Wednesday, July 28, 2010

Blown up while eating cheese

http://bit.ly/14OazU
is the link to my latest writer laureate blog post all about Hemmingway and my big fat gob and the weird itchy feeling I get at the base of my neck when I'm about to learn something hard about myself.

Friday, July 23, 2010

CSSC blog post

http://www.screenplay-contest.com/

The latest blather on my life as an emerging screenwriter.

Tuesday, July 6, 2010

Missing me lovelies?

Then please to check out my Writer's Wednesday post on the CSSC blog...

www.shortisbetter.wordpress.com

hugs,
C

Saturday, July 3, 2010

In praise of public holidays

Oh what a gift that middle of the week day off is for the development of good writerly habits! I had a great day, a little excercise, writing, guitar, housework, reading, writing and a rerun of Glee on TV that I hadn’t seen. Except for the food, a great day. I was so focused on moving the Pomodoro’s along on Rain Girls that I didn’t want to break for grocery shopping so it was an eat whatever is in the fridge day which wasn’t really a success. Nothing was “good” and the berries were moldy and the yogurt had gone over. All in all a sign that I need to clean out the fridge and maybe even do a little simple meal planning with an eye to very fast and simple meals. I’m going to try the 30 minute philosophy as it fits in so well with the 25 minute Pomodoros.

In the ongoing battle to master my own mind an interesting twist. I’ve been re-reading Stephen Pressfield’s War of Art which seems to be an even greater revelation than the first time I read it. What I did yesterday, which was different than usual, was I actually heeded his advice about over coming your resistance to doing your work is a daily battle, so best to just sit down early and get it over with. This time I listened and pushed back all the “should dos” until I’d done one full set of Pomodoro’s on Rain Girls. The shocking thing is not that I did 2 hours focused work on it, but that at the end of the break time I not only was happy to get back at it, but I got scads done during the break. And not just done, but done without a lot of obvious mental effort.

Friday, June 25, 2010

The Friday Friday Song

For about a year now I have, every Friday, sung a little ditty that I call
"The Friday, Friday Song". I generally declaim it quite loudly and off key two or three times a day while in the office. This may be one of the reasons I've developed a certain reputation here for being a bit of an eccentric. That is actually super huge when you consider that my day job is at a university where eccentric is pretty much the norm. In fact I think we are largely fruit and nuts with just enough normal people cake to hold us all together. But I digress. Again. Sigh. Well it is after all FRIDAY!

So while the Friday Friday song is my principal claim to fame in the realm of song writing, and is now requested by some of my peers, I don't think my Canadian Tenors will be recording it anytime soon. Chief among it's charms you see is that it must be sung somewhat off key. Or at the very least with at least one vocal break on any one of the top notes. The lyrics go like this.
"It's Friday! Singing the Friday Friday song. It's not very good but it's not very long. Friday, Friday FRIDAY!" There is, of course a big crescendo up to the last Friday accompanied by a wiggle and a jiggle and a throwing of one's arms heavenward.

I'm not sure why I had the urge to share that with you today. Perhaps because I've been thinking a bit on the various forms of writing in which I'm engaged on a regular basis. Neither poetry nor song are forms with which I have experience not aptitude and yet both inform my writing quite strongly. I search, often and always, to find the right poetic phrase that brings a scene description or a character speech alive. Something about the poetic form being a kind of shorthand for a visual, visceral chunk of information. Constructing a phrase that not only captures the attention, but tugs at memory by making you experience not just the words but the visual and emotion image. And song. I often look at the structure of stories and scripts as if they are pieces of music. Some are tone poems, some cantatas, some studies, some concertos. But they all have rhythm and tempo and crescendos and timbre.

All that to say that even though these forms are things over which I have no mastery, it is still very important that I keep writing things like the Friday Friday song. I may never write a book of poems nor an album of songs, but I will continue to think about them and include them in my writing practice as key components of great writing.

Monday, June 14, 2010

Nuttier than a fruitcake.

I’ve christened this hour of the day Blogtime, for at least this week. It is the hour post workout pre-shower where I cool down and enjoy the puddle of endorphins generated by that most miraculous of events – the workout. I can’t quite believe that I’ve kept up with them but there it is, today clocked in #96 of the year. Reached a big tipping point recently whereat I discovered that regardless of how grumpy and tired and disinclined to workout I was upon arrival at home, I found that if I gave into the grumps and played couch barnacle, that I felt worse about my day. I don’t ever want to feel worse about my day. I keep thinking back to what Apollo Ono said about coming back for these last Olympic games – something to the effect that before he closes his eyes to sleep every night he asks himself the question – did I do everything I could today to reach my goal?

On one hand that is a lot of pressure to put on yourself every day which is likely one of the reasons so few of us are Olympians. But in the larger scheme of things I have often pondered the elements of a perfect day for me and it is shockingly easy to achieve. A little of this, a little of that, little work, little play, little self-care, little love, little plain old goofing off.

Today started late last night. Both Hoosie and the Producer are enjoying the Banff World TV Festival 2010 and I heard from both of them. The Producer has a sci-fi producer he is going to hook me up with who is looking for writers, so if it works out I guess I’ll have to give him a finders fee. Hoosie texted me late and we did a long string till I told him to just call me, my thumbs were getting tired and I need my thumb strength for writing, not texting. We had a weird and wonderful Pajama Game conversation but somehow I think I was playing the Rock Hudson role. Hmmmm. So totally screwed my sleep hygiene of course since after hanging up I couldn’t get to sleep. I really can’t talk to anyone or email them for like an hour and a half before sleep, sensitive delicate thing that I am. The brain won’t turn off – I just keep thinking about the person and the conversation. Need better filters I guess.

Did get out of bed before noon, did do laundry, did groceries, did the gym, did the reading did a tiny bit of housework, lots of guitar and so far 3 pomodoros of writing on Conflict of Interest. More writing planned tonight with the World Cup as energy booster playing low in the background. So the writing the part where I realize that I really might be crazier than even I think I am. I was trying to decide what project to work on and the mental conversation went something like this.

“You should work on Rain Girls.” “Yeah but I’m in the mood to work on Conflict.” “Fine, then email the Cossack and see if he’ll buy you a pity drink over the two of you not being in Banff and then pitch him the story.” “Ah, no, I’m sure he’s busy and I don’t want to full out pitch it till I have something to show.” “Pretty sure two days work will get it showable.” “You know you’re right, I’ll do a set of pomodoros on Rain Girls – that’ll kick it along without getting close to the worry of finishing it.” “Worry of finishing it? Frack and golly bejesus, we aren’t here again are we? Okay I guess we are. You want to work on the script that has the least amount of interest and therefore the least amount of internal pressure. ARRRRGGHH!” “Seriously, what I am going to do with this fear of finishing thing you’ve decided you have.” “Help me figure out a way to believe I’m over it? Hey you manage to trick yourself through a workout nearly every day – figure out how you’re doing that and apply it.” “Hmmm. Pretty good advice from someone certifiable.” “Thanks. I try.”

Sunday, June 13, 2010

I’m afraid.

So there it is. After a long stretch of much silence and occasional random blog ramblings in a vain attempt to assuage your concerns (assuage, your word of the day) the reason I’ve not been writing. I’m afraid. You’re right to be concerned. I have been.

And somewhere I picked up this idea that I am blogging to entertain and enlighten you all about the trials and tribulations of creation. If I’m not doing that, then there is nothing to post. I forgot that the core reason I’m exploring the trials and tribulations of the aforesaid creative struggle is to put a pin in it for myself and if you get any spill over benefit super.

So the timer is set for one pomodoro (www.pomodorotechnique.com) and I will post what ever wanders out of my brain and onto the page. For you see I am preparing for a week of perfection. I have promised myself that every morning I will rise with joy and determination and I will live each day perfectly. For me that means 9-10 hours sleep – good coffee, guitar, exercise, reading, writing, good wine and interacting with someone I like. That is a perfect day. You can interpret the word “interacting” in any way that you’d like.

I’m finding my way back. Sometimes I just overwhelmed by all the stories charging around in my head and then I get frustrated at how long it takes for me to get the ideas on the page and then disappointed that I’m letting myself and others down and so the spiral continues. It’s alright though, I’m not complaining or asking for sympathy, it is just the way it is and I am on the ramp with the sack of manure on my shoulder trudging back up the spiral.

