Magic Is Ruining My Life

Tale as old as time, I know, but this is getting to be a problem. I have things to do: clean this space, write a screenplay, sew stuff, write a screenplay. I wake up with every intention of doing these things, but instead I watch Merlin.

I think to myself, "I'll just watch this one episode and then get right to work," but Netflix tricks me with its autoplay and five hours later I realize I haven't moved. And I'm hungry. And I need to pee, like really bad. This went on for about three seasons, and as much as I knew I was going to miss it (and as pissed as I am that Netflix doesn't carry season four), I was glad.

Then I discovered this:

Damn it. All my favorite storybook characters in one place? And they don't know who they are? How am I supposed to just overlook this and go back to menial tasks, like putting clothes in the dryer or packing a lunch for work tomorrow? Or showering. How? It wasn't going to happen, and it didn't.

Weeks of my life, gone. Wonderfully, blissfully gone, but still gone. And I have about, roughly, four pages written in my screenplay. And that only after I ran out of episodes on Netflix and have to wait for weekly updates on Hulu like a commoner. If Netflix ever picks up Grimm, then I'll be screwed all over again (they don't have it, I've checked).

I don't know what this fascination with magic shows is about, but on the totem pole of most productive ways to procrastinate writing, watching magic shows is pretty low. Example:

Most Productive Ways to Procrastinate Actual Writing:

1. Clean apartment

2. Do laundry

3. Read book (like, a real book)

4. Sew something

5. Call loved ones

6. Go to a movie

7. Browse Huffington Post

8. Online shopping

9. Watch magic shows

10. Nap

There you have it. For the time being it's under control. Merlin is all but lost to me since Season 4 is nowhere to be found and Season 5 is only available to people with a TV. Once Upon A Time pops up on Hulu weekly, and as long as I am not made aware of any other magic shows I may be able to actually finish this script.

So, for the love of god, don't tell me where I can watch the first season of Grimm. Especially don't leave that information in the comments section below. With hyperlinks.

OMG, Exquisite Corpse Project!!

Me and exclamation points lately; I don't know what's going on, but rest assured it cannot, will not continue. That being said:

Exquisite Corpse Project!!!

Trust me, you have no idea.

That I haven't mentioned this movie yet is a crime so unfathomable they've yet to make it a crime. Part documentary, part disjointed sic-fi/comedy/noir/drama/romance and completely hilarious. The gist of it is that five comedy writers (formerly of Olde English, for the most part) were brought together and given the assignment of writing a movie. However! They each had to write their fifteen pages of the movie only knowing the previous writer's last five pages.

It sounds like a disaster, but because these crazy, brilliant, hilarious guys also think it's crazy and are, likely, crazy themselves it makes for one incredible experience. I don't know how available this thing is going to be to those of you (commoners) who can't get out to a film festival, but my official advice is that you sell everything you own and move to a city with a film festival on the mere chance that it might be shown there. That's my official advice.

Exquisite Corpse Project!!!

Jayne Mansfield's Car Is A Great Movie

I know, I know: two posts in one week - the subsequent shock to your system probably requires that you sit down and take some deep breaths. This is important, okay, so calm down.

First Off:
I shook this man's hand

Second Off:

This was a great movie

And Third Off:

Email is easy. It's just like writing a letter, only with your keyboard

And it hasn't changed in ten years!

I would like now to launch into what I consider to be a counter-attack on all the negative reviews out there concerning this film. I'll start out by saying that Mr. Thornton (you may recall I recently shook his hand), has no interest in either your approval or disapproval of his picture (I speak to those internet-based movie reviewing neophyte's who regard storytelling as a succession of structural checkpoints rather than a living breathing thing). 

Jayne Mansfield's Car is "willfully out of step," and will "struggle to connect with an audience," says Justin Chang of Variety. It "lacks consistent, overall conviction" according to Bob's Movie Reviews and Stale Popcorn just thinks "the title is a doozy." Absolutely. I mean, obviously when Thornton sat down to do this movie his most prominent goals were to assert his celebrity to make the most out of step, emotionally disconnected, frivolous piece of cinema and then slap a name on it that would invoke outrage from every corner of the earth. And then he stuck all his best friends in the picture, just to rub it in our faces!

Or...

Billy Bob Thornton set out to make a movie that meant something to him. That's all. He took something that means a great deal to him and he went to a lot of trouble to share that something with us in the hopes that it might mean something to someone else. And either it did, or it didn't mean something to you but your interpretation of a thing has little to no bearing on whether that thing has worth or merit or deserves to exist.

I like The Avengers; I thought the Social Network was brilliant. Tropic Thunder is hands down the best comedy in recent history and You've Got Mail makes me feel good (it's no use trying to talk me out of it). There's a point I'm trying to make here, and I think it's that it takes all kinds. With all the insipid, transparent, studio-generated, based-on-a-bestselling-vampire-novel muck that's being dredged up and slopped into theaters, is it really that important to focus on the structural inconsistencies of a story that actually came from somewhere real? 

