Okay, so the thing about a thirty-day sprint is that keeping up that pace for a full thirty days is, you know, hard. And this week, I just kinda sat down where I was, blinked a few times, and watched the world pass me by.
City of Truth has to wait till Marc gets freed up again, after Sundance and several meetings with production companies; Beaudry is moving slowly because I'm having classic third-act problems (i.e., I don't actually know what on earth happens during the third act); and although I've also been working on my taxes, at the moment I'm stymied because filling out one form requires first filling out another form which requires first filling out yet another form. It means, for mathematically-challenged persons such as myself (or numerically impaired, or just plain 'rithmetic-stupid), that you really need a big block of time with no distractions when you can just get in there and grind it out. This thought is in and of itself deeply depressing.
It got so bad the other night that I looked at the Sunday newspaper, sitting there unread on the floor next to the sofa, and thought that I really ought to just dump the whole thing in the recycling bag and get it off the floor. I leaned down for the paper and then stood again, thinking it was just too damn hard. The paper still sits there, waiting for me to find some giddyup somewhere.
Exercises? No, those fell away for a couple days, though I was able to force myself back on track by Wednesday. Mostly I have sat on the sofa, watching Bugs Bunny cartoons and cackling over "Hillbilly Hare."
And I could write more, but suddenly it all seems so... so very...
Friday, January 27, 2006
Wednesday, January 25, 2006
Another Excerpt
It's been a while since I last excerpted something from my writing; here's something else, then. It's from a short story called "Absinthe," and if you're familiar with Degas's painting then you know everything you need to know. The story came from my having this on my wall for years (erm, a copy, of course--a cheap print in a cheap frame, to be honest) as, slowly, it started to tell me a story. Oh, and by the way, the language is just a wee bit blue. But we're all adults, yes?
Blindness would come first.
First the dimming, then the fade then gone, and after it death. She always had known this but drank the drink anyway. It made no difference.
Alois sat next to her, smoking his pipe. Once he had explored her with its stem, but she had protested and he did not attempt it again. The other things, though, on these he would from time to time insist. It had been a long time and perhaps tonight he would wish one of these again. The scarlet cords or the kneeling with her eyes shut.
Suzanne wore her prettiest bonnet but that no longer meant anything to anyone but her. It had long ago gone as grey as her skin. Across the bar, in the smoked mirror, she saw her face, blank and grey and immobile, like a bust made of dead ash from Alois’s pipe. Or perhaps her face only seemed to wane when it was in truth her sight that was sinking. Was it possible that she still shone as once she had, only now she alone unable to perceive it?
She looked down to the green, almost viscous liqueur before her and even this effort was an effort, even this cost energy and seemed wasteful. No. She no longer shone.
Alois sniffled from his cold. In the heat of their fucking his nose would run and he would not notice. They had lain together so often that she knew this past doubt, and past caring. Everything was so vague, the edges indistinct, objects blurred together until even shape became difficult to distinguish. She knew of the painters who spoke of such things as a virtue but she could not see how or why. A painting ought not to make people feel as she always felt. Why would anyone wish this? Monsieur there in the corner—oh what was he sketching now?—, he told people he was a painter. She might ask him. But last week he had said he would paint her portrait one day, which could only mean he hoped to take her upstairs and pay with something else, with lines on paper. She had since refrained from meeting his eyes. The question was not so important.
The glass stood before her. She picked it up, sipped. Another mote lost forever, she thought, and sipped again.
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
On Being Not-Yet-Rich
So here's the thing: I am at present extremely not-yet-rich, and sometimes this is not-yet-fun. Take for example: the date January 20th recently passed, and for those who do not take pause to observe the moment, January 20th is the date assigned for the inauguration of the President of the United States--in those years when a President is inaugurated. Five years ago, when George II was inaugurated, I made a little pact with myself: on that day I donated money to an organization dedicated to the environment, because I figured that with a Republican in office, such organizations were going to need every dime they could get. (For the record: originally I donated to The Nature Conservancy, but as time passed I decided I needed someone a little more militant and switched over to the Natural Resources Defense Council--but don't worry, you'll never find me becoming an Earth First!er.) And then every year thereafter, for at least as long as George II was in office, I would donate money on the 20th of January. (Alas, as time passed it began to feel important to donate to a whole host of organizations: the ACLU, Amnesty International, and so on. So many important things at risk these days, and so little money to spread around.)
