Eyes.

I don't know what working with a producer or creative exec is like on a Hollywood movie, but this is a bit of how it's worked on the script I'm writing for V.

We meet weekly (and with the exception of Thanksgiving, we've been pretty good about making this time every week). The first few weeks we did some brainstorming together, developing the characters, outlining the plot, discussing theme. Because I am not a very quick thinker (which I'll have to conquer when I move to LA, I know), I would usually just nod and take notes and go home and really flesh out the characters and story on my own time. We did character profiles and an outline and beat sheet for the first half of the script. We talked about a treatment but never did one. That was fine with me.

When we got to the actual writing, I would work on the pages during the week, email them to him the night before our meeting, and go discuss and take notes the next day. If I was surprisingly motivated, I would rework previous pages to incorporate notes and send those along as well. That happened twice. V. would give me his notes, I would argue them if I felt strongly, we'd discuss what we think happens next, and then we'd adjourn.

We started working on the story at the end of August, and as of today I'm hovering on the precipice of the Act II break. My goal is to have the script finished by next week's meeting and then do a quick run through to incorporate the notes I've gotten the past few months and have a draft 1.5 ready the following week to hand over the night before I leave for Christmas.

And then we start giving it to other people for notes.

And then we'll rewrite it.

And THEN we'll start preproduction.

It all seems very fast to me. I told V. how difficult it was to come to our meetings sometimes, nervous about what he was going to say about certain pages. I haven't shown any a 'draft zero' like this since I was in college, and then it was expected that everything we wrote was going to be rather crappy. In fact, the only people who have read any of my scripts since graduation have been family members, and none of those scripts were at 'draft zero' stage. With V. I (am beginning to) feel comfortable showing pages that are that rough, but even with a quick pass/rewrite, it goes against all my instincts to show anyone a script that's fewer than 3 or 4 drafts refined. When I personally know that there are ways I can improve and rewrite it, it's difficult to hand it over, knowing that it has problems, even just to a friend for notes.

Getting notes sometimes makes me nervous. Actually, GETTING notes doesn't make me nervous. Harsh criticism makes me nervous. Hearing that something is unfixably terrible makes me nervous. Hearing that I'm a talentless hack makes me nervous. I don't I will be receiving those "notes" this time, but there is this anxiety of hearing that, not only is the script not where it should be, but that I won't be able to be the one to get it there.

I am sharing a draft of The Exit Strategy for the first time. A film friend who's been asking to see it for about 9 months has a copy, along with a long list of questions and thoughts that I have. I was planning on rewriting it one more time before sending it to her, but then I figured it'd be nice to have someone as a sounding board for the changes I was going to implement. I love this script dearly and I know she won't be mean, but at the end of the email I asked her the big questions --

Is this story worth it? Is there any potential here? Were you invested? Were you bored? Could you see this as an (indie) movie?

Should I spend my time rewriting and rewriting and rewriting it? Or simply move on?

I texted the Hockey Player to tell him I had sent the Exit Strategy to my friend, and he responded, "Great! Now send it to a producer! If that's the next step." I said, "Rewriting is the next step."

Because 98% of the time, rewriting is always the next step.

Bad News.

Kurt Kuenne gives advice on what to do when you get news of a sale that's similar to a script you're working on. I'm looking at you, Young Adult.

Coffee shops, my second home.

We're 17 pages into the script I'm writing for V, and I'm feeling pretty good. I'm hoping to have Act I finished in a week for next week's meeting with V. He thinks we'll have a first draft done by mid/late November. I'll be happy if it's before Christmas.

And then we're sending it out for notes.

This is where I get concerned. V and I meet (nearly) every week, and I'm sure if he had any huge concerns he would bring them up. But most of my changes so far have been cosmetic. Maybe that's because we're still pushing through Act I, where the drama is more situational instead of character driven. But I'm a little worried that we're going to drive through the first draft, and I'm going to be oblivious to any big problems, and then we're going to show it to other people (like other of my former professors) and they're going to think it's awful.

But I know I've only gotten better in the last two years. Sometimes it's just hard to remember that when you're sitting alone in a coffee shop, your tea getting cold and your page count barely inching along.

I am excited about NaNoWriMo, though. I'm trying to put some thought and planning into my novel this year. I'm hoping this year I'll come through with something more than just a self published paperback I only let blood relatives and the occasional Hockey Player read.

Want to read it? Sometime in February? Yeah? Well, we'll see.

I thought I had finished my zombie story. I'm trying to prune the list of short stories I have in their various states of disarray. The zombie story had been through two drafts and I thought only need a polish. And then I had a better idea for it. Work is never finished. You can always be improving...

It's so cold everywhere.

Sometimes I say things to not look like an idiot, but instead I just prove it.

Last weekend I went to a goodbye party for a friend who was moving to China. I got to meet a lot of new people, which allowed for the always long story of where I'm from, what I'm doing, and what I want to be doing (seriously, I never think my life is complicated until I start telling this story. And usually I just skip the bit about England).

I got talking with my friend's dad about how I wanted to be a writer, and he said, "That's a tough career. A lot of people try it, and very few can make any money off it."

And I said, "That's true, which is why I think the key to having a sustainable writing career is to diversify, produce everything from screenplays to short stories so you can tap into the market from all angles."