Billy Bob Thornton is a weird dude, there's no doubt about it. He doesn't use email, he wrote a rock opera called "Dinosaur" and he thinks technology is blatantly trying to end human interaction. But at the end of the screening, a man stood up and (I paraphrase) said, "I'm a baby boomer, and if they made more movies like this then we'd all get back into the theaters." Was this guy some kind of national spokesperson for baby boomers? Likely not (likely - who can say; we don't really know). Either way, that's connecting with an audience. A big audience. 

Movies are meant to be stories, and whether that's dudes racing souped up Hondas around the streets of Tokyo, or a rich Alabama family exploring the significance of war and father-son relationships, it all means something to somebody. So relax, damn it! There's rich emotional experiences out there to be had if you'd take a second and stop being so brutally serious. I mean, come on! Billy Bob, close us out:

That's my guy. I shook that hand (I didn't know if you'd heard).

  

Austin Film Festival: The Aftermath

I've never been on cocaine, but I imagine it feels something like being at the Austin Film Festival. Constant stimulation, moments of anxiety followed by moments of ecstasy immediately followed by complete and utter exhaustion. It would be unbearable if it weren't so terrific.

In another way it's like speed dating (also something I only know about through movies and television). Everybody has their best look on, playing themselves up with business cards and nice shoes and very general statements about what exactly it is they do for a living. And, of course, there's alcohol.

I did get to meet John August, I did see James Franco although I don't think he saw me (his eyes were closed for the most part) and even though I did not spot Bill Murray, after the pixie dust settles (cocaine reference?) I must say that there are a number of reasons the festival was a great personal success. And a number of reasons that it was a soul-crushing disaffirmation of my very hopes and dreams.

Why the AFF is the best/worst thing in the world:

Best: The People
What other opportunity do you have to be around such a concentrated large group of similarly motivated minds than at a film festival? I mean, these are your people. These are the people you go see a movie with and then sit at a bar and discuss and argue and use excessive hand gestures to get your point across about said movie. These are the people who understand why it's taken you two years to write your screenplay because they have a screenplay they've been working on for five years with no end in sight. Your people.

Worst: The People
Who are these people? Every one  is a producer, director, screenwriter, creative coordinator or locations-based cinematography - what does that even mean? Throwing names around, like really obscure names that only uber screen savvy people could ever hope to know about. Basically, there's no easier place to pimp your non-existent made up pretend-time shit than at a film festival. Distinguishing your people from these other people can be tricky, so keep a sharp eye out.

Best: The Panels
Watching the X-Files is cool. Watching the director's cut with the commentary on is way cool. Sitting in a room with Chris Carter as he talks about the X-Files is five metaphysical levels above cool. There are things the panels can't do for you: make you a better writer, get you an agent, teach you super secret-y secrets about making words happen. They can awe you. They can inspire you to sit down at your computer and actually move your fingers across the keys, subsequently making words and making you a better screenwriter.

Winner of the FDJM best panelist of all time ever: Lindsay Doran

Worst: Dumb Questions During Panels
"Um, yeah, so I was wondering if you could comment on your use of symmetry throughout the second act, and in particular could you expound on the symbolism of breaking the fourth wall near the end of the turning point in the third act blah blah blah blah." Just stop. You know big words; good job. Keep your mouth shut.

Best: Being Part of Something Cool
You get a badge, you get a bag, you get free drinks and invites to parties and there are for really real screenwriter/director/producers/actors(?) just waiting to talk to you. And to hundreds of other people, but mostly to you. And you're a part of it, and it's super cool. I mean, it's at the Driskill! Am I right?

Worst: Something Cool Has Nothing to do With Sleep
Panels start at 9am, parties don't start until 11pm. The first day it was over I took three naps.

This was my first time at the AFF. It was overwhelming and frustrating and inspiring, but mostly I met some people that I think could be my people and just knowing that you're not alone in this whole thing is worth something. It's worth sleep deprivation and the puny feeling that comes when the guy behind you is talking about Bruce Feirstein like they're best friends and you have to use your phone to look him up because you don't know who Bruce Feirstein is.

These big names, they don't matter. Not now; not while you're trying to build a catalog of semi-respectable stuff you wouldn't be horrified for someone to take a look at. Write movies. Watch movies, read movies and all that, but most importantly write the freaking thing. Write. Write write write! Just write already.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I Am Going to the Austin Film Festival

!

This just in: I'm going to my very first Austin Film Festival. I want to thank God, and the great city of Austin, the illustrious and enigmatic art and science of movie-making (like, the entire concept of it) and also John August, whom I will be stalking like a deranged but mostly harmless and not at all homicidal psychopath throughout the festival. Also, James Franco and Bill Murray - fair warning.

Flowers for me? Oh, you.