I fell down. Now I’m back on my feet. View is nicer from here. Can see the horizon and the tree-line and on a clear night the second star on the right and straight on till morning.

Part of me will be in Banff all week. Smiling, laughing, telling stories, listening to hopes and dreams and visions, pitchin’, dealin’, seducing, being seduced. Part of me stays here. In my head with you and Moosie, who has promised to keep the Drill Sgt. Critic shut in her cupboard while I finish a script or two. He may only be a miniature stuffed moose sporting a Canadian Tenors t-shirt but he is fierce in the defence of loved ones.

I’m still afraid – that I’m not smart enough, talented enough, passionate enough, prepared enough. That doesn’t let me off the hook though, does it? Fortune favours the brave they say. And if you aren’t a bit afraid, it’s not really brave, now is it?

Practice. Patience. Perseverance. Passion. Playfulness.

Saturday, June 5, 2010

So I said "I'm back" but am I really?

I was so in the mood to blog earlier tonight. Lots of exercise (workout #90) and post Canadian Tenors PBS special endorphins going crazy. And so proud. So proud of my boy Fraser Walters hosting down in the Seattle studio. So of course I have no right to take any credit for his success other than the fact I did keep the Asst. Conductor on the Magic Flute from strangling him. So I guess I'm allowed to be a bit proud.

Strangely I then read one of my blog posts from long ago about playing the guitar "two hands dancing" I have to admit. The writing was brilliant and now I'm kinda in awe of my earlier self and completely feeling that the current self can't possibly be capable of such eloquence. Hmm. That's a bit hinky-poo when you are jealous of yourself as a writer, don't you think?

Eeek. As if I didn't have enough ISSUES. Nice to be back though. I took a bit of a detour into writing what I'm supposed to instead of what I feel. It as okay I guess. Truth to tell it all flows better if i do this and that at the same time. Wrote some good shit for my day job today. Hey if the Dean comes back with zero comments on 1500 words, it is a fine day of writing my friends.

Instead of a moldy rutabaga

Really I crack myself up sometimes. I mean seriously, who am I to have such strong opinions about writing and story. Me with my one and only option cheque for 1$ stuck up on my book case with a bit of sticky tape. After a morning spent giving notes for favours it seems particularly hilarious that I’m still, at 7 pm at night, fuming over the issue of voice over in film scripts.

Just in case you’ve never heard me say it out loud before, here it is. Voiceover is the refuge of the lazy writer. Or the addition of a spectacularly insecure director or producer who doesn’t trust the very expensive team of artists and craftspeople they’ve hired to express the story in the glorious visual aural literary medium that is film.

I read this same sentiment once in one of my hundred books on screenwriting and I do so wish I could remember which A-list screenwriter to attribute the quote to, but, I don’t. Which is sad because sometimes I feel like I’m standing alone, screaming it into the teeth of a hurricane force wind with fellow writers and film business folks lined up like pilgrims in front of a pilloried (your word for the day) harlot chucking rotten root vegetables at me chanting the names of successful and highly touted films that use the medium. And I don’t care if that is a dreadful run-on sentence that needs an editor. Get your own blog.

You really think you are Robert Redford and your script the next A River Runs Through It? Okay, maybe you are but if you’re going to get the voice over by me man you better be chucking the Oscar or Golden Globe at me instead of a moldy rutabaga.

You see the great glory of film is when the music, words, acting, visuals, camera movement, casting, costuming all become a greater synthesis – you know the whole becomes greater than the sum of their parts. It is possible. Just layering good acting and nice visuals with a poetic voice over is self-indulgent crap. Sorry too harsh. It is what I call “young man” writing which is actually separate and distinct from “young woman” writing which has its own pitfalls.

Young man writing is self-indulgent and masturbatory while young woman writing tends to innumerable cups of tea and tedious descriptions of the actions of other people not on the screen to trustworthy confidantes. Certainly a place for both voices in the cannon of our craft, but really people. Look at not only what you are writing but how you are writing. Go ahead and chuck the moldy rutabagas if you must but be brave enough to have the tosser taunt me in his own voice.

Thursday, June 3, 2010

seriously?

Okay I just lost a very funny and heart wrenching literate post about how I'm back now and guitar and the amazing job Fraser Walters did hosting the Canadian Tenors PBS special and what the hell I've been distracted with and now its gone. Including a very amusing anecdote about my contribution to the Canadian Tenors' success being that I kept the Asst. Conductor on The Magic Flute from strangling him.

So now it is bedtime and I really have to stay true to that as I've a river of writing to do tomorrow and sleep is my only balm.

I apoligize, next time I will return to my safer practice of writing and editing these posts in word and stop going commando with raw posts.

Luv u all

Saturday, May 29, 2010

Corporate jets, ham & cheese and a dead swallow

Corporate jets, ham & cheese and a dead swallow

I’m back with my coffee flavored water at my side, one more piece of clothing on (dressing today will be a progressive thing). In the interval I have examined my fabulous hair do, wrecked by last night’s rain and the slightly smaller triple bags under my eyes. Consumed allergy meds and checked the time. Yes I think I can manage the 1:30 session which is here at the hotel. Fingers crossed.

Who’d a thought that flying direct from a big city like Vancouver to a provincial capital like Regina would involve a small plane? Not me that is for sure. Smallest plane I’ve ever been on. Plane from Vancouver to Kelowna was twice the size. Not a prop plane, but as the flight attendant described it, an extended corporate jet. Is true. The same model jet Bombardier sells as a corporate jet, they extended slightly in length and that was the CRAModel? Jet I was on. - 26 seats. Cabin height at centre only 6’2”. It was however, fast. And since no-one was beside me, comfortable.

My big city girlness though always gets a big shock at small airports. When YVR is your home airport I think it can be understood that Regina International is a shock. I thought Kelowna was small. Nope. The Shuttle Driver and husband of one of the Yorkton Film Fest’s principal organizer was on hand and as warm and friendly as all the great clichĂ©s about prairie hospitality.

Now see, we have stumbled up against one of my personal blog rules, which is not to name individuals by their names unless they are already public figures to some degree. Which for the purposes of the Yorkton Short Film Festival experience on my blog might mean that some of the great people whom I’ve met will not be properly credited so to speak and so my blog posting won’t serve to enhance their names or reputations. Which is not that great in that it would be nice to help some of them in some small way. On the other hand I feel pretty strongly that they deserve a certain amount of privacy and my practice of nicknaming folks means they, and those that were there understand who they are, but the wider world and far reaches of my network don’t. It also gives me the freedom to say what I need to when I need to. Thus the decision is taken. I will continue to allude to individuals by nicknames and descriptors.

Okay, now with that out of the way. I will say that the grilled cheese sandwich at the airport reminded me of the weird importance of fresh bread to Saskatchewanians. Not that they have some kind of crazier artesian varieties or special secret recipe, but bread is always present big and bold and it is always fresh. As a kid I noticed that when my grandparents came to visit that suddenly at every meal fresh bread and butter appeared on the table for every meal. The presence of my grandpa, a wheat farmer, made it de rigueur, regardless of what else was on the table.

Running out of time. Will share Canadian Short Screenplay Competition (CSSC) pre-awards jitters later.

My fingers smell like lobster and cordite

Hey, I’m not saying this is gonna be a pretty post. Feevty-feevty at best.

First I am going to apologize for the long silence of the blog. Things have been going on in my head that were not possible for me to share in the fully conscious literary form which is what I hope this blog sort of is. A literary expression of the mish-mash of stuff that happens in my head that then needs a good sort before it can become words and stories on a page.

One of the most important things that I’m trying to do is get comfortable with being comfortable. Even now I realize I am typing this in my Yorkton hotel room sitting on a chair that is all skewed and twisted so I can reach the keyboard, thereby ensuring that my body is skewed and twisted in facing the keyboard. Not even close to comfy. So hold on a sec while I re-orient and get a granola bar. I slept thru breakfast.

Why did I sleep thru breakfast. Well, yes partly because I had so much fun but partly because either lobster or beer are no longer my friends, allergy wise. By the time I limped and wheezed my way back to my room I was in bad shape. My muscles and joints were screaming I was wheezing, my nose was running and it dawned on my that I was having an allergic reaction. Sure enough a puff on the puffer and two Nyquil liqugels and a vast improvement. Anyway enough about the boring allergy crap. I thought I was dealing with a head cold, but it could more truly be spring allergies out of control. I did also stand out in a field of grass in Saskatchewan in spring time. Me who is wickedly allergic to GRASS. Probably no grass pollen out there eh? Sigh.