But this year, I just plain don't have the money, and the 20th of January passed with my pledge broken. It was not a happy moment. But you won't hear me calling myself poor, oh no. I am proudly not-yet-rich, that's what I am. I'm doing the 30-day sprint, I've got balls in the air (so to speak), and eventually something is going to happen somewhere. It's just a matter of time and continued application of effort.
In the meantime, there are things to learn. I got fired from a dayjob a while back, and with everything in my life in real jeopardy I suddenly found myself feeling a real hostility toward, to pick only one example, drivers in their fancy cars. Those smug little SOBs hurtling around L.A. in their Jaguars, their Mercedeses and their Lexi, the ostentatious overly-manicured women behind the wheels of their ginormous Escalades. There are a lot of aggressive, downright obnoxious drivers in Los Angeles, and there's a lot of wealth on conspicuous display. But it took me no time at all to find myself one of those people shut out of that world, and even if it was only temporary, it came as a revelation: there are an awful lot of people out there who are not not-yet-rich, who are instead ain't-never-gonna-be-rich, and I know firsthand how they feel sometimes (not all the time, but sometimes) when they see the wealthy tooling around town. I had a little taste of desperation, and it's not pretty. When I reach the position of being finally-really-truly-rich, I need to make damn sure I remember that feeling; and make damn sure that my money goes out into the world in places where it does some good. Habitat for Humanity, for instance. Add it to the list, and not just when a Republican's in office.
In the meantime, there is joy to be found for free if you know where to look. The internet has opened up a world of free downloadable music, and sometimes this yields extraordinary dividends. There's a music blog called Said the Gramophone that features some really fine writing (sometimes), and that recently led me to this: a Hungarian gypsy band called Félix Lajkó playing nearly fourteen minutes of the most heart-stopping, can't-stop-dancing music you've ever heard in your life. Go and listen. Geez but are you gonna thank me for this one.
But this year, I just plain don't have the money, and the 20th of January passed with my pledge broken. It was not a happy moment. But you won't hear me calling myself poor, oh no. I am proudly not-yet-rich, that's what I am. I'm doing the 30-day sprint, I've got balls in the air (so to speak), and eventually something is going to happen somewhere. It's just a matter of time and continued application of effort.
In the meantime, there are things to learn. I got fired from a dayjob a while back, and with everything in my life in real jeopardy I suddenly found myself feeling a real hostility toward, to pick only one example, drivers in their fancy cars. Those smug little SOBs hurtling around L.A. in their Jaguars, their Mercedeses and their Lexi, the ostentatious overly-manicured women behind the wheels of their ginormous Escalades. There are a lot of aggressive, downright obnoxious drivers in Los Angeles, and there's a lot of wealth on conspicuous display. But it took me no time at all to find myself one of those people shut out of that world, and even if it was only temporary, it came as a revelation: there are an awful lot of people out there who are not not-yet-rich, who are instead ain't-never-gonna-be-rich, and I know firsthand how they feel sometimes (not all the time, but sometimes) when they see the wealthy tooling around town. I had a little taste of desperation, and it's not pretty. When I reach the position of being finally-really-truly-rich, I need to make damn sure I remember that feeling; and make damn sure that my money goes out into the world in places where it does some good. Habitat for Humanity, for instance. Add it to the list, and not just when a Republican's in office.
In the meantime, there is joy to be found for free if you know where to look. The internet has opened up a world of free downloadable music, and sometimes this yields extraordinary dividends. There's a music blog called Said the Gramophone that features some really fine writing (sometimes), and that recently led me to this: a Hungarian gypsy band called Félix Lajkó playing nearly fourteen minutes of the most heart-stopping, can't-stop-dancing music you've ever heard in your life. Go and listen. Geez but are you gonna thank me for this one.