 
My good friend and manager Ditty, in her all-encompassing wisdom (likely enhanced to superhero status by her pregnancy hormones), has given me a few pointers. In addition to her experienced suggestions (this not being her first AFF rodeo), I have come up with a few pointers of my own (not being one to let lack of experience on a certain subject prevent me from handing out advice on that same subject).

AFF Pointers for the First-Timer, from a First-Timer:

1. Live in Austin. I feel this is a no-brainer. This city is going to be crowded as shit in a Tyson chicken coop; crowded as chickens in a Tyson chicken coop (I just watched this documentary, and long story short: don't eat Tyson chicken).

2. Own a bike. You do not want to park downtown during AFF. I just have this feeling that it won't work well.

3. Pack snacks. Apparently, food is scarce at AFF. So gather your Cliff bars, your apples and bananas, your small packets of squeezable peanut butter, shove them in that bag with your pen and notebook and get ready for a day of chaos and rushing from one conference venue to another.

4. Bring paper and pen. And backpack.

5. Have good looking business cards. This one is hard to really visualize. Does a name and an email/blog address and the title "aspiring screenwriter (question mark?) really constitute the need for business cards? Should I put my picture on there? Put a bird on it? I don't know. Maybe I could just write it on your notebook if you want to keep in touch that terribly bad. Where do you even get business cards? What about a poster with those little tear off thingies at the bottom, like one you use when looking for a lead singer for your band? Now I'm over thinking it.

6. Don't dress like an idiot. I think sometimes we writers think "oh, I'm a writer; I can dress like a slob because I'm creative and stuff and don't really care about my appearance." No. Negative. You do care, everyone cares. Shower up, put on some decent looking jeans and a fashionable shirt (you know, the kind with buttons), dab on some lip gloss (girls, I'm talking to you) and for god's sake it wouldn't kill you to accessories a little. Come on. We're screenwriters, not graphic designers. This is not a gamers' convention. You're not getting your PhD in astrophysics quantum mechanics math science (you see where I'm going with this).

As a closing remark, let me just say that I am pretty much beside myself with excitement. I've been in Austin a year now, been out of nursing school a year and a half. It's time to get connected. It's time to get motivated. It's high time to finish a new screenplay. I tell you, high time!

First Draft, Page 5

Yeah, that's right; I've got five pages. Fortunately for me, in the case of first drafts the number of pages marks progress despite the quality of the actual writing on those pages. In terms of quality, I'm not really sure what the quantitative measure of my work would be, but it's most likely some decimal with a zero point something or other.

Like 0.34 pages. That's just a guess.

But at this stage, words are words are words and their mere existence on my computer screen means progress. It's crucial at this point to completely ignore the debilitating feeling that everything you write is utter crap; how it's so bad you're not even sure you'll be able to fix it in subsequent rewrites, or how maybe no amount of work will ever be sufficient to turn the pile of steaming garbage that is your imagination into an actual story that makes any earthly sense at all. Let alone make it entertaining. And funny. And smart.

Better to just give up now.

Ignore that. Head down, full steam ahead, words are words are words. Keep them coming. Keep writing and don't turn back, not to fix your grammar, not to edit your dialogue - seriously, just write it and move on to the next thing. Waiting for genius means you'll never think of anything. You'll never write anything. Get something down on paper (on screen, whatever) and later, when it's actually there, you can pick it apart. Not before. Later. Don't just assume what you're about to write is going to be crap. Write it, then when you see how awful it is you can get to fixing it.

To sum up: Yes, you're first draft is going to suck. Congratulations; sucking is the first step to not sucking.

In the Race of Screenwriting, I'm Definitely the Tortise

I finally started writing my first draft (yes!). I wrote a whole three pages. Phyoo. Time to take a break. Seriously, those three pages were torture. And they're terrible. So, yeah, really motivated to continue. Luckily, motivation has almost nothing to do with writing. Writing has everything to do with writing, and the actual act exists outside of feeling. I'm doing it right now; writing when I don't feel like it. It's just that what I have to say is so brilliant, I can't just wait around until I feel like blessing the masses with it.

Brilliant - ha! Masses - ha ha!

Slow and steady, and as far as being brilliant is concerned, I know darn well that my particular kind of brilliance comes only after hours and hours of obsessing and reworking and then consulting other people and eventually half steeling other people's brilliance. Okay, so I have yet to be actually brilliant, but that has nothing to do with nothing. As you can see, my full capacity for brilliance is on display here.

Inspiration is a tricky thing. You can't just wait around to do something until you feel inspired to do it, and at the same time, just because you feel inspired to do something doesn't mean you should do it. Right now, I'm inspired to buy a party sized bad of pretzel M&Ms and some trashy magazines, go home and sit on my couch. I'm not trying to be cute here, I in all seriousness feel that those things would make my day. Actually, I know they would, because the last time I ate M&Ms and read a People magazine it was like the best day of my life.