I am drinking hotel coffee and eating granola bars for breakfast because my eyes are still so swollen that I can’t bear to be seen in public. Showing up looking up at a panel looking like the survivor of a domestic knock down drag out is not how I want to be remembered. So hitting the caffeine with both puffy eye roller and internally until some semblance of normal. Hopefully by 1:30 as I would like to make an appearance at least at one session.

Okay posting now and so desperate will make the decaf coffee and comeback and give you part II or the prequel, since it will be back tracking the timeline for Yorkton Film Fest 2010 to the flight and drive to get here.

Saturday, May 15, 2010

Zounds what a week!

Okay I just felt it had been way too long since I used the word "zounds" in a sentence so what better way to start a blog post than with an archaic swear word that is a contraction for "Christ's wounds". Got an interesting email from a family member which suggested how life would be if we treated our Bible like our cell phone - you know, take it with you every where, use it in an emergency, consult it for directions, etc. Not all that helpful in that you're starting with the assumption that everyone has a bible. Though come to think of it, I'm pretty sure that must be a free app for my iPhone. The best part of all though was the end which told me the best part of all was that the bill had already been paid (note to self, pay cell phone bill) by Jesus. Yep, paid my cosmic cell phone bill by dying on the cross, during which time he was, according to the author of this email, thinking of me. I'm not sure I'm going to comment any further on this. Somehow just sharing it seems sufficient unto the day. Except to say that a little help paying the REAL cell phone bill would not be amiss, since I incurred crazy roaming charges in California last month and only myself to blame for not buying a "package" in advance.

Resistance put on a new dress this week and sashayed around my life, blocking the writing for the most part. It came in the form of squandering time and emotional energy trying to find funding for making The Lobby. I got all caught up in plotting and planning and drafting cover letters and adjusting budgets because it suddenly came apparent to me that I needed to make this film, like now, and that by doing so, I'd save the planet and launch my career into the stratosphere.

Needless to say upon closer examination of this assertion I realized I was distracting myself from making the very minor doable changes to the Rain Girls outline and sending it off. Also doing my taxes where I stand to get a whoopping great refund but actually have to finish doing them. So I bailed on the roadtrip and will try and Pomodoro my way through and get monkey off my back. Girl who is lucky and prosperous and needs to live that way, in joy and all expectation of every good thing.

Saturday, May 8, 2010

Now for the fun part

Okay peeps. Heavy lifting is done. Rain Girls pilot script outline is out for first round of judgment. Time is not, however my friend so I must plow ahead with cranking out the full script even before plot feedback. So far the feedback I have is that one person likes the title (I thought she was being sarcastic, but apparently not) and the other doesn't like the teaser, doesn't think it is enough to get him back in his chair after commercial. Great. One last frightened peek at my email in box for feedback and then four pomodoro's of dialogue work, so the traditionally weepy grief of a creative milestone will have to save itself for the next round.

I did weep a bit on Hoosie's virtual shoulder last night. Which reminds me I need to let him know that such behavior will be a regular occurrence every single time I hit a writing milestone. I know it is batshit crazy but there it is I hate finishing things so maybe the way to get over that is not to wallow and pick nits but to get on to something new immediately.

We'll see, I'll let you know after a set of Pomodoros.

Thursday, May 6, 2010

I finished something.

11:03:57 May 6, 2010 Vancouver BC. Typed Fade Out at the end of a 16 page outline for the Rain Girls Pilot script.

Too tired to pop the champagne. Oh well there is always breakfast. but not tomorrow must write world changing prose tomorrow. But one glorious day of nothing but clean clear UBC work before I have to face tomorrow night's Skype note session. For I also hit the send button on getting the outline out to readers both gentle and not for feedback. Still need to send to a few more folks but seriously 12 hours of typing and my fingers are burning. Ibuprofen and cold gel. will email you others tomorrow.

That was some kinda tough writing kids. of the be careful what you wish for cause then you have to deliver. You sure I can't make a living with witty tweets? I'm good at witty tweets.

nite an'g'bless

Wednesday, May 5, 2010

FINISH

Okay. rough day. I give you that. Intestinal turpitude. Enough said. That is your word for the day TURPITUDE. Look it up.

Did do the gym. Hey that is non-negotiable on a Wednesday, right? Unless a limb is broken or blood issuing from and unpredicted orifice one must work out on a Wednesday.

I even wrote a bit. Not much, but a bit. I could have finished if I'd been diligent. But given that I am 90% done the I DON'T WANT TO FINISH monster takes over. He is very hairy and likes to dance around my head shaking maracas while shouting loudly and hoarsely that we are almost done. Not quite, but almost. So I have to distract him by waxing my legs and writing this blog so he'll look the other way long enough for me to finish.

I have my alarm set for 3 am - wish me luck. Proof is on the page kids. Is it weird that I am looking forward to going to work tomorrow. Because there I have to deliver what is expected. Here I have to deliver what is unexpected. Suddenly my day job is less stressful than my life. Hmmmm.

The sword is in the stone and act 4 still in my head

Wow. Ever noticed how bright and white the word processor page is at 4:30 a.m. Now I know I should have just rolled over and gone back to sleep, but instead here I am typing with my eyes closed I might add because I thought I had something profound to say about writing. Okay that’s better. Turned off the big monitor and now am typing in the dark with my eyes closed. Look out people. Talk about filters off. Who know what may come marching up out of my subconscious and through my fingers? I could also take an hour to spell check this piece after I finish it too.

Okay something profound about writing . Yes. That is why I am up in at a time that is not even the middle of the night, but a really don’t go their time of night sharing my trite little insights.

It was something about when the universe dishes out a lesson in humility you’d better listen because the universe isn’t kidding. Hmmmm sounded a lot more poetic 10 minute ago. Huh. Well I was supposed to write last night and didn’t. I went to the gym drank wine and watched Glee. Which was awesome and made me happy by the way. And I watched a preview of the Canadian Tenors PBS special on the internet which also made me happy. And my nieces sent a super cute photo of the two of them trying to pull the sword from the stone in Disney land . A time honored family tradition that they pursued just for me so that made me feel special. Hoosie called me on my use of Whatever though and bad me texted back before realizing it was 3 am in TO where he is currently at. Oh well not like he hasn’t texted me awake before with a chirpy script note. Still now i have to send a sorry for texting you in the middle of the night text. Next to your cell phone butt dialing the last person you spoke with when you are getting into a cab after a party, one of the dumbest annoying things you can do to someone.

Good thing they have those little raised bumps on the keyboard cause I’m still typing with my eyesd closed. And of course, nope, the profound writing insight is gone.

Though I think it had something to do with the fact that the first three acts of Rain Girls pilot are solid and only the last act to go and I know what happens mostly so the fact that I didn’t move my fingers over the keyboard doesn’t actually mean that I didn’t write. However I am wondering why the vast majority of my pilot script takes place in parking lots. Whose idea was that ? I am starting act four and they are sitting in the van in the third parking lot of the pilot . When did my story become about parking lots? Not that you won’t be surprised by what happens in the parking lots, because you will but still. It is making me wonder what has ever happened to me in parking lots that has made me condense them into this story. Hmmm Lets see. Never set out for a swim team field trip from one. Though yes a few rowing trips in college. Never been abducted by aliens from one though have made out with a few in one and never sat staring at neon motel room sign alongside the high school janitor in one. Have been dumped in. Did kiss my first boy in one I behind the school. Do find myself sitting in the car staring at the rain in moments of stress in one I suppose.

Any way I hope my readers will be gentle on me with the whole parking lot motif. Come to think of it I made the Empress put a parking lot scene into her feature script too for the big climactic fight scene. Parking lots are good for fight scenes. I bet you’ve had a fight in a parking lot, haven’t you? Or maybe more than one? I thought so.

Alright. Back to bed since promised major writer insight does not seem to be quite as on the tip of my brain as I thought. I'll try again tomorrow. Sorry I mean later. It is tomorrow. Did I mention Glee was awesome? So was the Canadian Tenors DVD PBS concert preview. David Foster and Sarah McLachlan are in it too. I pre-ordered the DVD. Not that I have DVD player.