Wednesday, January 18, 2006
Still Sprinting
It was a good weekend, productivity-wise. Both City of Truth and Beaudry have reached the halfway point, and I don't think it's an accident that they are suddenly marching along at the same rate. As I continue to figure out exactly how my work relates to standard movie outlines, it makes a certain sense that I would focus on one chunk at a time. In other words, now that I've reached the midpoint in two very different scripts, what's the next set of beats? It actually helps that I'm working two scripts at once--in Save the Cat! terms, how does "The Bad Guys Close In" apply to both scripts? Figuring this out, how to apply one principle to two different sets of requirements, forces me to really absorb the underlying principle.
All of this meant that my nice three-day weekend was largely sacrificed. I was up at 6:15 each morning in order to be ready to work by 9:00, I've had the DVD of Mr. and Mrs. Smith in my player for days but simply haven't been able to get around to it, and then there were the bizarre moments--twice this weekend I tried to go somewhere and found myself trapped in the parking lot because some nimrod had parked their car so as to block the only exit. Not once, twice: Saturday night and Monday night. Kinda hard to go pick up food if you can't get your car onto the street, isn't it?
But the next two weekends, I get my life back: Marc will be at Sundance, and then he'll be busily pitching to production companies and attending the DGA Awards. I'll still be writing, of course--we work together on City of Truth, but Beaudry is all mine--but I won't have to get up quite so early, and won't have someone else's schedule to consider.
One political note before I go: if Al Gore had delivered speeches like this back in 2000, I would've voted for him. And at the moment, he seems to be one of the few Democrats not afflicted with foot-in-mouth disease. But enough of that for today--now I've got to get back to writing.
All of this meant that my nice three-day weekend was largely sacrificed. I was up at 6:15 each morning in order to be ready to work by 9:00, I've had the DVD of Mr. and Mrs. Smith in my player for days but simply haven't been able to get around to it, and then there were the bizarre moments--twice this weekend I tried to go somewhere and found myself trapped in the parking lot because some nimrod had parked their car so as to block the only exit. Not once, twice: Saturday night and Monday night. Kinda hard to go pick up food if you can't get your car onto the street, isn't it?
But the next two weekends, I get my life back: Marc will be at Sundance, and then he'll be busily pitching to production companies and attending the DGA Awards. I'll still be writing, of course--we work together on City of Truth, but Beaudry is all mine--but I won't have to get up quite so early, and won't have someone else's schedule to consider.
One political note before I go: if Al Gore had delivered speeches like this back in 2000, I would've voted for him. And at the moment, he seems to be one of the few Democrats not afflicted with foot-in-mouth disease. But enough of that for today--now I've got to get back to writing.
Monday, January 09, 2006
One Two
The 30-Day Sprint
Lately I haven't been writing here because I've been writing elsewhere. A friend of mine calls it "the 30-day sprint," a serious focus on career that tries to cram in as much work and as much opportunity as possible. It kinda sorta came about by accident: some events in the immediate future where it would be useful to have a completed City of Truth script ready at hand. Which is a little tricky, since as of the end of the year we were only through the first act. But now, after some 9-to-5 days, we're almost at the midpoint, and I'm only slightly exhausted.
Therein lies the whole problem with having a day job to pay the bills: it also sucks up time and energy and resolve. If one must also do things like laundry, where exactly does one find the time? And then, since I live in an apartment complex with laundry rooms, how does one find workable time? On Friday night, at a quarter to eleven, I tried to bring laundry to the only laundry room that is available late at night. Someone else has just put in their laundry ten minutes before. This left me to do mine Saturday morning, getting up at 6:00 in order to be sure everything was done before meeting Marc at 9:00. And then, of course, after we worked all day, there was still exercising to be done, and dishes to wash, and groceries to buy at 10:00 p.m.