And as he was nodding his head, all I could think was WHAT? Where did that come from? I've never said that before in my life, and I don't even really think it's true. I said it because I was to scared to admit to this person, who has relatives in the film business and legitimately knows how difficult it is, that I'm gambling a whole lot of time and energy on something that could turn out to be a big black hole. I couldn't say, "Yeah, screenwriting is more commonly a source of frustration than money but I'm going to do it anyway," because I didn't want to sound like some starry-eyed high schooler with her fingers crossed for NYU. So I made something up and just sounded dumb.

I do write more than screenplays. I write short stories and sometimes novel excerpts and these amazing blog posts, but it's not because I think I'm going to make a career out of them. It's because I enjoy all those modes of storytelling. I'm still learning not to be embarrassed about being a writer, even about being an unpublished/unproduced writer. I hope that next time someone says, in essence, "Oh you want to be a writer? That's a tough field," I'll be able to say, "You're right, it is. And I'm going to rock it out anyway."

PS. I finished that short story I've been working on. It's 18 pages of mess, but it's also 18 pages of awesome. Maybe you guys can't tell from my blogs, but I'm really not half bad.

Holidays and Hostages.

I don't have anything to say about hostages. Let's just say it's better than the first consonance I thought up.

Since weekend holidays aren't lengthy enough to justify the trip back home, I spent Easter with the Hockey Player's family. It was nice, and I ate a lot. I did not much get writing done, but I'm pretty sure I got a pass.

There was one moment, as we were sitting around before dinner on Saturday, that I kinda felt like an idiot. I was talking with one of the other women, who was bouncing her newborn, her third son, on her knee when she started to ask me about my writing. I told her I was working on a screenplay and a novel. The trouble started when she asked me what my novel was about.

I hate. hate. hate summarizing what I'm working on. Because this is what I sound like--

"Oh, you know, it's like a fantasy."

To her credit, she continued to ask. "So are there dragons and things?"

"No, you know, it's more like a subtle fantasy." Really? Subtle fantasy? Who am I, some emo high schooler pretending my swords-and-sorcery novel is literature?

And then, because I have to divert the conversation away from my writing but keep it on me, I start to justify my choices.

"Genre novels, paranormal, fantasy, are actually doing really well on solely virtual platforms, like Kindles and e-books. So if it works well, I'd really like to look into self publishing through the internet. People actually make livings that way."

If I had been that articulate, at least I only would have come across sounding like a pompous big-headed nerd. Since I sorta stumbled all over my words, I came across sounding like a dumb pompous big-headed nerd [the Hockey Player insists this wasn't so, but I'm pretty sure he was sleeping on the couch at that point].

And this woman, bless her heart, was nodding along like what I was saying actually made sense, all while I felt like a fourteen year old blathering on about my first novel attempt and how it was going to be brilliant enough that I'd actually make MONEY off of it.

But you know what? I really like this story. The more I think about it, the more excited I get. And whenever I figure out how to talk about it, I for sure WILL be talking about it.

Speaking of fantasy, while we were away for the holidays, George R.R. Martin's Game of Thrones, based on his Song of Fire and Ice books, some of my favourite books, premiered on HBO. Since one of the reasons I'm dating the Hockey Player is because he has HBO, I asked him to record it for us to watch when we got back.

I've literally been waiting for this series for over a year.

Needless to say, when we sat down to watch it, I was stocked. I broke the bank and bought name brand ice cream for the event. But when he pulled it up on the DVR, I was suddenly alarmed--

"Why is the description in Spanish?"

There was this silence, and then a very quiet, "Uh oh."

The Hockey Player doesn't just have HBO. He has HBO Latino. And guess which one he recorded.

Let's just say, lucky for our relationship, the episode was being offered on demand too. And the Hockey Player changed his DVR settings so that he'd record it in English. And it was pretty funny, too, watching the first five minutes, which has no dialog, and then to hear that dramatic first line--in Spanish.

I'm loving the series and wishing more and more that I had beyond basic cable [we don't even get TBS anymore]. Game of Thrones has already been picked up for a second season, so I told the Hockey Player that as long as he keeps his cable subscription around, he's got pretty good insurance on keeping me around too.

Blast.

I knew coming to Starbucks was a bad idea.

I usually like to go to more Michigan-y coffee shops, but Starbucks was right here and I had a gift card and they usually have quality AC. Bad move, Amy.

I've been working pretty steadily on my rom com. Plagued with self doubt as I do it, but I think I've finally gotten past my two or three false starts into my first draft for real. I've been knocking off a couple pages a day because, well, I'm not working so I should be doing something productive. And as I was sitting in Starbucks, typing away and trying to ignore my phone because it's the ultimate distraction these days, one of my friends who's a summer starter at the law school walks in.

I adore my friends, but this just furthers my hypothesis that law school ruins peoples' lives.

We say, "What are you doing here??" like it's a surprise to see someone at a Starbucks on campus (actually just I did that. Because I'm socially awkward), chit chat, and then he asks me what my script's about. And I give him the long version of the log line because even though I don't like talking about my scripts and I hate summarizing, it's a skill that I've got to learn.

And he goes, "Oh, it sounds like that 'How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days' movie."