Saturday, May 1, 2010

cold pizza and sleeping in

so I just had a piece of cold pizza it is 8:17 am and I'm going back to bed. I was up during Lost Hour writing on Rain Girls so figure I only clocked about 4 actual hours of shut eye.

crazy crazy deadline of doom now so the next ten days will see a lot of interesting behavior in the Cocoverse. please do not be alarmed and no need to adjust your set. this is however a test of the emergency broadcast system in case in need someone to drive by with a case of Red Bull and a bucket of chicken.

for now I'm earplugs in and back to bed to dream of what the science is behind the girls getting their superpower. i can just hear Hoosie saying "Meh, science schmience, if it works who cares?" Well, I care. If I didn't I wouldn't be me and as long ago and far away as it was i still have earned the right to put B.Sc. after my name. issh that sounded whiny and petulant and I have ear plugs in so it must really have been.

okay, catch u later. i will blog as i can for those interested in how to write a TV pilot script in 10 days. fortunately not quite from a standing start. draft 15 page outline is done.

I think the Lynx guy is going to win it

Oh well, after a week of pushing the limits of my witty tweeting ability in an effort to win my pass to Banff 2010 TV Festival I think the guy with the personal grudge against the Lynx is gonna take the big prize. Not that I didn't have some fine moments. Really though it was an interesting writing competition/social media thing where the rule is simple - between this time and this time tweet about why you want to go to the upcoming Banff TV fest. Best tweet wins. The part i didn't expect is that since you can read everyone's entries that this interaction and commentary on other peoples posts starts to happen. It was actually kinda cool. And you had to choose whether or not you were up to engaging in the banter because as soon as you do, you can't really walk away clean until you are clearly on top or times up. It also told me of all the people who tweeted an entry, there are now two on my list to meet should we all get to Banff and honestly both are canadidates for my writer's room. Which, though I love you all, is going to be wicked hard for any one to get into since I'll only want to hire people who are funnier and sharper then me, not that a bunch of you aren't but most of you aren't in that very particular writer's room kinda way. Lookit me talking like I know how to build a writer's room. Well I will have to some day so in the same way that a future hydro engineer starts out with a bucket and a shovel in the backyard sand box, this is me figuring out how to build my future writer's room.

From this last crossing of swords I'll be looking up Lynx guy and the girl who bet on him who somehow managed to add in laser guns and ninja stars. It was fun people, thanks for the writing lesson.

Tuesday, April 27, 2010

The thing about Tuesdays…

Strangely I almost always stay up too late on Tuesday because, like the six year-old I truly am, I’m having too much fun to go to bed. I even have a timer set right now because I can tell this could turn into a 3,000 word post any time. Except it really can’t. I have fields and commitments tomorrow. A sentence that will only truly make sense to those raised to be dyed in the wool Catholic.

I haven’t blogged lately, not because I don’t love you, not because I don’t want to, but because the fever to write has been burning very hot. Writing for work, writing for Rain Girls, and, God help me yet another short screenplay idea that is yammering away somewhere behind my right ear. So noisy in my head these days.

So please forgive me. Forgive me, if when I am talking with you I start twitching and staring at the ceiling. I’m just writing. Forgive me if you ask me one question and I answer an entirely different one. Forgive me if I don’t blog for a few days or a week because it is not lack of something to say, but rather because I’m hacking through such a dense thicket of too much to say it is all I can do to stay on the trail. And I must do that. Stay on the trail. At least most of the time, otherwise I can’t wash and dress myself, go to work, be a thoughtful and contributing co-worker and stay off the street, out of prison and away from the psych ward and the knife drawer.

I know how to do this. It is a wonderful, scary, magical thick and spicy hot time in my head and I do know how to steer a safe course, I do. But be gentle with me if I ignore what you need and heed not what you say. You are important to me, but I need to safely run this stretch of rapids in the way that I know.

By day I did my best to listen, support and communicate to the greater good that is the fabulous university at which I’m privileged to work. All these super smart people trying to make the world a better place. It is awesome in the truest sense.

On guitar I played a Spanish dance by Albeniz, Hallelujah by Leonard Cohen, a Waltz by Calatuyud, Sonando by Zenamon and hacked away at a lullaby Ninna-Nanna by Carlo Domeniconi. Next week I’ll be sight reading a Led Zepplin ballad. I’m not sure I knew Led Zepplin wrote ballads but it is a masterful demonstration of Legato according to my Maestro – for whom I must chose an new title as he informs me that in Mexico the Maestro is the head brick layer – I know a few opera conductors who’d choke on their Cinzano if they heard that!

I also made chicken fricassee with tarragon, outlined a new short film Conflict of Interest, and made it into the thick of the third act of the Rain Girls pilot. Apparently the Misthra-el are blue and hairless and quite androgynous. Yes, it was a surprise to me too. I can hardly wait to meet the Elkinn-el. Now I must go tweet about the Banff International Television Festival 2010 (#Banff2010) as I am vying for a free pass to the delightful high altitude madness.
In case you are interested. The timer went off 19 minutes ago. G’night’n’g’bless.

Friday, April 23, 2010

Another 5 minute Blog

Hi guys! It is all good in the Cocoverse today. Still riding the wave of having a short script (The Conductor's Escort) make the top 25 of the Canadian Short Screenplay Competition (CSSC) two years running. Hmmm. Maybe I should submit more stuff to more competitions. Oh yah, have to FINISH things first. Well did actually submit The Lobby to the HotShots competition which would provide all the cash and services needed to actually make the darn thing. Other than than, contemplating whether or not to shoot some skeet and eat some lobster at the Yorkton Film Fest gala, but I can't decide if it should be a budget priority. The winner of this years CSSC will be announced there, but I guess I don't need to get serious about a decision until the top 13 list comes out next week. In the meantime I'm going to go back to trying to FINISH something -that's my five minutes- peace out.

Monday, April 19, 2010

Thursday, April 15, 2010

My little corner of the sky

You know the kind of day that I’m talking about. The kind of day when, from the moment your little toes hit the laminate in the early a.m. nothing quite fits. Like you are a complete stranger waking up in a body and life that can’t possibly really be yours? Can it? Really?

You stare at the clothes you’ve selected to wear and don’t remember buying them or when you last wore them. Your body seems to be so incredibly plastic that from one moment to the next a roll of flesh shifts 3 inches up and your shoes don’t fit and the exact same pair of pants that was, just yesterday, tight on the thighs and loose on the waist, is now tight on the waist and loose on the thighs?

A voice is speaking - apparently issuing from your throat, your body, but you are hearing it through some weird echo chamber. What did you just say? Why are you telling that story that is stupid. You are being boring and offensesive. This person you are talking to is just wishing you’d shut up and walk away. Jeepers YOU wish you’d just shut up and walk away. Seriously did every word out of you mouth today not sound completely contrived and wrong? The words from your fingers were great, even good, as was the music you coaxed from the guitar. In person though, like a movie shot out of focus and out of synch, what the frack? – who am I ?

Happens sometimes, days like this. Usually after a day where I’ve caught a glimpse of my little corner of the sky – I feel brilliant. I shimmer in the light – gorgeous. Then an awkward view of the Buddha belly in the mirror, a stretch that results in popping noises so loud your office worker, from behind her headphones, looks startled.

My little corner of the sky. For you Glee geeks that is from the Broadway Musical “Pippin” the lyric goes something like this. “Rivers belong where they can ramble. Eagles belong where they can fly. I’ve got to be where my spirit can run free. Gotta find my corner of the sky.”

That’s what I’m gonna go work on right now. I am a writer of story, a spinner of tales. With that talent I am going to build my own castle, slay my own dragons, rescue one (or six) prince(s)and bring in a bumper crop, then a nice late night glass of brandy on a turret top and a long deep gaze into the stars above before the prince(s) calls me into the warmth and embrace of bed and love and dreams.

Monday, April 12, 2010

Monday thoughts are random thoughts.

They have to be I think. Because Monday is a day to be small. While it is a day that looms large in our modern sensibility, it is best faced with small ambition and low expectation. If you do so, Mondays can be a highly accomplished days. If you don’t, there can be tears.

Something about not achieving all you wished for in your private life on the weekend in combination with having to face down all the things that need to accomplished in the upcoming week at your day job. I think that is what makes us feel small. Monday surely makes me feel small. And by that I don’t mean thinner or lighter. Less significant. Yes, that’s it. Trivial. I feel trivial. And by that I don’t mean funny.

