a collegiate cult film?

In my own office, I do a lot of mailing, data input, and it's always fun to look at the names of our participants. I finally came up with a good last name for a character today (I have particular trouble with last names). I once mailed off a package to a Prick. The other day I found a "Vondermark," which sounds suspiciously like "Voldemart." And today I stumbled across the worst possible name ever - Horst Bormann. Why would you ever do that to your child?

The most embarrassing last name I've come across? I'd blush to tell.

"I promise you I will learn from my mistakes"

Facebook has a ridiculous number of applications now. Like really, it's getting a bit obscene. But one of the great things it does is let you stalk every single move your friends make. One of my friends posted a link to the video of "Fix You" by Coldplay and added the simple comment "World Peace."

I'm a big Coldplay fan, and I don't really think of world peace when I think of them, but I hadn't heard the song in a while (silly computer being dead and all), so I went ahead and clicked on the video. Not only is the song brilliant and amazing, but at the end of the "Fix You" video they have footage from a live concert. Dear H.D. has gone to a Coldplay concert and described this moment for me, and how everyone's just bawling. Just watching the video stirs emotions.

Then a few weeks later I got to go to a Switchfoot/Relient K concert. Really, music blows me away sometimes. Being in an auditorium with hundreds of other people, all singing along to songs that have integral meaning to each of us, is an incredible experience. I think art is often considered a luxury. It serves no functional purpose. It's subjective. It's often manipulated to conform to commercial whims. But when you go to a concert, when you read a book so often its binding breaks, when you find yourself watching the same movie over and over again, it's impossible to image life without art. The expression, the connection, the transformation that is possible. I don't think I'm an idealist when it comes to the influence of art. I just think that too often, we don't even realize how much we depend on it. You don't believe me, go play some of your favourite songs. I doubt that you like them because of their clever lyrics or because of their musical genius. I bet you like them because they connect to your life in some way. A personal connection like that, isn't that one of the most powerful connections of all?

"Nobody said it was easy; nobody said it would be this hard."

Hanging by a Moment

Desperate for changing
Starving for truth
I'm closer to where I started
Chasing after you
I'm falling even more in love with you
Letting go of all I've held onto
I'm standing here until you make me move
I'm hanging by a moment here with you

Forgetting all I'm lacking
Completely incomplete
I'll take your invitation
You take all of me now...

I'm falling even more in love with you
Letting go of all I've held onto
I'm standing here until you make me move
I'm hanging by a moment here with you
I'm living for the only thing I know
I'm running and not quite sure where to go
And I don't know what I'm diving into
Just hanging by a moment here with you

There's nothing else to lose
There's nothing else to find
There's nothing in the world
That can change my mind
There is nothing else
There is nothing else
There is nothing else

Desperate for changing
Starving for truth
I'm closer to where I started
Chasing after you....

I'm falling even more in love with you
Letting go of all I've held onto
I'm standing here until you make me move
I'm hanging by a moment here with you
I'm living for the only thing I know
I'm running and not quite sure where to go
And I don't know what I'm diving into
Just hanging by a moment here with you

Just hanging by a moment (here with you)
Hanging by a moment (here with you)
Hanging by a moment here with you

- Lifehouse

No no NaNo

I've thought of lots of witty things to write about in the past week or so. I've forgotten all of them, which is especially sad, because I think one of them could have been filed under "funny medical stories."

But I would like to confess, as much as I am a champion of National Novel Writing Month and as much as I intended to participate this year, it just didn't happen.

This would have been my fifth straight year. How disappointing to break such a streak. Am I sad? Truly, not really. I mean, I do enjoy NaNoWriMo as much as the next deadline-drive procrastinator, but that's a fix that's being filled by my projects and papers this semesters. I would like to blame it on the October 30th death of my beloved iBook laptop, I really just didn't make time for it in my schedule. I think the thing that perplexes me the most, in a mildly concerned sort of way, is that when it came time to sit down and write a piece of fiction, I balked.

The last time I wrote fiction was for last year's NaNoWriMo, and even then I remember having qualms about it as I had been focusing on screenplays for the past year or so. My aunt said to me once a few months ago that she missed reading fiction pieces, that screenplays were all well and good, but that there was something she missed about the language of straight of fiction. And I can see that and miss it too, in a sort of detached way, but I have no driving impulse to go back to fiction writing. Which doesn't matter, until you attempt it again.

It's another aspect of Paranoid Writer Syndrome. I've forgotten how to do this, the prose is coming out stilted, what should my descriptions be like. It's difficult to overcome when you first sit down and stare at the blank page, but luckily, it's also easily to vanquish. It, like every other genre of writing, takes practice, and soon those white flashes and spells of breathlessness as I squeeze the pen tightly in your hand and blink furiously will disappear, and I can find fiction writing a comfortable place once again.

I look forward to Script Frenzy in the summer. Congratulations to all who will be NaNoWriMo winners - make sure you get your free book from LuLu - and I hope to be typing furiously with you next year.

God bless the Queen and save America

Last week was my one year anniversary of arriving home from England. I tried to make it commemorative. I wore my English gear, shared a pint of cider with a friend, and had a cup of tea while watching a British movie. I also ended up going through my photobucket page, skimming through all my pictures. It did make me miss England, but life is good.