And then he leaves me to wallow in the dazed and broken pieces of my spirit.

Because on one level, he's very right. Almost too right. As in, I haven't written anything since he's left. And I remember, from somewhere in the parts of my mind where I put things to forget, having had this conversation before I started writing this stupid script. Only I can't remember how I justified it being different enough. And I know it is different enough because it's my story. Naturally it's going to end up being a very different beast. Right?

Hollywood's built on "the same, but different" principle. Maybe my rom com will just slide gracefully into that category. After all, can't ever story be reduced down to similar synopsises? Well, I mean, probably When Harry Met Sally and Predator don't boil down to the same plot, but within genres at least.

Or I'll turn out to be a talentless hack who can only reguritate unoriginal story ideas. Maybe that will happen.

Flaming Lawnmowers and Hippies

This past weekend I went to Burlington, Vermont, with some friends. It was a blast. Weekend road trips are going to make a come back, I'm telling you.

Downtown Burlington. NOT "Birmingham," like I had been telling people.

The friends I went with asked me a fair amount of questions about screenwriting, which I really appreciated. I kinda happen to think that I do something interesting, but conversations usually go like this --

Rando: So you're an aide. Do you want to be a teacher?

Me: No, actually, I want to be a screenwriter.

Rando: Oh. (pause) So do you like working where you are?

I mean, how often do you meet educators? (Let me tell you, surprisingly often. My Bible study is mostly made up of educators or prospective educators. It was not planned.) How often do you meet someone who's trying to break into the movie business? I'm just saying, if I had just met me and was making small talk with myself, I'd ask myself about the writing business not the education business.

Ben & Jerry's factory. AKA the most delightful place on earth, right before Hershey, PA.

Anyway, the friends I went with were awesome sports because I kept taking out a notepad and taking notes. It's something new I'm trying to 1. help me get ideas and 2. improve my comedic writing. Of course, I decided to start this experiment the weekend I go away with friends. Some might find it creepy that I giggle to myself as I scribble furiously in illegible cursive on the hotel notepad, but my friends were awesome. They'd ask about what I was writing down and even suggest things they thought were funny.


Talking about writing with friends always makes me feel awkward. I feel simultaneously arrogant and embarrassed. I mean, it's pretty bold to go around talking about how you're going to write movies one day. And I think the chagrin comes from the underlying acknowledgment we all must (or should) have that this is a complete long shot. On the other hand, it's so important to me to have people I can talk to about what I love to do. And the ideal is that not only will I be able to have friends that I can talk to about writing but ones that will support me and take it seriously. So important that it's on the short list of qualities I want in a guy (right after "must look good in uniform" and before "preferably from Ireland or Britain").

The Flavor Graveyard at Ben and Jerry's, showing love to my British side.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to figure out a story that harmonizes the Jersey Mafia and a trendy Montclair cupcake cafe.

Goodbye, East Coast mountains...

Go for the Gold

I watched the ice dancing competition last night. Really fantastic. I'd also like to brag a few minutes - two of the three American teams were Michigan students. Six of the eight competing athletes representing USA in this sport.

Davis and White, with some non-Olympic medals. Doesn't he look like Steve Zahn?

As I was watching, I wondered if it was to late to switch careers. The medal ceremony unfolded, and I wistfully thought how amazing it would be to be presented with a shiny gold medal for being outstanding at what you do. To not be mediocre. And then I realized...

Hollywood DOES give out shiny gold awards for being grand!

Someday, you and I will have a date, sir.

Day 4: More note carding. I'm more than halfway through the script, close to Act III.

How I rewrite --

I read through the screenplay again, refamiliarized myself with the script and the notes I already had, took a few more notes. The first rewrite is mostly structural, so I'm not really taking nit-picky notes. I reverse engineer my step outline on 3x5 cards. I then sticky tack it up on the wall and playing around with the structure, rearranging scenes, adding scenes, throwing scenes out. This is the best way I've found to wrap my head around the immensity of an entire screenplay. When I take out a note card, I can see the hole in the structure. I can see when an act is top heavy with scenes. I can identify actions scenes, sub plots, character moments. Structure has to be addressed first, and I find using note cards to be more effective than an electronic document or even a printed step outline.

When I know what the next step is, I'll let you know.

So Saturday is my birthday. That's, you know, fun. My birthday hasn't always had the best of luck. One year when I was a kid our car was stolen on my birthday. And last year, well.

This year Firefighter Friend, High School Friend L, her husband, and I are all going down to visit other High School Friend S and her husband. Yay, the beach in winter! But seriously, I'm always excited for a good roadtrip and good times with friends.

When I was younger I thought 23 was a clutch year. If you weren't on your way to making it by the time you were 23, you weren't going to make it at all. My opinion has changed slightly, as I am now turning 24 (gracious, mid-20s!). On the flip side, though, I was at an interview the other day where I was asked about my five year plan.

"Well," I said, "I'm turning 24 this weekend. I hope to start my film career by the time I'm 26."

Two more years to pull myself together, right? All well and good, except - I spent 5 years getting this diploma. How many years does it do nothing more than hang on my wall?

Questions for another day. This birthday, it's going to be roadtrips and friends and fun.