All that being said. It is a great day for writing what one must as opposed to what one wants. All the drama and magic and passion and stardust that is seething just below my skin may not successfully come forth on a Monday. I may try, even cutting a bloody wound deep. But on this day above all others, it clots over quickly and I find myself checking on how many US stamps I have in the drawer and wondering if I should pluck my eyebrows. Then I get excited about editing the annual report or making tasty factoids out of dry scientific data – Monday’s make me feel useful above all other days, that’s for sure.

It is a good day to take out the recycling and to do an extra load of laundry. It is not a good day to pick a fight or bake a soufflĂ© or declare undying love. Not on a Monday. Monday’s are not big enough for such endeavors.

Mondays can be a bit subversive though, if you let them. Mondays can be great days for dreaming crazy music and planning deeds of daring and delight. But Shhhh. We must not speak of them aloud. Not on a Monday. Tuesday we may plot. Wednesday we may plan. Thursday we assemble the team. Friday we storm the castle. Saturday we exercise our passions and Sunday we repent. It is ever thus and has ever been, world without end.

And now I must away to my Monday duties. Reading scripts, composing emails, flossing my teeth, loading up the laundry basket, playing a few scales and wondering. Wondering what the people I love are thinking and feeling this Monday night. A single friend in Ottawa, a cluster in the Netherlands, a sprinkle in Northern California and a brand new shiny star in the south. A big hug in Toronto and another up the Sunshine Coast. A constellation across the prairies, a treasure chest from the lower mainland and even one or two angels down Dixie way.

Lucky, lucky girl.

Sunday, April 11, 2010

A blog in 5 minutes.

What kind of self-absorption does it take to be a writer? I takes a bunch of it to be sure. Wondering as I finally watched Julie/Julia all the way through. Her crisis when her husband declares himself fed up with her self-absorption. Of course these moments of trusted friends, family and lovers abandoning us at pivotal moments in our creation of something very much larger than ourselves is neither new nor unique. Sometimes they come back to us and sometimes they don’t. But I think the act of creation of a thing of size draws from all in our lives, through us. It is easy for them to interpret it as selfishness as everything gets swept up into the vortex. But I wonder if it really is. After all we are on this path through the belief and encouragement and positive feedback of others. Did they really think it wasn’t going to hurt?

Tuesday, April 6, 2010

The Guitar Lesson

Me: "People suck."
Guitar Teacher: "Yes they do.(pause) Want to play some guitar?"
Me: " Yes I do."

So we did.

The Space Between

It is Tuesday. Which means it is Guitar Day, one of my two favorite days of the week. But it is the in between time. Usually I kick a lot of creative writing into this space between the day job and the guitar lesson, but today I’m feeling bloggy. I keep checking the time every 5 minutes like a kid waiting for the last bell to ring before summer vacation. I really need my guitar class tonight. Given that I am prone to such things guitar is turning into a true obsession. I played for hours each day this past weekend and as I type this the ache in my fingers confirms that we are tipping over into madness. Last night I played until my fingers cramped. Think I might need to dig out the extra strength Ibuprofen before class.

I am in love with guitar. Last night I was really, really upset about something late at night, too late to call anyone who loves me on the phone so I played as I cried and then my tears dried and I played some more. I love it because it is so hard and so beautiful because music makes sense and no sense all at the same time. Too much guitar though, I’d already played 2 hours that day. See, I just checked the time again – it is 7 minutes after the last time I looked.

Okay back from Ibuprofen break and a wee peek at prices of high-end Flamenco Guitars. Yikes! How bout an Archangel Blanca whose price is not listed but the next couple down the shelf are in the 10Gs range. I’ve been coveting a 3G Larrivee hitherto. Well, since at the moment I can only play part of one Flamenco piece I guess we likely won’t have to worry about that for a while. Still I have played a friends Flamenco guitar in the past and liked the lighter action and bright sound, also slightly smaller for my hands.

Wow what a geek. I am blogging about guitars. When did I turn into a teenaged boy? Yippee, I get to pack up now since I want to be at the store early to check out some Flamenco sheet music.

Monday, April 5, 2010

Things that I am thinking.

Historically Easter has never been my favorite holiday. Historically, massive amounts of time in very depressing church services. Historically, ham and scalloped potatoes for dinner, neither on my list of favorite foods. Historically, massive deadlines and crazy overtime writing up proposals. Historically, given my trials and tribulations with my weight since puberty very skimpy on the chocolate egg side of things. And dressing in bright prints sunny colors – that has been me when? Oh, yah. When playing a character on stage. Usually one with not much going on between the ears.

I am a fan of the hot crossed bun though, yes I am.

Strangely this was one of my best ever. Much writing. Much reading. Much going to the gym. Crazy good guitar. Great family time. No depressing church services and struggle with the whole resurrection thing. Do I believe in it? Yes. I guess I really do. More fool I, the scientist in me says.

Funny though, how I haven’t seen the family more or less since Christmas and yet no one commented on my weight loss which is not minor. I did get one nice hair comment. While I recognize I have a long way to go, buff wise, it did bother me a bit. No matter. The Omen has been refereeing 80 games of B-ball this year. He is looking trimmer and fitter and happier than I’ve seen him in many a long year. And Mouse is as thin and fit as she was at 18 – gorgeous. Mom too looking fit and while rightly having a hard time following the cacophony of conversation. Hey peeps, think I have a commanding voice? I come by it honestly, let me tell you.

Weird and fun talking good Scotch with my oldest nephew. He’s not tried my current fav – Oban. He was also profoundly skeptical about my assertion that anything aged over 15-16 years is pure marketing. It was not until I invoked a higher power – our Genius Cousin – that he began to consider my case might have merit.

I am thinking many more things, but chief among them is my day of writing tomorrow. I am really looking forward to it. Oh, jeepers, need to remember to read that script for Hoosie too. Okay its looking like a full pot of coffee day tomorrow, better cut the mix with some decaf.

This was a profoundly pedestrian post. I did plan on sharing a bunch more thoughts but then got bored with myself and decided to wander off and read my "Your Brain on Music" book. Which is about music and neuroscience. Cool huh? I also watched Elvis Costello's "Spectacle" TV show 'cause Bono and The Edge were on. And you are going to either groan or lol but who did I spot in the studio audience but Remigio Pereira Canadian Tenor and one of my personal guitar gods. Well, I laughed, not sure why it's funny but it is.

Friday, April 2, 2010

Color me frustrated.

I’ve been kicking it hard for almost 10 hours trying to bang out the pilot outline for Rain Girls. Definitely one of those occasions when quality of work is not directly measured by quantity of words. That is 10 Pomodoros worth of focused effort (www.pomodorotechnique.com) and at nearly 8 p.m. time for a dinner break. I seem to be trying to write the perfect five pages but keep finding that I need to write out much more in order to figure out what is happening and then go back and summarize for the outline. Other wise the story starts to get away from me and the wrong points end up in the outline beats. So it is more like I’m writing out a super detailed treatment then testing it against the loglines then summarizing. Argggh. Act one nearly killed me because I have this huge chaotic scene in the school parking lot that intros all the main characters and hints at the inter personal alliances and conflicts of all the main characters as well as element of the A,B and C story lines.

So the good news is that I know what happens through to the end of the fourth Act. So I’ve decided to stop being such a Nazi with myself and just describe everything I see and hear in my minds eye, everything I know about the plot and the points where the characters conflict and just try and get it all out of me as fast as I can. Then tomorrow I will have to go back and sort it all out. Yes, I know, isn’t that what I should of done in the first place? Yes, it is. Thanks for pointing that out. Really helps at the end of a long day of fingers banging on keys.

So I will eat something then lock the Editor Nazi up in her cell and sit down for 5 more Pomodoros tonight and just write the whole thing as fast as I can. Think the fingers might need a hot soak and some Advil after that, but it must be done. Wish me well.

Tuesday, March 30, 2010

Things I am Reading

I am re-reading "The Geography of Bliss" by Eric Wiener for book club - it is my pick and i have to lead the discussion so therefore I feel obligated to re-read and remind myself why I am subjecting the E-litteratii to it. Interesting every single time any of us goes to spell the name of our book club the - E-litre-atti it gets a new treatment.