The day I came back from England was also the day that my parents handed me my letter from Michigan. It was a pretty emotional moment, even though we all knew what it probably said. It demanded a decision of me, when all I had to do previously was hypothesize. Sometimes I feel like my time in England was a pause button in my life. I was leaving one school and going to a different one, trading one life in for the other, and while I was in England I was making those decisions about what I wanted my new life to be.

My life has been a little disjointed, at least geographically, and it makes it easy to look back and see how things have changed. Sometimes I think people don't stop and reflect back enough. So much has happened in the past year. My life is so vastly different from what it was or from what I thought I wanted it to be. You lose things and gain new things. You lose contact with old friends and make new ones. You buy new clothes, get new haircuts, get new names. You struggle with different things, and you grow in new ways. I wish people would stop and take more time to recognize these things, to look back and see how they've changed and evaluate where they are, if they are living the life they want, if they are where they want to be.

This is not where I thought I would be. It's not all that bad. : )

My Compulsion to Walk Fast is a Psychological Flaw

Instead of doing my Spanish journals for the past hour, I've been doing something much more productive. I've been finally educating myself about the Writers' Guild strike via YouTube and blogs. It's a little sad it's come to this. We had a visiting agent from L.A. come out a few weeks ago, a woman who's really up there, and she told us that she felt there was progress being made and that a strike would not come with November.

Oops.

If you would like to know more, I'd suggest checking out some of the writers' blogs on the sidebar over there, especially Jane's and John August's. Billy has a great inspirational post, asking you just how much writing is worth to you. Scott has a good YouTube video explaining the crisis up, and I would also recommend looking at John's clip from the cast/crew of The Office and at the official announcement when you're over at YouTube. The best part of The Office's clip was when they talking about how the industry is trying to deny the stability of the internet, and they paused and said something like, "Yes, what you're watching us on now."

The most staggering statistic? Almost 50% of the writers in the union are unemployed. That's why getting that 4 extra *cents* off of DVD sales and getting paid for websoides/"promotions"/internet reruns is so important. Your work is still making money but you're not? How does that make sense?

The studios can try to be immovable now, but come January when there are no more new episodes of Grey's Anatomy, the Office, Pushing Daisies, Heroes or Ugly Betty being written, things are going to get disasterous. No union writer is going to pick up a pencil.

And neither is a non-union writer. Because it's not just about knowing there will be a moment when you finally get that golden moment to apply for a union membership and you will be asked if you've ever crossed a picket line and the feeling of cold sweat breaking on your forehead. It's about dignity for the working writers and the indignation of us that aspire.

The last strike lasted 5 months. I hope for the sake of the writers that the studios don't attempt to hold out that long again. I'll be shocked if they'll be able to. This is going to take some major economic toll on multiple aspects of American - not just Hollywood - economy when you think about all the coporations and people and businesses involved in movie making.

I'm not saying writers control the world or anything - or do they?

Remember, remember the Fifth of November,
The Gunpowder Treason and Plot,
I know of no reason
Why Gunpowder Treason
Should ever be forgot.
Guy Fawkes, Guy Fawkes, t'was his intent
To blow up King and Parliament.
Three-score barrels of powder below
To prove old England's overthrow;
By God's providence he was catch'd
With a dark lantern and burning match.
Holloa boys, holloa boys, let the bells ring.
Holloa boys, holloa boys, God save the King!

Not a Nerd at All - Just Movie Savvy

Somehow I interpret this as a happy song

I've got my things, I'm good to go
You met me at the terminal
Just one more plane ride and it's done

We stood like statues at the gate
Vacation's come and gone too late
There's so much sun where I'm from
I had to give it away, had to give you away

And we spent four days on an
Island at your family's old hotel
Sometimes perfection can be
It can be perfect hell, perfect...

Hours pass, and she still counts the minutes
That I am not there, I swear I didn't mean
For it to feel like this
Like every inch of me is bruised, bruised
And don't fly fast. Oh, pilot can you help me?
Can you make this last? This plane is all I got
So keep it steady, now
Cause every inch you see is bruised

I lace my Chucks, I walk the aisle
I take my pills, the babies cry
All I hear is what's playing through
The in-flight radio
Now every word of every song
I ever heard that made me wanna stay
Is what's playing through
The in-flight radio, and I
And I am, finally waking up

Hours pass, and she still counts the minutes
That I am not there, I swear I didn't mean
For it to feel like this
Like every inch of me is bruised, bruised
Don't fly fast. Oh, pilot can you help me?
Can you make this last? This plane is all I got
So keep it steady, now
Cause every inch you see is bruised, yeah

So read your books, but stay out late
Some nights, some nights, and don't think
That you can't stop by the bar
You haven't shown your face here since the bad news
Well I'm here till close, with fingers crossed
Each night cause your place isn't far

And hours pass, and hours pass, yeah, yeah...

Yeah, yeah, she still counts the minutes
That I am not there, I swear I didn't mean
For it to feel like this
Like every inch of me is bruised, bruised
And don't fly fast. Oh, pilot can you help me?
Can you make this last? This plane is all I got
So keep it steady, now
Cause every inch you see is bruised, bruised, bruised

- "Bruised" by Jack's Mannequin