Introducing Ellen DeGeneres

Tonight at dinner, I became this one woman comedy show. Not Ellen, because Ellen rarely cracks up at her own jokes, and I occasionally bring myself to tears. That's usually a combination of stress and bad jokes though. I know some of my more lovely friends might disagree with me and, look, I'm not saying I'm going to start selling tickets. I don't have enough childhood trauma and substance abuse history for more than one show's material. But I was never really a funny child. Now I get laughs - and not just pity laughs! I know the difference.

Here is why I bring this up. I'm trying, for the first time, to write some semblance of comedy. I toyed with a half hour comedy pilot a couple months ago but left it percolating. Maybe it would be better as a novel. I can write a snarky novel better than a slapstick laugh gag pilot. Half the time, I don't even know what I'm going to say is funny. So I decided to not take a risk and not work on the pilot.

Then a couple nights ago I was lying in bed awake, unable to sleep, which only happens three times a year, and I started thinking about a rom com feature. A few minutes daydreaming, and suddenly I experienced one of those fabled sit up, turn the light on, and grab your bedside notebook moments. It was good stuff. I've been looking for some good stuff to work on.

BUT it brought up the problem of comedy again. Aaahhhh.

Alright, look. I pride myself on being a person unafraid to take risks. I need to grow as a writer. It's a great marketable idea. I need to work on something. Anything. Even something that's supposed to be funny.

Hey, I'm not married to the idea. There's a lot of work that still needs to be done on it. I only take the risks that I want. But if I don't write this script, it's won't be because the laughs intimidate me.

...

Maybe I should go rent some Charlie Chaplins.

My Words are Stuck

I haven't written anything in about six weeks. Nothing. Not a treatment or a scene or even a logline. I haven't even pulled the typewriter out to plunk on it. I'm not even interested in reading screenwriting blogs. That's like my main procrastination method of choice. I have hard copy grammar and punctuation corrections that I can't bring myself to transfer to the computer file.

It's pretty bad, boys and girls.

It becomes a vicious cycle. I don't want to write anything, and so I don't write anything because I'm sure it will be awful, and then I feel guilty about not wanting to write, and so I don't write anything because I'm sure if I were a real talented writer I'd have turrets from needing to write so nothing I write could be good and why am I such a poser? Nonwriters don't understand this paranoia. Just imagine how you would feel if you suddenly found your favourite food made you gag or participating in your favourite hobby made you want to gouge your eyes out. Something like that.

I thought about cutting myself off completely. No blogs, no books, no script pages floating around. I could carry a legal pad and a pen, and in complete isolation from the rest of the screenwriting world, in silence and seclusion, I could doodle with whatever words peeked out from whatever dark reaches they're hiding in. Perhaps it doesn't need to be that extreme. But, I am definitely not going to push it. Paranoia punctures joy. And if under the layers of hard work and drained veins and hours of word-smithing, all crusted with a shallow layer of self loathing, if there isn't a core of joy underneath all that, then what's the point?

I'm just biding my time, blank page. Words will come when you least expect it...

Carpal tunnel froze your fingers?

That's writer equivalent for "Cat got your tongue?" Psh, I don't know, I hate making up titles for my blogs. Or my screenplays or teleplays or novels or anything.

Since I have the attention span of a goldfish (yay, I'm shiny!), I sometimes am unable to read through other writers' brilliant and looooong blog posts. I don't know how most of them do it, by the way. Maybe that's why those people are real writers...

Hehe.

Anyway, one of the blogs I was so perusing in my scany eyes-glazed-over way was Kay Reindl's post Readers & Writers that followed up on Josh Olson's angry diatribe. These particular passages jumped out to me, emphasis mine:

I can tell if someone can write. End of story. The script may not be very good. The writer may have made all of those rookie mistakes that we all made. But if that person has the ability to write, I CAN TELL. If they have a tin ear for dialogue, I CAN TELL. If they can't structure a story, I CAN TELL. Not because I'm successful, but because I've read three million screenplays. I've been in writer's rooms breaking stories. I've given notes. And I've written. I've read scripts that are hot messes, but there's a voice there. Writing is ALL about voice. Either you have it, or you don't. Sure, people can learn to structure stories correctly. They can learn the mechanics of writing. But they CANNOT learn to be writers. Either you have a voice, or you don't. If you don't understand what makes a writer, then I guess I can't explain it to you. ...

I was an illustration major in college. Like Josh, I can draw pretty well. And I thought I could make a living at it until I met someone whose work had voice. And I realized that although I could do a pretty decent job, I didn't have that voice. I realized it because even though I love making art, I allowed myself to be open enough to really see what made a successful artist. And I didn't have it. I was close, but I didn't have it.

...

AHHHHHHH!!!!

Now Kay Reindl doesn't know me, but I'm very sure she picked up a 2x4 and whacked me across the face with it. Because I'm pretty sure I have the most pedestrian voice ever. And first of all, what the crap is voice? Sidney Lumet says in his book that style is one of the most overused words ever. Isn't voice just another word for style? I don't know how to become self aware of my voice. Maybe I'm unsure about my voice because I have yet to carry a screenplay to its business-ready draft. The first couple drafts are so much about getting the story out there - I turn off my internal editor just so I can finish a page without worrying that I sound uninspired - and subsequent drafts are where my voice finally finds it to the page.