I am reading "This is your Brian on Music" by Daniel J. Levitin - given to me to read by my guitar teacher, surely one of the Nephilim - that's your word for the day, so look it up! For his genius and his patience. Still ever and always the highlight of my week the time I spend with him, and not in a creepy "I have a crush on him" kinda way, not that I don't or couldn't or whatever. The music is the thing people. And if you know me at all you know that a man with mastery of words, music or movement pretty much has my pure and unadulterated hero worship. Also men who are good at fishing and take out the garbage and recycling without being asked. But I digress. Because i can and because it is what I do and because it is Tuesday. Because of guitar the happiest day of the week next to Friday. I really should go to bed.

I am also reading "Anathem" by Neal Stephenson and dipping into "Writing the TV Drama Series" by Pamela Douglas. And finishing up the very racy "Venus and Adonis" by Bill Shakespeare.

Now are you wondering why I never married and never answer my phone? Didn't think so.

Monday, March 29, 2010

Sight Reading Sucks

I had to untwist the guitar strap tonight. It is at moments like that which force me to stop my hell bent for leather stampede to self-destruction and untwist. I wonder where that comes from “hell bent for leather”. No matter. This eve finds me in a bad, bad, bad mood. The kind of mood where it really should be illegal for me to write a blog post. The kind of mood which my heirs of the next century will find a treasure trove of files under “blog” with the screaming after title “NOT POSTED”.

Have I mentioned how much I hate sight reading music? Closely followed by the tick of the metronome? I tell ya, if that metronome function hadn’t been on my iPhone but rather on a real metronome – that fracking thing would’ve been thru the window days ago. Yah. I know sight reading is good for me in the same way that broccoli is good for me. Doesn’t mean I have to like it, and I don’t. So be warned I just sight read 4 pieces of music badly and feel like the stupidest piece of dog doo in the neighbourhood. Have I improved after a week of this scratching a fork along the inside of my thigh? Not in the slightest. I also still hate broccoli after nearly 40 years of choking it down so go figure.

And yes, thank you I know what I should be doing right now and what I should be writing and yet I’m not. I am sitting here wearing glasses smeared with what? That have just been freshly masking taped together and so I suddenly find myself facing that what shall I do? New glasses or new contact lenses? Both needed and now with the glasses held together with masking tape – just not a very impressive look. Thus a component of my cranky. Money for one, not for both. I must chose style over function – look at me on the horns of a dilemma. I also don’t know where that comes from, but boy it works for me.

By the way, who knew that spell check recognizes a correct way to spell “crankiness”?

Now, as I try and figure out what to do next. What I can do that will make me happy and shift this black mood? All choices don’t appeal. I don’t want to eat or drink or sleep or bathe or clean up or play guitar or read or watch TV or write or listen to music. And did I mention the guy across the hall flooded his place and the restoration dudes are running noisy fans at a quarter of ten? The thing I do want to do is not PG thirteen and not available to me tonight anyway, since I have to save my cash for new glasses.

Alright. I’m going to brush my teeth, drink some water and browse crazy expensive jewelry web sites. Followed by a search for a very high-end men’s white dress shirt that might fit me – but must have French cuffs.Why? Is a topic for another blog. Then lights out but not until I list 50 things I feel grateful for. Sort of letting me off easy because between the immediate family (10) book club (5) work peeps (8) sisters of the pen (17) flash forward peeps (4) and biz peeps (4) I think I’m there, oh and how could I forget my former co-worker/client posse – (15) okay getting silly now.

Opps. Was that a little smile trying to take over the corners of my mouth? I believe it was.

Saturday, March 27, 2010

Who bought the nitrate free turkey dogs?

So I come home from a long challenging week at work. I put my judgmental brain on auto pilot, change into work out clothes, grab a clean towel, iPhone and headset and am off to the gym. Now realize I am pooped. Going from being as sick as I was back to full throttle when nobody had done nothing on my stuff since I left for vacation is enough to put you on the sick list again. Nevertheless, I sucked it up buttercup (yeah me!) and gave a good solid week of work to both the day job and the dream job. So how I got myself to the gym was by promising I could order pizza post workout. I have a workout full of the usual hi’s (look at me! I am killing this) and lo’s (crap am I going to make it past 15 min?) and then realize upon return that if I want guilty indulgence there is that 6 pack of KD I bought (for the first time since college) and I’m pretty sure if you combine that with the hot dogs in the freezer and a large martini, you will feel sufficiently decadent unto the day.

Thing is, I’d inadvertently bought the whole wheat pasta white cheddar version, to which I had already decided to add the cauliflower left over from the book club veggie tray, because everyone knows the best way to get me to eat vegetables is to add butter or cheese. So off I go wooo- hooo but the time I stir it all together with a clove of organic garlic, 2T of low-fat organic milk, one T of unsalted butter, 1.5 cups cauliflower, 1 cup of baby spinach I’m thinking okay at least the hotdogs are a Friday night indulgence till I catch sight of the packaging waiting for the bin – turkey dogs – nitrate free. WTF?

So I determine to EAT the WHOLE Thing. Which I don't. So what? Now my night of indulgence turns into a healthy portion controlled menu? Hmmmffff.

Thursday, March 25, 2010

Sight Reading Music

Did i mention that I hate it and that my Maestro is off my bus for making me do it? not really. He is actually a patient Angel. But sight reading is to playing the guitar as walking by the angry dog is to getting to the doughnut shop. It makes me feel stupid, incompetent and incapable. And i really don't need any extra help feeling those three things.

Not to mention the first song I opened the book to was in 3/2 time. I been reading music since I was 6 years old, nobody ever asked me to play nothing in 3/2 time!!! My metronome just doesn't do that fraction. And hey, isn't there a moratorium on having to do fractions? Like people over 35 just don't have'ta do 'em anymore? If not there bloody well should be.

What happened to the pickles at book club

Lesson learned. When Book Club turns into Wine Club mid-week, Thursday turns into an achievable goals day.

Pretty sure I’m not going to be able to put together cogent thoughts here today people. It is it is lunch hour and I should be writing script but after staring at the blinking cursor and feeling the eyelids droop I figured I’d switch to blogging as it can still be considered writing practice but if the story ends up being about cheese no-one really minds. Mind you an episode where my human/alien hybrid discovers the joy of cheese could be a lot of fun. Okay I will pop open my episodes list and make a note, hold on a sec.

Right, where was I – ah yes cheese. We had cheese at book club which was quite well received by all assembled. Perhaps the selection was too fine and that is why the wine went down a little more easily than usual. Or maybe it is my own personal decadent influence, as the peeps rarely indulge like that at book club. They often don’t even at wine club. Could be the influence of the purple velvet couch. Hmmm. It is a couch pretty damn high on the decadence scale.

Sure nice to have a place where your friends feel like hanging out though I must say. The concrete walls turned out to be important as it happened. Hey and our newest member celebrated her first anniversary with the E-litteratti and earned her blog nickname – Alien PM. I could explain, but frankly I’m too tired for one, and I’m not sure I exactly remember for two.

Several funny moments – first and foremost Po announcing that she liked the book we were ranting about (a previous disaster – current book is excellent) And hey, why is it that books we really like get 20 minutes of nodding agreement, and books we are split on keep on coming back to haunt and irritate and inspire Duder to fabulous fresh new rants. She is really the only person who’s rants are truly art since even if it is a topic on which you’ve heard numerous previous rants from her, she always comes up with a fresh new rant twist.

But back to Po announcing that she liked the accursed book but of course probably because she is the only member of the group who isn’t a writer. Which was super material for much mirth since Po was the only one in the room who is actually a PUBLISHED AUTHOR http://www.chapters.indigo.ca/books/35/search?sc=Paola+Opal&sf=Author
That is comedy folks. Powering thru the highlights were curing Squish’s plantar faceitis, Alien PM’s quite helpful advice on coping with annoying in-laws, Duder’s adventure in real-estate and watching the Fry/Laurie YouTube sketch “Your name, sir.” http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hNoS2BU6bbQ

Though I am never doing a vegetable plate again (seriously need a nap, just had to spell-check “vegetable”) Alien PM ate 3 pieces of broccoli and one cherry tomato and now I have enough vegetables to make stir fry for 12 vegans. Must go back to the day job but will finish with the fate of the pickles.

First no one ate any, second when I went to put them away I spilled all the cold pickle juice over my bare feet so had to wash my feet before bed. Didn’t do a good job though, my right pinkie toe is sticking to my shoe. Hey Alien PM, maybe a cure for someone’s foot odor issue?