You can't just eat M&Ms and read magazines every day, though. I mean, yes you can, but then you'd be that person who does those things every day and really there's no obvious future in that. Not that I can really see. Unless you made some really funny blog out of it or something, and became famous for it. But you'd have to be really funny or really good looking, or already really rich and I don't really have any of those markets cornered, exactly. So, yeah, actually writing is going to be an important part of the whole being a writer thing for me.

I'm going to write, even when I don't feel like it, and I'm going to keep writing when I feel like stopping. This is how it's always been for me; those spurts of true inspiration are very scarce, probably in part because I've yet to experience much of a return on my investment as far as writing is concerned. I'm working toward a very uncertain and poorly defined goal. The obvious goal is finishing another screenplay, a further goal would be finishing a screenplay that doesn't suck. The end goal is success, but there you have something not very well defined. And temporary. And unlikely.

How's that for motivating?

Simplify It!

Outlining is great. I mean, it's essential and important and a truly great outline is the precursor to a great screenplay. I really believe that, I do. However, outlining has to stop at some point. You can't just outline forever. Well, duh; why even say that? Because if you're anything like me, you easily get caught up in your own outlining, so much so that looking back at all your tables and bullet points and charts and graphs you'll see that you've basically outlined five million different versions of the same movie and now you don't know which one you're actually trying to write.

Too. Many. Choices. Not enough writing.

There comes a point where the complete muddle that is your outline has to be simplified. You have to cut that massive outline monster down at the knees. You can't take on a giant all by yourself, and try as you might instead of starting to actually write a screenplay you'll just end up making the behemoth even bigger.

You have to simplify it.

Among the many tables (I love tables - I just love them) that I use to outline my script I always have a tab entitled "Getting Weird." This is where the outlandish and crazy and really unsustainably insane ideas go for my script. The really strange "what ifs." Of all the fun I have outlining, this page is the most useless. Or is it?

Or. Is. It...?

This is where, after realizing the story was running off without me, I decided to completely simplify the story - strip it down to the barest version possible. I mean, really really primitive stuff; bring it all back to a skeletal representation of what I want it to be. And it turns out that simple is actually much, much better. It's clear. It's focused. It has room to get better.

And that's the thing. The first draft is not going to be brilliant, it's going to be a skeleton. Not even a fully grown human skeleton, but some kind of neanderthal, hunched over, slack-jawed, drooling, mouth breathing idiot blueprint. Second draft, stand that thing up straight, shut that mouth. Third draft, add some flesh, some muscle definition. Fourth draft, fifth draft, skin and hair and lips and eyebrows and dimples. I mean, if it's a dimple kind of movie, otherwise maybe a cleft in the chin or a sinister smile or something like that.

Simple first. Good later. Great lastly. If you're lucky. Wait, no; great if you work hard.

Work hard, then.  

Making Choices...Wait, No...Making the Right Choices...No...Hmm...Making the Best Choices for Your Screenplay...Wait...Hmm...

Choices are hard, in general, but even more so when considering works of fictional creativity. You could do anything, say anything, make anything happen. It's too much; it's overwhelming. Add to that the pressure of knowing that these choices will ultimately render your work worthwhile or a complete waste of time. One elemental wrong turn, one misguided plot twist and all that hard work is just...sigh...a learning opportunity.

The pressure is nearly paralyzing. It's hard to accept that making the wrong decision is better than making no decision at all because making no decision is so easy and making the wrong decision will likely be the result of hours upon hours of creative anguish.

Also frustrating: the fact that it is so easy to identify wrong choices in other people's stuff. It sticks out like a sore thumb and almost immediately you're like, "oh, man, there it is right there. That's where you went wrong." Yet this is almost impossible to do with your own stuff with the same measure of certainty. There's a reluctance that comes from the knowledge of all the blood sweat and coffee drinks that went into the making of that stupid wrong decision - and now I'm supposed to undo it? I think not. I think I'll just keep it and fix a few other small things that will hopefully help mask the fact that this element (and possibly the story as a whole) just doesn't work.

Being at the very beginning of the creative process with this new script, I'd like to identify the holes as soon and as quickly as possible to avoid spending countless misguided hours writing a steaming pile of refuse. I'd like to apply what I've learned from reading other's steaming piles of...hard work. But how? Hoooooow!?

I have some ideas:

1. Clarity. What is happening here? Can you put it into a couple of sentences, or is it more complicated than that? Because if it's impossible to sum it up, then I don't think clarity is your strong suit with this one.

2. Characters. Is there someone to love, to hate, or is everyone just kind of interesting? Because kind of interesting isn't going to cut it. Someone to root for or against, that's what you need here. You can add more dimension in rewrites, but if they're lukewarm to begin with then why bother?

3. Consistency (yeah, we're going with all C's here). When you lay this whole plot thing out, is there something actually happening at every stage of the game? Is everything that happens pointing to an eventual goal? Are these things that are happening getting more interesting as the story goes on, is something building here? Is there some reasonable idea of what two outcomes we may end up with (the good one and the bad one)? What if the bad one? What then? How bad is it?