She has a point, you know. You can know how to write a screenplay or a story or a concerto but not have a gift for it. I can learn about the mechanics of perspective but never draw a stunning picture. But the problem is, you can still draw. I can write. Five completed first drafts say so. But I think it's difficult to become self-aware of your voice. And part of me just isn't sure yet where to find it in all those pages. I feel like the little mermaid here, clutching my throat after Ursula commandeered my voice (ugh, tentacles!).

Which is why, on the flip side, I love Julie Gray (she's just nice. And she likes cupcakes. We would definitely be friends). Her recent reply to an email about jealousy is a nice balance to other panic-inducing blogs:

If you feel jealous, take a deep breath and sit with the feeling for a moment. Articulate it. Bob got an option, and I suddenly worry I’ve been wasting all these years and I’ve GOT to get a real job one of these days and [insert random, stream-of-consciousness worry here]. Okay, those are all valid feelings. So what are you gonna do, quit? Become an angry, bitter, ugly person and throw some coconuts at Bob? Or how about sit your ass back down and get back to work like a pro and maybe make some of your killer spaghetti sauce later?

And that's what we do. Sit ourselves back down and get back to it. And maybe there's a voice of indomitable character in that.

Zapped

I interviewed for a job last week. It's not a job in film, because I don't have that sort of commitment level in me, but it's a real, salaried job. (Ok, that comment about the film industry is a little untrue. I poked around the film jobs near me but decided I didn't want the hour-each-way-commute or the 10-12 hour days with no time to write. That is, of course, assuming I could even get one of those jobs.) I haven't heard back yet, but my sources on the inside tell me good things.

As it is, though, I currently don't have a job. I try to make my life meaningful by leaving the house at least once a day and baking various confections as quickly as we can eat them. I've recently discovered I can tolerate Starbucks macchiatos, for all the time I spend there staring listlessly at my computer screen. I try to write at least once a day because, like I said, I don't do anything else to be a contributing member of society, but the last couple days my creative juices have been completely zapped. I don't even consider it writer's block when I'm not even able to focus on any current projects.

The only thing I'm making any progress on is the screenplay D. and I thought up inside an elevator. And by progress, I mean I'm plunking out a page or two a day, cringing at how flat and uninspired my writing is. I'm still in Act I, no matter how desperately I'm crawling towards the act break. It's at times like these I'm glad I can type without looking at the screen, because then I can advert my eyes away from the train wreck.

This is when the whole writing as a career thing starts to look like a bad idea. Paranoid Writer Syndrome starts to encroach upon the logic of how mastering the craft takes time, the fact that I have improved, the fun I do have while writing, yada yada yah.

I did finally connect with Current Draft last night. Perhaps I am stunted as a writer, but I find that I write better and the story flows faster when the emotional core of the story is related to something going on in my life. And last night I figured out how Current Draft related to my life, and I skipped ahead and wrote a scene in Act II and made the characters pontificate to each other. A scene that's terribly on the nose. A scene that will most likely get completely reworked and rewritten, if not completely cut. But it's in the file, in its own little tab, so that when I get frustrated and confused and start thinking about how satisfying it would be to throw my computer against the wall I can glance back at this little scene and remind myself about the emotional core of the story. It's a lot easier to write when I remember how this story is just my story.

I never thought Act I was that much fun to write anyway.

In which Amy spills about her TV writing projects --

TV writing is difficult.

I started with my spec script.

Not the actual writing of it. The research. The watching of episode after episode after episode. The reading of How-To books. The episode break downs (which I'm infinitely proud of. Our professors in screenwriting used to challenge us to do movie break downs. Heck no am I ever doing a break down of something 90 minutes or longer).

The thing with my spec script was I kept having to come up with a different idea. I had a great story. I was excited about it and felt it fit the show well and was fairly sure I could execute it well. Then I was skimming episode summaries of seasons I had yet to see - and found a nearly matching logline. I have yet to see the episode - it could play out completely differently - but why bother? I was ruminating on a second idea when that one was also blown out of the water by another episode.

But, dear readers, third time's the charm. Finally I had an excellent medical premise for the script. The story aspect needed some work. It still does. I'm hammering out my outline. I have never felt like the outline was as important as I do now right now for this spec. Maybe it's because I made those episode breakdowns. Maybe it's because I saw how tightly structured the episodes. It's tough, finding the ultimate balance between being new and inventive and outstanding and demonstrating that I know the structure and story and tone of the show. I have still not actually started writing the episode, which is bad news since I want to have it finished before the end of the month.

And then there's the pilot.

Oh the pilot. The pilot that I had no real intentions of writing because I had no real ideas for it. But I had an idea. And I sat down the other day. And I wrote. And I wrote seven pages in one day, which is more than I've written in one sitting since the last time I had a deadline. No outline. Vague understanding of what I wanted to accomplish in the episode. Now I'm on page 15 or something, and I'm quite happy with it, especially as a first ditch effort at a pilot.

The paranoia that's setting in (there's always paranoia, you know), is that what I find interesting and engaging is bo-o-or-ing. It constantly gets rammed into writers that audiences are abnormally advanced when it comes to... being an audience. They've seen countless stories, they know the plot twists, they're looking for the red herrings. It's your job as a writer to stay ahead of them. It's not an easy race.