Monday, March 22, 2010

Are you kidding me?

So what is the deal with new guitar strings. Do they seriously have to be tuned halfway thru a song? Are you kidding me? I put them on when? I’ve re-tuned how many times?

And what is with my incredibly well developed avoidance of success thing. Though I can report 9 pages on the Rain Girls pilot and 7 pages on episode 6.
How long did it take to write 10 thank you cards and send 7 follow up emails for PitchMarket 2010? Two Weeks? Are you kidding me?

By the way, anyone looking for a new technology – I have successfully bonded sockeye salmon skin to metal and absolutely no clue how to separate them. I seem to have created an entirely new substance. Perhaps useful for shoring up wormholes.

Wondering if I can get away with Glade plug-ins and blindfolds for book club on Wednesday.

And I’m cranky because now they’ve been on Oprah and everyone is a Canadian Tenor’s fan what do they need me for?

OOOOhhhh. Where’d that little toad come from? Though they did make nice comments about fans flying from afar and bringing treats. I guess that’s me, as long as I send chocolate and don’t show up on anyone’s doorstep I’m going to say that makes me a good fan not a stalker fan. The CTs incandescent success is a good thing, right? To do with them making the world happy. Which I want for them and they want for them. Hah! I have fan jealously. That is just silly. So.

Okay, moving on to the next pothole of the day. Now the reminder to breathe. I did get the acknowledgement that though the three videos I prepared fell short of everyone’s expectations, my hard work and effort was noted. Thanks. At least no-one complained about the font.

Are you kidding me? Last night as I was approaching the realization that there was nothing on TV that I was remotely interested in watching, I caught myself wishing I could catch that next episode of that series about the drug-addicted, wheelchair-bound sorceress. You’ve seen the promo’s surely of “Shadows Gather” with the next episode being after a long dark night of the soul the hot Cop shows up to make her and her almost-but-not-quite-jail-bait-live-in-boy-toy French toast for breakfast. Then the flash of realization that it's not a TV series Carolynne – it is the next chapter of your novel that you haven’t quite written yet. Really? Seriously? I actually had a moment of pining for the next chapter of one of MY stories. Good sign. It’s a good sign, right?

Thinking of the Shy One and our conversation about never feeling good enough. Never being able to receive love or praise or affection of any kind because you have this deep rooted feeling that if someone actually likes you it is because they are mistaken about who you really are and misguided about the quality of what you do. At some point they will come to their senses and walk away.

I was well and truly shocked when the Cossack admitted not having read my scripts yet. I actually looked and him and thought, “Then what are you sitting here for?” Yes. The concept that an attractive successful smart man just liked me for my company and not what I could do for them was kind of cataclysmic. And sad. And maybe misguided. Perhaps he is only interested in whether or not I can advance his career. But I hope it is only because I make him laugh. That’s what I hope.

Sunday, March 21, 2010

Sometimes you just want cake.

I’m thinking about scars tonight. Childhood scars, last week’s scars, other people’s scars.

When I was little. Maybe six, no must have been at least seven? I was playing on the front lawn of our house in Richmond so I was certainly no more than eight. It was a long summer twilight and I could hear the sprinklers click and swish in the neighbour’s yards. I’d been helping Dad cut the grass, but he’d gone inside and I was alone, sitting cross-legged on the lawn. The damp new-mown grass tickling my legs where my shorts left off. As the blue deepened above I switched from using the edge clippers for their intended purpose to lifting them high and stabbing them deep into the earth. A powerful feeling reaching as high as I could, my hands not really big enough to master the smooth turned wood of the handles and then stabbing them deep into the turf. Such a satisfying feeling that shudder through the handles and the tremulous moment of resistance before the fibrous roots agree to surrender to the sharp heavy blades. The blades require a real effort to extract and so I do. And do again. Noticing that the mosquitoes are rising and a chill falling – I really should get inside. But once more with the blades, I’m grooving on my dominance of the blade and the earth and a rare moment alone too probably, before someone wonders where I am, what I’m doing.

Arms raised high. Blades glinting high thick and sharp and Whooom! I stab downward, through my right calf. What have I done? Shock I suppose is what happened next. Clippers withdrawn and flung aside. I was to be chastised for that in a couple of days for leaving them out to rust. The river of blood started down my leg and all I could think was I was going to be in such trouble for getting blood on my sock. I ran to the basement door. Far from the closest, but I all could think was to get to the bathroom and stop the blood from getting everywhere or I’d really catch hell. How I managed to stop the bleeding and bandage it myself I still have no idea. I must have been a half hour in the downstairs bath with the first aid kit and my blood-stained sock soaking in the sink. Mom always said cold water was the thing for blood stains. I remembered. Given the size of the scar I must have managed to get a good three inches of blade in the leg. I certainly should have had stitches, and such luck that the wound didn’t infect so by the time the Saturday night bath rolled around a band-aid and a one inch scab, albeit a heavy one didn’t even raise a parental eyebrow.

It seems that life this last 10 days has been such a bittersweet brew. All the salty and slick and crunchy and tough bits blended together like a really bad tasting smoothie that is good for you. But sometimes you just want cake. A small piece will do, really. But cake nonetheless.

Monday, March 8, 2010

Lucky, Lucky, Lucky Girl

Thing is about not “winning” the pitch competition is that it gave me this fantastic opportunity to feel the love of the people all around me friends and strangers too. Seriously, what do I need with a bunch of free software I already own and free books I already own and passes to film festivals I’m already going to, not to mention bragging rights which all in all may be 20K in prizes but isn’t a patch on the billion dollars of love and friendship and hope and faith I received from you all.

There is a lesson too in that Smart Pig, who did win (sorry doll, just trying out a new nickname for you! It might not stick) HATES pitching with the fury of a thousand suns, while I, who actually kinda enjoy it, didn’t even place. That is something to think over for sure.

Apologies I am still so tired that the words keep slipping thru my fingers, and an amazing dinner and glass of cabernet –god do they make good wine in this state – has caused the powerful made-of-woven-titanium-and-magic-fairy-dust word net that I usually am able to cast forth to be made instead with some used dental floss and tangled computer cords. See, I just had to sound out the word com-pu-ter in order to type it.

Just can’t go to bed though with out sending out big teary inappropriately crushing hugs to all of you who seem to have tapped into an endless spring of being kind and passionately supportive of me and my dreams. I hope that when they come true that you can all share the joy with me as powerfully as you’ve shared the challenges.

Smart Pig compares us writers to flying fish. Fish who somehow think they should be birds, but at some point after soaring thru the air too long, we must dive again, alone into the deep cold hidden deeps and be what we are and do what we do, until the next fit of “I can be a bird!” hits us and we leap forth to join you all in the skies for a bit. It is a fun time though, isn’t it? We are all wet and salty and sparkle like jewels in the sun, and we sing to you for a little while before the light and the attention and the demands and the heat all become too too, too much and we must fall again, fold our wings and immerse ourselves in the cool deep wet dark to mend.

Special hearts to Delicous, Pixie and the Empress for their endless toil to make the event such a success for so many. And to all the kind strangers who overcame their writerly reserve to introduce themselves and tell me how wonderfully they thought I did and how amazing my story is. And the Welsh Maid showing up to plunk 35$ down just to watch the back of my head for 20 minutes, that is love. Most of all to the Producer who survived a late night champagne drunken butt-dialed cell phone call, not to mention his unflagging use of the word “brilliant” with connection to myself. As for the Princess and the Cossack? I truly think they were more disappointed for me than I was for myself. So I ordered a bottle of champagne. It seemed to cheer them up a bit. I certainly felt the bubbles were called for because it was a day and a night when, from near and far I felt truly, deeply and incandescently loved and valued. It was a great day.

Saturday, March 6, 2010

Inhale, exhale, repeat.

Okay. Got a place to stay in LA. Leaned the erstwhile mentor is logging 15 hour days and won't be in LA when I am.

PitchMarket Forum today totally worthwhile. Learned new things and got to catch up with some of my writer peeps. Continually astonishing to me how great it is not to be the writer in the lonely garrett all the time, and how talking with them inspires me to put butt in chair and write!

Loving you and leaving you now. Was good and went to gym and lite on food and booze tonight. Have a Huge pitching day tomorrow!

Such a groovy life! Such a lucky girl!

Friday, March 5, 2010

Oh, boy.