I guess another way to look at this is through the eyes of the audience, their expectations. Ideally, the thought life of your audience should go something like this:

Movie begins:
"Oh boy, I'm so excited about this movie. Based on the logline under the poster I have a clear idea of what I'm in for."

10 minutes in:
"Wow, that was a cool beginning. I really like what's his face. He seems cool."

15 minutes in:
"Whoa, that's a curveball. What's his face's whole world is upside down right now. This changes everything. What now?

25 minutes in:
"Well, it won't be easy but it appears what's his face has a plan, a clear goal, and a clear set of friends to help him accomplish this near impossible goal. I think that one girl likes him, and because she is likable and interesting I hope that goes well. Clearly, this will end one of two ways and I am clearly rooting for the positive outcome."

50 minutes in:
"Well, I now have a clearer understanding of these characters; they are not as simple as they at first appeared. There seems to be a definite plan now and clearly these are the steps for that plan to be successful. Failure at any stage of these steps will mean certain failure all together, but the plan looks as if it will juuuuuust work. Also, things are heating up between that girl and that guy and it would appear that nothing could change that. Everything looks good."

75 minutes in:
"Okay, here we go. Final stage of this plan. Everything is in place, so I expect this will work."

80 minutes in:
"Whoa! Did not see that coming. That changes everything. Shoot, is this even going to work now?"

85 minutes in:
Oh geez. This isn't good. There is just no way, no way this is going to work. Dang it! I don't want this to happen this way, but there is a clear logical explanation as to why this is a likely turn of events. This is terrible. I feel crushed for these characters."

90 minutes in:
Wait, I thought they were done for. Could they actually pull this off?

91 minutes in:
Oh my god, they're going to do it! I think they're going to do it!

95 minutes in:
They did it!! I can't believe it! Of course, the solution was there all along! This is clearly the best possible imaginable outcome, even though I had previously only considered two other possible outcomes. How clever!"

100 minutes in:
"Awe, that's sweet. Oooh, that's cool. Awe, true love really does conquer all. Haha, funny moment."

As credits roll:
"That was awesome. I'm telling all my friends about this movie. And that one line, haha, I'll be saying that for a long time."

Roughly, that's it right there. Just make people think those thoughts at approximately those moments, and you should be golden.

Easy. Super, totally, absolutely easy.

From the Beginning of the End to the End and Then Backwards From There

I'm planning my next screenplay. Like, really planning it. Outlines, notes, beat sheets, the works. Months of work go into it and when I finally sit back to survey my wonders I realize something. Act one, solid. Act two, pretty good; there's some definite good stuff in there. Act three...act three is...complicated - well, incredibly simple at this point since I only have a few sentences in that section. I'm sure it will come to me by the time I sit down to actually write the thing.

Wrong.

You really think that what you can't outline in the broadest, most diluted sense is going to magically materialize by the time you get to page 75 of your first draft? Do you, self? Because you're wrong. It's going to be just as hard then as it is now, and even if you do manage to eek out some semblance of a maybe-not-half-bad ending, what was it all worth anyway? The end is what it's about; it's what the entire thing is building toward. The end is the whole thing.

The end is so hard. It's the big payoff - it's all your payoffs, really. Virtually any beginner can manage to pull together a good first act, a surprising inciting incident or an attention-grabbing opening scene, but having a good, memorable, meaningful ending takes such an incredible amount of work that few ever really get it. I want to get it.

So, for this script, no more wimping out. No more putting off the hard work until some arbitrary date in the future; no more buying into the idea that inspiration is something that exists externally, just hovering above my head somewhere waiting for the ideal moment to land in my brain. Good ideas, great ideas are created by those who put in the time and effort and are disciplined enough to pull those ideas out of the mess of unrelated, unfocused and ultimately unimportant thoughts that dominate our brain activity.

The brain is a thoughts dumpster and your great ideas are the uneaten bear claws still in that pink pastry box. Get digging.

And don't just knock out the easy stuff and then start writing because it feels good. Do it the hard way; start from the beginning of the end, go all the way to the end of the end, then you can work your way backwards until you have a complete outline. Be thorough; no cop outs. None of this "I'll figure it out later" stuff. You'll figure it out now, because it's what your whole story is about. It's why you're writing this thing in the first place.

It's why you're writing this thing in the first place!

There's another reason to do it this way, a really important reason. If you sit down to write your ending and nothing really happens, if you can't think of a single awesome thing to put in there then why are you building an entire story around nothing? You may have a series of events, but unless you can pull them all together into something spectacular, whether that's a quiet thoughtful spectacular or a loud with explosions and motorcycle racing spectacular, it has to be great.

Just make something great!

GITS The Quest!

Have you heard of this? Follow the link or use my blogroll to the right to get to GITS and read about The Quest logline competition. It's awesome, and you should do it.

Do it!