But right now, I'm just looking forward to the challenge of finishing these scripts.

Neurotic

I've had a lot on my mind recently that's been stressing me out. It's funny how suddenly neurotic you can become (and by you I mean me). Luckily, if things are on your mind, it means that you're thinking them through, and are hopefully making some sort of progress...

Tomorrow my screenwriting II class starts. I'm very excited. I'm a bit torn about which script I want to rewrite, the 4:05 or Collapse. I was a better writer when I wrote Collapse, but it's kinda depressing and the 4:05 is much more cheery and whimsical and needs more work. I'm still secretly planning on trying to rewrite both of them.

I was having a hard time thinking about my next script. Sometimes my anxiety level skyrockets, which just freaks me out even more because what would a real writer have to worry about? So as I struggled to come up with new ideas, I also tried to figure out what was bothering me so much. What was I afraid of? Failing? And with that my next story started to fall together.

Because this is what I realized. My best scripts, the ones that are the most well written, the ones that I love the best, come from questions and issues that I struggled with, and I will connect with them again and again because of what they mean to me. That's why I'm willing to rewrite the 4:05 as many times as it takes or return to Collapse for another semester. And just because the story is so closely connected to my life doesn't mean that it won't resonate with others. There's the screenwriting advice that says the more specific you make a story the more universal it becomes. Yes, the stories are particular to me and my life, but the issues of love and loss and fear, those belong to everyone. You have to find motivation for your story. You have to find a reason for it to be told and the fortitude to keep coming back to it again and again. Without a personal connection to a story, you're never going to be able to see it through satisfactorily.

So what's my new story going to be like? It's Atonement meets the Matrix meets the Old Testament. Come on now, who doesn't want to hear it?

This is when I rambled.

Reader, I had a very productive day. I did three loads of laundry, got my permit (yes, I'm a little old for that. It's a long boring story - just of me never being bothered to learn how to drive), baked a batch of cookies, and cleaned up the kitchen after dinner (I haven't seen a kitchen that bad since I was au pairing in England).

Since then, I've been highly entertained by some hacker on the Zoetrope boards posting incessant nonsense.

But seriously. Let's talk about real stuff.



I know, I'm sorry. I'm a sell out. But you have to understand - even though we have cable at home, the best thing on TV late at night is Sex and the City - the clean version, by the way. I don't watch this anywhere else, really, but at home I get an hour and a half straight. And, well, I sorta start to look forward to it. And then I read an interview with Sarah Jessica Parker in New York, and she seemed like such a nice person and a real New Yorker. So yes! I've gotten suckered into (not so) secretly wanting to see this movie.



Pushing Daisies - sadly I couldn't find the pilot episode but I got ahold of the second. If you haven't seen this show, you really need to go to ABC.com asap. This show is funny, inventive, and it's beautifully shot. And Ned - he's such a sweetheart! Jim's got some really competition for dreamiest make-believe boy.

But seriously. I regret not keeping up with this show from the start. And keeping with a Lee Pace theme...



I am so excited for this movie. It hasn't gotten the best reviews, and I'm not sure when I'll get to see it because it's only got a limited US release right now. But it looks stunning. Check the trailer out here.

So remember how on Sunday I said I wasn't writing screenplays until I had an idea that I was positively itching to write, something that excited me and made me happy? Well, I've got this idea. It's not like anything I've done before - no, I'm putting aside the real life melodramas for a children's fantasy story. I got the premise the day I finally got a key to our house, and since then it's been slowly percolating (I think it has something to do with The Fall - I keep seeing that girl as one of the characters). I haven't started writing yet, though I might start making some notes. The lesson I'm learning right now - don't rush, don't rush, don't rush.

When film first started, people argued over what it's purpose was - was it to play with realism in the ways only film could (formalism) or was it to document realism in the way only film could (realism - shocker, right?). I heard things got pretty heated in that debate - this was the beginning of a new art form after all. I've thought about which camp I'd belong to - I think it's very important for filmmakers to know what they think the purpose of film is - not that you can't play in both, but where do you go at the end of the day? I can't make up my mind - because I love stories about people in real life going through real difficulties and handling them in real ways - but I love formalism. Méliès "Trip to the Moon" - and I don't even like silent cinema! That's why I loved Stardust, even if it's not the most graceful story every told, and why I am fascinated by The Fall, even though I've heard it lacks a lot in the story department. The visual spectacle of fantasy and science fiction and epics spark my own imagination. But sometimes I'm afraid I don't have enough imagination to create those sorts of stories. The inventiveness and magic that I love so much in these stories also intimidates me. But that's the challenge, isn't it? I've always liked a challenge.

And really, I know which "camp" I belong to. The one that tells real stories about real people in imaginative fantastic settings. I'm just still getting my creative courage to go there.

Caesar si viveret, ad remum dareris

Dear Reader. Dear, dear Reader. Let's talk.