But there is also another way I'm spending my time: visualizing. Picturing the outcome in my head, not in a general sense but very specifically. At various times I imagine the meeting with my future agent, I imagine signing the contract, I imagine depositing the check, I imagine spending the check. When I take walks around the neighborhood, I look at the houses and I pick this design element over here, this one over here, and I construct in my head exactly the sort of house I want, and where it should be. I imagine first table read with the actors, I see the first screenings in my head. Every bit of it is as specific and as concrete as I can make it. And if all this seems a little new agey, well, here's a story for you:
Several weeks ago we did some pick-up scenes for Outta Sync. (By the way, the website has been redesigned and looks terrific--you can also see the band's video there, just follow the link.) There was a scene the director wanted, just a quick shot of Sergei getting into a limousine. But in the ebb and flow of the day, we weren't able to make those particular arrangements. The director was disappointed, but figured we'd put it together later. Then we're standing in front of the producer's apartment, waiting for our director of photography to walk up, camera in hand, and just as she arrives, suddenly a limo pulls up. Someone who lived in the building was just coming back from a trip, and had taken a limo home. Our producer immediately pulled out some cash, stepped over to the driver, our DP put the camera to her shoulder, I was already in costume, and we shot it. One take, five minutes, done. Visualization: the director wanted the shot, and the world provided. If the limo had arrived two minutes earlier, we wouldn't have been there yet; two minutes later and we'd have already been inside. Picture a thing, see it clearly in your mind, and the world very often finds a way to make it happen. You cannot tell me that this isn't true.
A Musical Interlude
But last night, because Marc had an event at Sony to attend, I actually had a little bit of time free. A friend of mine told me about a musical series at the L.A. County Museum of Art called Sundays Live. These are one-hour concerts by national artists, completely free, of classical music. If one is, shall we say, temporarily financially challenged, this is a great way to get a little culture back into one's life. Last night it was the pianist Inna Faliks, a Ukrainian-born musician. She played pieces by Scarlatti, Rachmaninov and Schubert. I've never really heard anything by Scarlatti, but the two very short piano sonatas she played were delightful, and I'll have to pick up some of his work. The real topper was Schubert's C-Minor Sonata, which I also hadn't heard before. The most fun, though, was watching Ms. Faliks work. All the reviews I've seen focus on her expressiveness, and that's exactly what struck me as well. There were a few moments here and there when it seemed the music got a little bit ahead of her fingers, or a chord didn't quite resolve the way it was supposed to, but these were tiny technical details that I just didn't care about because the whole of her work was so wonderfully expressive. Her face is mobile and alive, and I found myself delighted just to watch her as she played, her features a window into her experience of the music she was playing which then informed and enriched my own experience of the music.
I see that in March there's going to be a performance of Dvorak--I think I'll definitely put that on my calendar. By which time, I hope to have seen one or two of my visualizations, my fully-imagined life to come, come fully to life.
Lately I haven't been writing here because I've been writing elsewhere. A friend of mine calls it "the 30-day sprint," a serious focus on career that tries to cram in as much work and as much opportunity as possible. It kinda sorta came about by accident: some events in the immediate future where it would be useful to have a completed City of Truth script ready at hand. Which is a little tricky, since as of the end of the year we were only through the first act. But now, after some 9-to-5 days, we're almost at the midpoint, and I'm only slightly exhausted.
Therein lies the whole problem with having a day job to pay the bills: it also sucks up time and energy and resolve. If one must also do things like laundry, where exactly does one find the time? And then, since I live in an apartment complex with laundry rooms, how does one find workable time? On Friday night, at a quarter to eleven, I tried to bring laundry to the only laundry room that is available late at night. Someone else has just put in their laundry ten minutes before. This left me to do mine Saturday morning, getting up at 6:00 in order to be sure everything was done before meeting Marc at 9:00. And then, of course, after we worked all day, there was still exercising to be done, and dishes to wash, and groceries to buy at 10:00 p.m.