Bouncing Ideas Off of Yourself

I really need to find a Screenwriting group here in Austin. You'd think that wouldn't be hard, but a google search of "screenwriting group Austin" yields confusing results ranging from ambiguous to outdated. I just need two, maybe three other people in this town who are also writing movies they hope to sell and get made into movies. You know how tall of an order that is, apparently? I need motivation, inspiration, accountability.

I need opinions.

Playing the "what if" game with myself has been surprising and helpful, but there comes a point when you just need someone elses' brain on the case. I'm about to set down and make actual decisions here, and it would be comforting to hear someone else tell me that it isn't go into be a colossal waste of my time to write this thing. Friends are well-meaning, spouses are completely useless - I need fellow writers; people who are so caught up in their own creative process that to have them break from that process is to unleash upon yourself all the frustrations and criticism that they themselves wish to god they could unleash upon their own work.

At this point, I'd settle for old Abe Scheinwald.

I'm still so far from being good at this, I can't waste my time on an idea that isn't a movie. That's what amateurs do; they take this idea that they think is a good one and automatically assume there's a movie in it. They're doomed before they even start. I used to think the problem was all execution, not being able to really write the script as well as the idea deserves. That would be a wonderful problem to have! An idea that is so great you don't even think you can write it? Yes, please!

Yes. Pleeeeeeeease.

Pretend Greatness (or, Fake It 'Til You Make It)

I went to a drum recital the other night (it's not a long story, but..). The youngest kids were up first, and completely dominated the place, just rocking away and enjoying it the whole time. I enjoyed watching them. Then the kids started getting older and a funny thing happened: I started enjoying it less. Sure, the cute factor was slightly lacking, but it was more than that. Then a girl, probably like seventeen, got up to sing and the transition became complete.

In the course of one hour there was a crowd shift from blissful enjoyment (aided by alcohol - only in Austin are drum recitals held at a full bar) to uncomfortable straining to disguise your dislike of what was going on. The only thing I can pin it on is the fact that the singer herself was so unbearably self-conscious, just standing there being pitchy with this quiver in her voice, that it created this air of awkwardness.

So, what is the difference between a four year old playing the drums moderately well and a seventeen year old singing moderately well? Why did I enjoy the clanging of this tiny person versus the teenager who Paula may have let slip through the first round of American Idol (oh yes, I just went old school Idol on you all)? Confidence. That tiny drummer could have run confidence circles around that girl and never missed a tiny beat. He smiled, he made eye contact with the crowd, he created an illusion of greatness merely by believing it himself. That kid was a drummer. She was just trying to sing.

So, at long last, I'll bring this back around to writing. I dislike describing myself as a writer to people because I feel all the falseness of it at once. To me, you're not a writer until you've actually made some money at it. When I graduated nursing school I didn't even tell people I was nurse; when they asked I would always say "I just graduated nursing school." When I started my job, that's when I really felt like a nurse. But writing isn't nursing.

Duh.

In writing, there is no penalty for mistakes. No one is going to die if you go out on a limb and try something new. And you can change your mind an infinite amount of times, so if something isn't working just go back and change it. Don't be like that girl who tepidly sings her song that was popular seven years ago, just barely scraping by with moments here and there that don't suck. Go. All. Out. Be like that freaking four year old who just banged on his drums and forced the bassist to modify the beat time and again, but who loved every minute of it and had the crowd enjoying every minute of it.

Basically, fake greatness. Don't be paralyzed by incision; don't back off the mic every time there's a high note, just go for it. You should be able to hit those notes because you did it a thousand times in practice. Practice! You're a writer, so get writing. Going around being afraid of telling people you're a writer is really just you being afraid to hold yourself to the expectation that a writer must write to maintain that title, so if you're going to call yourself a writer you pretty well better be writing.

I pretty well better be writing.

I spend 36-40 hours a week nursing. That pretty much definitely makes me a nurse. If I spent half that much time each week writing, I would have no problem telling people I'm a writer. Am I a great writer? No. I'm not a great nurse, either - I haven't been doing it long enough to be great at it. But I still call myself a nurse because I will be a great nurse; it's only a matter of time and repetition. If I want to be a great writer I need to do the same. You don't become something because you're great at it, you become something, you do it over and over and over and then you become great at it.  

The Avengers and Writing Killer Dialogue

First off, The Avengers was pretty much everything I could have ever hoped for. I mean, think of how difficult this thing must have been to write - you've got like seven main characters with built-in backstories that you have to honor and also super powers (most of them) that you have to showcase, oh and also you have to defeat some bad guy which is the point of the film in the first place. And make it funny. And action-packed with a purpose. That's a lot of hyphens for one paragraph.

That Iron Man is so punchy

So, of course, after seeing this I was like "I am hereby going to lock myself in my apartment until I have completed my script to the standards by which The Avengers was held." Obviously I'm known for my practicality, just ask my friends who were around to experience my gluten-free, sugar-free vegan diet plan. But as soon as you make a resolution to do anything that requires complete solitude, your pesky friends come a'calling on you to make with the social graces. Furthermore, they were armed with beer and German sausage. I was powerless. 