First of all, I don't know what's made you so endearing to me all of a sudden. I must be getting sentimental in my old age. And speaking of you dear readers, it's quite alright to pipe up and say something once in a while. I do know people visit this site, oddly enough, you're not slipping that by me, and sometimes I lie awake in my bed at night and wonder why the heck someone from - is that Slovakia? - would find anything of interest here. And who the heck is still in my uni town at this time of the year? I'm not being a stalker, I swear, or a creeper who does like awake thinking about her blog (I already wrote what I lay awake thinking about), I just feel a little left out by all those bloggers who know how to figure out what people are truly Googling when they stumble across their blog.

But seriously - does anyone know how to find that out?

Bullet point number two - I told you I would write about how my creative endeavors (that's totally my new favourite word for some reason. I think it's because I keep using it in my Zoetrope reviews) have been going. Well here it goes:

I haven't written anything.

Ok, so maybe that's not *entirely* true. I picked three feature ideas I think have the strongest potential. I wrote a few lines about each of the main characters, maybe a little plot summary. I nailed a premise for a webseries and wrote out one to two sentence plot summaries for twelve episodes.

But any real writing?

...does writing directions count?

But I protest - this does not mean that I have been uproductive. Not at all, dear - anonymous lurker. I say no! Here it is what I have been doing instead, just over the past week:

- I have made this blog prettier. And for you, reader, I have tried to add some more useful links, blogs, and sites. ... Ok, at the very least, they're better organized.

- I watched Rules of the Game, Once, Stardust, Atonement, Purple Rose of Cairo, and The Searchers. That's six films. Seven if you count the director's commentary I watched of Walk the Line. That's more than I've probably been awake for over the past academic year (outside of class, of course, professors!).

- I cracked and got a MySpace account because some day, some how, in some weird way I might use it for networking. And I've been collaborating with my web designer for the Lives Agape page, hoping that will be running in a few days and "Join This Group?" will be up for the world to see.

- I started participating in two writer's communities: Wordplayer, which I fade in and out of, and Zoetrope, which I'm giving a third attempt, this time whole-heartedly. And it's working because in addition

- I read and reviewed four scripts. To get reviews for a script in Zoetrope, you first have to pay your dues. This was actually a really good experience, though I did all four of them in about four days, which was pretty draining. Let's just say my computer screen and I are still on delicate terms.

- I actively pursued reviews for The 4:05. It's in the hands of three friends/mentors that I know personally as well as being live over at Zoetrope.

- I read David Mamet's book 3 Uses of the Knife. ... I'm sorry, MM, I really am. I know how much you love him, but - he just doesn't cut it for me.

- I listened to threef Creative Screenwriting's Q&A podcasts on Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium, Juno, and Waitress. These were incredible and inspiring, and I heartily recommend them. Go to iTunes to get them - don't look for them through that link. That page looks a little outdated to me, but I don't know how to link to iTunes.

So, no, I have not written a real word, but I dare you to call me unproductive. I have learned a lot over the past week.

But still, I felt guilty about not really writing. I mean, I have all this time. I'm not going to be able to write at camp again this year, and when it comes to being back at uni, if I'm honest, I typically put writing second to life in any shape or form. Isn't this a waste? Shouldn't I be pushing forward with something? Haven't the Greats told us that we need to write every day? What good are all the lessons I'm learning if I'm not actively applying them in my writing life?

But something clicked in all those lessons. It came through Zach Helm (Stranger than Fictions, Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium) and Diablo Cody (Juno, Jennifer's Body). And that was this. When asked about their writing schedules and writer's block, they said, honestly and point blank -

If they don't feel like writing, they won't.

I think hearing it twice, from writers who have crafted incredible movies, made it okay for me to face the frustration and lack of motivation and dissatisfaction and the slight panic that comes from not wanting to write. Maybe it's just an excuse. Maybe it shows a lack of will power in me. Maybe it shows a lack of devotion in me. I know there will be people shaking their heads at me. For some people, this is not an "okay" action to take right now. But I think that I'm okay with that. Because you know what? Writing is supposed to be a joy. Sure, it's a heck of a lot of hard work, and it's not always pleasant, but the fact that I have a story that I'm passionate about and that I love - that's supposed to bring me joy. And I don't feel that right now about any of my projects. There's potential there - but there's not any joy yet.

So I'm not going to write. I don't know for how long. Long enough for me to find the story that I want to write. And I don't mean that I'm not going to write at all - now that's bordering on crazy talk. I'm most definitely going to blog (maybe more than usual, actually), because I'm still going to be reading books and listening to podcasts and watching lots of movies, and I want to write about those lessons that I'm learning there. I'm still going to read scripts at Zoetrope and write reviews.

And I think I'm going to take some time to do some personal writing, handwriting, journaling. Because I think the story that I want to tell next - I don't think it's going to come from outside of me. It's inside, I'm sure, sometimes I think I can hear it. So that's where I need to go.

It sounds like it might be a novel.

My Sweater in the Trash

I actually stole that from a friend who was talking about how random and irrelevant CD titles often are. The thing is, as I was pondering this and how I was going to plagiarize it for a blog post, I realized that there is a *huge* difference between "My sweater in the trash" and "A sweater in my trash." Possession of either the sweater or the trash creates a whole different story. Sure, probably only an English major (former English major, really) would pick up on the emphasis created by the possessive. However, any good story teller would pick up on the difference.