But there is also another way I'm spending my time: visualizing. Picturing the outcome in my head, not in a general sense but very specifically. At various times I imagine the meeting with my future agent, I imagine signing the contract, I imagine depositing the check, I imagine spending the check. When I take walks around the neighborhood, I look at the houses and I pick this design element over here, this one over here, and I construct in my head exactly the sort of house I want, and where it should be. I imagine first table read with the actors, I see the first screenings in my head. Every bit of it is as specific and as concrete as I can make it. And if all this seems a little new agey, well, here's a story for you:
Several weeks ago we did some pick-up scenes for Outta Sync. (By the way, the website has been redesigned and looks terrific--you can also see the band's video there, just follow the link.) There was a scene the director wanted, just a quick shot of Sergei getting into a limousine. But in the ebb and flow of the day, we weren't able to make those particular arrangements. The director was disappointed, but figured we'd put it together later. Then we're standing in front of the producer's apartment, waiting for our director of photography to walk up, camera in hand, and just as she arrives, suddenly a limo pulls up. Someone who lived in the building was just coming back from a trip, and had taken a limo home. Our producer immediately pulled out some cash, stepped over to the driver, our DP put the camera to her shoulder, I was already in costume, and we shot it. One take, five minutes, done. Visualization: the director wanted the shot, and the world provided. If the limo had arrived two minutes earlier, we wouldn't have been there yet; two minutes later and we'd have already been inside. Picture a thing, see it clearly in your mind, and the world very often finds a way to make it happen. You cannot tell me that this isn't true.
A Musical Interlude
But last night, because Marc had an event at Sony to attend, I actually had a little bit of time free. A friend of mine told me about a musical series at the L.A. County Museum of Art called Sundays Live. These are one-hour concerts by national artists, completely free, of classical music. If one is, shall we say, temporarily financially challenged, this is a great way to get a little culture back into one's life. Last night it was the pianist Inna Faliks, a Ukrainian-born musician. She played pieces by Scarlatti, Rachmaninov and Schubert. I've never really heard anything by Scarlatti, but the two very short piano sonatas she played were delightful, and I'll have to pick up some of his work. The real topper was Schubert's C-Minor Sonata, which I also hadn't heard before. The most fun, though, was watching Ms. Faliks work. All the reviews I've seen focus on her expressiveness, and that's exactly what struck me as well. There were a few moments here and there when it seemed the music got a little bit ahead of her fingers, or a chord didn't quite resolve the way it was supposed to, but these were tiny technical details that I just didn't care about because the whole of her work was so wonderfully expressive. Her face is mobile and alive, and I found myself delighted just to watch her as she played, her features a window into her experience of the music she was playing which then informed and enriched my own experience of the music.
I see that in March there's going to be a performance of Dvorak--I think I'll definitely put that on my calendar. By which time, I hope to have seen one or two of my visualizations, my fully-imagined life to come, come fully to life.
Sunday, January 01, 2006
Snappy New Year
Congratulations to everyone: the earth has successfully gone round the sun once more, and most of us have lived to tell the tale. And since one point on a circle is as good as any other to serve as your starting point, well then, welcome to the new.
There's a Scots saying that I heard once (or at least I heard it was the Scots, but this could all be dead wrong): the way you spend the first day of the year will determine the shape of your year to come. Last year, on January 1st, I remember thinking it was very important that I spend the day getting some writing done, and I did--but there were distractions, and I didn't get as much done as I'd hoped. What I didn't do that day was anything that might have helped me to actually sell the writing I was doing, or to establish myself in my career. I didn't even spend any time visualizing the success that would surely follow. And sure enough, my year was exactly like that: I got some writing done, but not as much as I'd hoped; and although there are interesting tides rising here and there, my career in the year 2005 advanced exactly nowhere. Then there were certain events that turned out to be a great eduation, but that sure as hell made it difficult going much of the time.
Today? I'm spending today differently. Let's see how it goes.
There's a Scots saying that I heard once (or at least I heard it was the Scots, but this could all be dead wrong): the way you spend the first day of the year will determine the shape of your year to come. Last year, on January 1st, I remember thinking it was very important that I spend the day getting some writing done, and I did--but there were distractions, and I didn't get as much done as I'd hoped. What I didn't do that day was anything that might have helped me to actually sell the writing I was doing, or to establish myself in my career. I didn't even spend any time visualizing the success that would surely follow. And sure enough, my year was exactly like that: I got some writing done, but not as much as I'd hoped; and although there are interesting tides rising here and there, my career in the year 2005 advanced exactly nowhere. Then there were certain events that turned out to be a great eduation, but that sure as hell made it difficult going much of the time.
Today? I'm spending today differently. Let's see how it goes.
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