 Easy Tiger on 6th - this is where I was last night, blatantly enjoying myself

So I wrote off the evening as a wash. Then a funny thing happened. Math happened. Now, most of the time, math is not something I find funny. Numbers are hard; I prefer words. But when my friend started talking it was all quantum physics, M-theory, black holes stuff, which I find infinitely (math reference) interesting. Then another thing happened. He started to sound familiar to me. He was getting excited talking about dimensions and possibilities, using big words and wide eyes to get his point across, and it was then I realized who this guy was. He's my scientist! He's my alien-obsessed, math whiz, cat crazy lab dweller from the script I am currently writing. Suddenly, I'm elated.

Reasons for elation:

1. This guy doesn't sound like me, he sounds like my character; that means my character doesn't sound like me, which is super important.

2. This is like free dialogue here - I'm basically getting hand fed lines upon lines of postulations and basic science talk that I can rework and use in my script.

3. I figured out my character's fatal flaw - pride. He over thinks things because he's like the most genius of all geniuses and nobody else could possibly understand him. The origin of the aliens, a fundamental question, couldn't possibly be a simple answer, so he will complicate the crap out of it, therefore postponing the solution to the problem. 

I think the point I'm coming to here is that locking oneself in a room is occasionally a very effective way of actually getting parts of your script written, but human interaction and basic mind rest is essential to the creative process. You need to hear how other people talk - interesting people, boring people, old people, young people, red people, blue people, one people, two people. People that don't sound like you, or other characters you've either seen in movies or read in a book.

Completely original characters with completely original ways of thinking and acting and speaking are out there. They're real people. With math degrees. Doctorate math degrees. Crazy. 

Embracing the Suck

I would just like to start out by saying that I am in love with this blog. Scott Myers is my online boyfriend and he likes me just the way I am (my apologies to Myers, who has no idea who I am). In my endeavor to get back into consistent screenwriting after a hiatus I completely and wholly blame on nursing school (you stole years of my life!), I am finding it even more difficult than I had anticipated. I've been writing, in some capacity, since I was a pint-sized homeschooler with a lot of free time and a lot of dress up clothes. Why so difficult now?

Because I suck.

No, honest to god, I'm not exaggerating, and under normal circumstances I have a very healthy self-esteem (I'm pretty much the best person I know). However, I am keenly aware that my screenplays are no better than the sound "bleck" makes, largely due to the fact that I only have two completed screenplays under my belt. Actually, three screenplays, but the first one doesn't really count since it is pretty much worse than suck. I had to work my way up to suck.

Getting into the habit of screenwriting is difficult right now for the same reason that keeping a regular exercise routine is difficult - I look like an idiot! I look like an idiot on paper, I look like an idiot in my Target workout shorts when everyone else is wearing Nike. I have virtually no balance, I don't know what half of those weight machines are even supposed to do and every time the instructor calls out a different yoga pose I have to stealthily look around me to find out what the crap she's talking about and pray to god it looks like something I can actually do (for those of you who can "flip your dog," how the hell are you doing that)?

So, I exercise in private as much as I can. After four months of consistent bodily punishment, I now occasionally look like I know what I'm doing. I also feel better and look better, even though I am still a far cry from the body I want. Same with screenwriting. I'm years, yeeeears away from where I want to be, but the only way of getting there is to do it. Time is not going to just take care of me, I have to put in the work. And where screenwriting is concerned, I have a terrible work ethic. Sporadic, unfocused, and demoralizing because I know, I feel, I hate how much I suck.

So I must embrace the suck. Write the suck, show my suck to trusted individualized who will try to ease the pain of the suck by lying to me about the extent of my suck.

To sucking!

(Be sure to read the May 3rd post from the blog link above for a much, much better representation of what  I've been trying to say here).

By the way, sucking is a lot easier when you do it with a tasty bakery sandwich on a clear, spring morning.

Goals and Priorities and Other Concepts That Are Hard

I've experienced a lot of goal accomplishments lately. I graduated nursing school, landed a dream job in a down economy, moved to a new city (a new country, some might say) and started working out (four months solid - some kind of record for me). Additionally I'm eating  better, sleeping like a brick (a log? Wait, no...a baby?), and there's about ten phrases I can say in Spanish, and my patients actually understand me (Voy a ser su enfermera; esto es medicina para dolor; tiene nausea?).

And then there's my writing goals, what were they again? Oh yes, I have none. I've set none. I've met none. I sound like Dr. Seuss. And setting goals from scratch is tricky because you really have to believe in them, have confidence that they are attainable and reasonable and mostly that they are going to get you where you want to go. And when you have a lot of goals, you have to line them up according to priorities. Goals and priorities; this is the kind of boring grown up jargon that does not get the creative juices flowing.