I flew home the other day. During my trip I thought of several things to blog about. With a computer finally in front of me, my mind is rather blank. And it's a crying shame, too. I keep telling myself that while this blog is instructional to no one, some people might find the adventures of a undergrad film student mildly entertaining. But how few those adventures have been. Next semester, I say, when I finally take a screenwriting class, what I am supposedly at school for, when I write and direct my own short, when I am more immersed in the program than I've even been before, then, *then* I will have some stories. But I find myself anxious still.

Does anyone know whatever happened to Julie?

I got to visit the Apple store today. They really need to rename it the Happy Store. Anyone else see the advantage for an emerging filmmaker to have an iPod video, or at least one of those adorable little new Nanos that have video on them too? Why yes, I have made a short - in fact, I have it right here in my pocket.

I've been having acute episodes of Paranoid Writer's Syndrome. I'm not even sure what about, really. One hit me in Borders today as I was flipping through various books about writing. There are so many great quotes from writers, but often times I read them, especially those that absurdly try to define who a writer is or what they do, and something cold squeezes around my heart when I realizes that, whatever kind of person they're talking about, they're not talking about me. Those writers who talk about how writing is like breathing for them and they can't imagine being happy doing anything else and how a writer is someone for whom, I don't know, writing is like picking flowers, just as happy and joyful, they make me want to throw those books to the ground and run away. It's not that there aren't also a plethora of quotes about how writing is hard work and how most writers do everything they can to avoid writing and how writing is like picking up a pen and scratching until it inks out blood. It's just that I'm afraid that those are not the really writers. What if the reason that writing is so difficult for some of us is that we're not really meant to be writers? For every quote about how beautiful writing is, I need three of how painful and hard it is to reassure myself. It's a painfully scary business, writing. If you don't know exactly how thermodynamics work, you can learn it through studying. If you can't understand how to tell a good story, well, all you can do is keep chasing after the lightning. There's no guarantee you're ever going to get it.

On the flip side, while I was hanging out in the airport the other day I made a quick list of all the ideas I have for feature length scripts. Within two minutes I had a list of five or six ideas, and any one of them I would be happy to pick up and start working on right now. In fact, the difficult thing come the beginning of my screenwriting class is going to be deciding which one I want to pursue. It will be my fourth script, so maybe we'll finally be approaching on something good. Really, I'm excited, albeit a little nervous, about finally taking a screenwriting class. I've waited a whole year to take this class (stupid prereqs). Hopefully it will teach me the discipline that I've completely lost since this summer, and I will finally be able to work in a peer-review environment. I'm ready for this.

I really am in love with that Snow Patrol song. I love songs that encourage people, even if there is a somber note in it. It's a beautiful bittersweetness. "Have heart, my dear."

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.

I started watching "Bones" and now I'm hooked

If you give your college age daughter a gift card to Dunkin Donuts for breakfast one day, you'll never see it again. Or maybe if that's just if you give it to me...

I just saw a "It's ten o'clock. Do you know where your children are?" ad. They still have those?

So in my previous post I talked about how I feel that, since the last two of my three scripts have sucked royally, I really need to make the next one count. Lucky for me, the next one will probably be a collaboration piece with a friend who came to me with a great idea. But a thread sprang up on Wordplayer that has to do with self doubt that I've found helpful. Some people are like, "Well, get it out, even if it sucks. It's all practice." Other people are like "I've never understood that. It's only practice if you're practicing the right things and it will be good." Bill M. had a great response here about how everyone makes mistakes as they learn. Anticipate the mess, but don't get sloppy. I should know this. I've been writing long enough to know that what I'm doing now will not be as good as what I'll write later. It's part of perfecting the craft. Everyone's going to doubt now and then. It's all in about how you handle it.

Films/Theatre I've seen recently:

A Midsummer Night's Dream, Shakespeare in the Park - Good. I always enjoy Shakespeare in the Park, and I really liked the main story. I always have mixed feelings about the play within a play, because they did it really well and we laughed a lot, but at the same time you're like, why? I'm sure there's a grand interpretation, but that was the only time I got fidgety.

Trust the Man - Really, I want to love this movie. I like it. This is the second time I've seen it. It's just, can we deal with relationships and be funny without being crass? It's just the last scene - it saves the entire movie. I love that scene, it's perfect, especially what Billy Crudup's character says. This gives us an important lesson about the last scene and how crucial it is. It can swing your viewer/reader (as long as they've made it that far).

Mary Poppins, Broadway - Not my favourite Disney movie, but they offered us reasonable tickets. And I was absolutely delighted. Really a fun, amazing show, and even with all we know about the tricks of Broadway, I found myself wonder about how they did things. I definitely recommend it for anyone visiting New York. Great singing, great acting, great numbers. Not that I've ever had any experiences like that, a nanny in England...

Factory Girl - Sad movie. Fascinating and engaging (though here, too, are scenes that...) And Hayden Christensen looks great. ; ) Good movie, but definitely not a light one.

I have Russian Ark sitting by my bed. A movie shot all in one take, a choice that amazes me. I really want to watch it, but... I'm going to go back up my poor, beat up computer instead. I found out I'm eligible for a battery recall. That's great because my battery can only hold ten minutes. But it's not being recalled because it can't hold a charge. Oh no, it's being recalled because it tends to catch fire.

What can I say? It's a Mac. It's hott.