Recently my good writer friend and superb manager Ditty had an excellent post about priorities, and how everything feels like a priority most of the time. It feels like it, because it is. Work, relationships, physical fitness, nutrition, creativity, spirituality, all are priorities. Rather than rank them as highest to lowest, I prefer to put them all on the same shelf, right next to each other, because each one effects the others. If my social life is looking dim, my work will feel more like a drudge. And if my most important relationships aren't being maintained, there's no head space for creative thoughts.

The key here, I'll speculate, is the idea that not all of these things need be given the same amount of time to classify them as equal priorities. Working out is a priority that may take five to six hours a week, whereas my day job as a priority will cost 36-40 hours. Hanging out with friends, maybe four hours a week; quality time with husband, like ten hours. Writing, according to the GITS method, will set you back approximately (very approximately) 24 hours a week. Sleep, hopefully, will take up roughly 45-50 hours. Let's add:

6 hours working out
40 hours of work
4 hours with friends
10 hours with husband
24 hours writing, reading screenplays, watching films and other writerly things
45 hours for sleep.

That's...(calculator in use)...129 hours a week. Being that there are 168 hours in a single week, that leaves us with 39 hours to blow on whatever we want. A lot of this time will probably be getting ready to do these activities. It takes about 45 minutes, all in all, to get ready for work, a good hour if I'm hanging with friends or even leaving the house for any reason. Commuting is a factor as well, not just commuting to work but to workouts and hangouts and such. Phone calls and texts should be factored in as well, since those tend to stop us dead in our tracks for a miscellaneous amount of time. I haven't even thought about television. Currently, I don't own a TV but I still find myself spending about five hours a week watching it (thank you, Hulu). Then there's time you just spend spacing out. Like I just did, for like five minutes. Four hours a week for friends? Is that a fair estimate, because suddenly it seems like I must be a terrible friend.

Let's bring this back to some kind of basics here. We've got this time, and some of that time we have to work, and other times we have other crap to do, but those hours we know are going to be free, as in nothing is expected of us at certain times and locations, we could take advantage of by setting our own expectations at our own times and locations. The Bakery, 10 a.m., with laptop. Write. Eat. Write. Read. Write.

Done.





    

Not Dead Yet

Sounds like a good zombie movie title (getting tired of those yet?), but in actuality I'm speaking of my writing life. So elusive, that. An oft sacrificed part of me lately, I will not let it die. Today, for the first time in months, I looked at some writing stuff. Went to Script Shadow, pulled up my scene-by-scene breakdown of that alien comedy I started two years ago (it's terrible. Just awful). Back. In. The. Saddle!

When you haven't really written in a long time, it's so hard to just jump back in. It's like exercising for the first time in two years - you're like "yeah, I know it's a good idea but look at me; it's going to take months for these spandex yoga pants to stop looking as if they're just sausage casings." And you have to keep showing up to the gym, your giggly parts flopping all over the place, everybody else knowing just by looking at you that this is not your thing. It's embarrassing.

But if you keep doing it, things start to change. You start looking better, feeling better, ultimately your entire life could change as a result of all this hard work. That's writing. You have to stop thinking about doing it, and just sit down, open your laptop and hammer out the worst dribble you've ever seen put down into actual words. I mean, just terrible terrible stuff.

But if you keep doing it...

If you're like me, and you find yourself unable to just let it go; if you keep coming back to this whole writing thing, then there's got to be something to that. It may be that the only difference between a phenomenal writer and a poor writer is strictly numbers. Minutes, hours, days, weeks. Numbers. Do the work, and see what happens. Just keep doing it.

Must. Press. On.

So, I live in Austin now (whaaaaaaaat?!). I know; you're shocked. So am I, kind of. Not just by the fact that it's January and I had lunch outside today, or by the fact that Whole Foods seems to be one of the hippest hang outs on the west side, but mostly by a strange, unfamiliar feeling that has crept its way into my conscious: I have got to be the least artistic person in this entire city.

Seriously, it's like everyone here is a struggling artist of some kind. You know how in LA, you can walk up to any waiter in a California Pizza Kitchen and find an actor? Here, it's like the crowd in a record shop on a Tuesday afternoon. All the time. Everywhere. Writing screenplays is like child's play to these people.

Not surprisingly, intimidation is doing nothing for my writing. It's the same effect as when I watch a really, really great movie. It's that feeling of "wow; why do I even try." Luckily, there is a cure for this seemingly unshakable doldrum: an almost good movie. A not-a-bad movie. As a motivator, it is far superior to the straight up bad movie in that you can see where they went right, but also where they took a weird detour into muddled plot and tripe dialogue.

It's perfect.

Never is it so clear to me what a great movie is as when I've almost, almost seen a good one. I know how to make it better, make it good. And that's all I'm asking for here, to write good movies. Great, probably not. Bad, I hope not. I just want one good movie that ten years from now people will look back on and say "ah, remember that movie? That was a good movie." And then their friend will say, "whatever happened to that screenwriter," and the other guy will be like, "didn't she invent something, like, really huge. She's like a millionaire now."

I also want to invent something huge that's worth millions.