Really must blog. Must blog now. Trouble is I actually have too much to say. In that I am keeping a close eye on the clock and approaching bedtime. Big weekend. PitchMarket Forum all day tomorrow so must get up early and workout first before I go. Hah! Hands up everyone who thinks that is actually going to happen. But hey, I realize as I type this that the reason I have announced to the world and committed it to pixels is because now I have to be accountable. Pretty much one of the only benefits of a guilt ridden Catholic upbringing. If I say I'm going to do something, my magnificent mother lode of pride laced guilt comes thru.

This, by the way is a rare blog for me. Typed directly into the blog window instead of being crafted in word, saved to the hard drive and proofed. Come to think of it, it feels kinda dangerous, like going commando. Who really knows what might happen?

So tomorrow at PitchMarket 2010 Vancouver is all about the workshops and panels, though I do get to see the Cossack and hey any day that I get to receive a kiss and a hug from a Ten is a good, good day. I'm not actually sure what I'm more excited about - the learning stuff about the biz of writing or getting to flirt my face off with the Cossack. Mind you I'll have to meet his 23 year old lingerie model girlfriend on Sunday in all likelyhood, but hey, the way my love life is going these days a smile and a hug from a hot guy is like getting to third base.

Oh, third base ... Baseball season! It suddenly seems to be upon me which bodes well for the guitar practice. Hmmm, for the writing. Yah. Actually me participating in life instead of watching it does bode well for the writing.

Finally found my Rain Girls one sheets after ripping the apartment to even greater shreds to find them. You know its bad when you order pizza for dinner because instead of cooking you need to spend the time running the dishwasher. Speaking of which, I'm gonna sign off now and do another load.

Weirdest thing about this past year for me, as a writer, most surprising anyway, is how important the people that I've met have become to me. A whole panoply of smart, lovely new friends. Super strange for someone who wasn't looking for them and frankly didn't think she needed them. Hey nobody really needs more than Book Club, and a couple work pals, do they? Apparently so. I am as excited about seeing friends this weekend as about the "career" opportunities. And you know what? Career, shcmear - stories are life, my life. Ain't I lucky?

So that is me, going commando. How'd I do?

Saturday, February 27, 2010

Another Saturday Night

So I’ve been doing it again. Last few days. Thinking around things instead of at them then thru them. Not writing much because I’m afraid that instead of writing what I want I’ll write what I need. Might be better writing, but it hurts more and commands a smaller paycheck.

It is another Saturday night. “Date Night” as one of my friends likes to call it. The night she claims that all plans with girlfriends are instantly cancelable if you get a last minute offer from a guy. Another Saturday night and instead of experiencing love I’m hanging around my over-priced studio apartment trying to write about it.

Mind you given my powers of imagination and legendary memory perhaps writing about it for me is superior to experiencing it in the flesh for many. Still, I just watched a romantic comedy with two charming leads witch left me cold at the end because it still all came down to him loving her because she was fucking gorgeous even though she was a bitchy, neurotic control freak. So there you go beautiful ladies, lesson is that even if your personality sucks ass you’ll still get the guy.

Sorry, just feeling kind of weird today so if you stick with reading this post please do be prepared for anything. I’ve decided to try and write my way out of this mood since exercise, guitar playing, tasty dinner, mindless TV and a martini have done little to distract from the thought that I’m missing something.

It’s like I’m roaming around this big mansion in my head, opening and closing doors. Looking for something. Here picking up a book, reading a couple pages and putting it down. There staring out the window, or rather at the window watching the rain drops skip and slither down the glass. In the kitchen rummaging thru the refrigerator only to end up with a lunch of some stale crackers and brie of questionable vintage. Oh well, at least the last scrap of apricot jam and a couple forgotten slices of proscuttio made it momentarily festive.

The trouble is, the thing that I am looking for is a thought. There is something out there that I should be thinking about and I’m avoiding it. Maybe it is the self-evaluation for my job that I have to do before Monday. Maybe I just don’t have the courage to self evaluate right now. What I really want is a neck rub and someone to take out the garbage and recycling.

Maybe it is early onset of the Olympic hangover. The energy in this city has been truly nutty and mostly euphoric for weeks now and the crash of closing night is just around the corner. Strangely the performers among us are most likely to cope. Closing night blues are a very real phenom they have to deal with all the time. For those of us Vancouverites bumped out of the hum-drum of our safe and prosperous every day, the come down is going to be hard. I wonder how many jobs will be quit in a huff or relationships collapse or if the incidence of bar brawls with increase?

There we go, that would be a bit of my latent Catholicism life-is-a-vale-of-tears thing coming out. Or my bipolar experience. I expect a crash after the high. Maybe though that is just me and something that doesn’t actually happen so much to normal people.

Since I can’t seem to find the big thought that is escaping me maybe I’ll just stick with the small things of the day. Listening to two new Canadians of diverse ethnic origin sharing joyful thoughts in heavily accented English about tomorrow’s gold medal hockey game. It may not be my sport of choice but is certainly is something that helps people identify themselves as Canadian. It made me smile. It is after all is said and done and its many flaws tallied, still the very best country in the world. I feel deeply and profoundly blessed to be Canadian. Lucky, lucky girl.

And my gym? What’s to complain about that? Though as is usual on days when my head refused to stay attached to my shoulders, me actually getting there was pretty touch and go. But go I did. Hey, it is right in my building and it’s just been reno’d! They even put in a proper spongy floor so the noise of the big boys dropping weights doesn’t rattle your fillings loose.

Just so you know, I’m totally not complaining about anything. I have useful work. Safety, security, prosperity and some where in every single day I have love and joy and surprise. Okay well maybe I am complaining lack of neck rub, but if that is seriously the biggest lack in my life then I am maybe not the poster child for perfection, but a serious runner-up. Okay, maybe fifth place.

And look at that. Still lots of time for a hot bath and a bit of reading before bed in the big freshly sheeted chocolate schmoorr bed of healing and good dreams.

Until tomorrow my friends, sleep well and dream of angels.

Tuesday, February 23, 2010

Fear of Success, there you are my old friend

... peaking round the corner. Saying Hey! in order to win this TV Pitch competition at PitchMarket 2010 Vancouver you have to beat two people who are sort of friends. Okay not really, bosum buddy friends, but guys I like alot. Jeepers. And so very many opportunities between now and then to share my love all over the place while neglecting my preparations.

Nope. Friends and family give me a 14 day by please. I can do this. I really can.

Monday, February 22, 2010

Ah, Resistance ...

... did you really think you fooled me? Alright. I can understand why. But you haven't you know not really. While you parade the bright and shiny accomplishments of friends, family, and, lately, Olympians. I am still here. Still dreaming. Still working away. Knowing that I'm only a head fake away from beating you to the basket.

It is so very easy to get caught up in other people's stuff. Yet so crucial to push for one's own. That horrifying B word - BALANCE.

More Random Thoughts

“There are so many great things to do with the human mouth, why waste them on talking?” Not sure what writer of “How I Met Your Mother” to credit for that, but great, great! Right up there with my own response to the question, “Do you smoke?” my answer? “No, I have better things to do with my mouth.”

So excited by the NBC news coverage of the Vancouver Olympic Winter Games and the child-like joy of the journalists and broadcasters to discover the magnificence of Vancouver and the far north of the Pacific Northwest. What, did you think we were kidding? We live in heaven. Thanks for joining us.

Sunday, February 21, 2010

Hallelujah and Me - Via Leonard Cohen

What is the deal with this song? First of all, how could I have been Canadian for my entire life and not have been aware of this song until I heard the Canadian Tenors version of the song not quite a year ago. Then it starts to get weird.

I announce to my guitar teacher that, “I must learn this song.” And HE’D never heard I before. And he is a real deal composer and serious been around the block guitar player. That was last August. So we’ve been working on the song on and off ever since.

Last guitar lesson, he wants to get serious about working on the song. I have the somewhat predictable Fminor block witch means nothing at all to you who’ve not attempted mastery of the guitar. It isn’t’ the easiest song for a beginner suffice it to say.

Weirdly, though his inspiration to push on the song came from KD Lang’s performance of the piece at the Olympic Games Opening Ceremony. The last major composing project my teacher worked on was with someone who had produced more than half of KD Lang’s recordings. So that gave him a push, not to mention that I had been torturing the piece for six month in lessons.

Even weirder. I was feeling melancholy watching the 2010 Olympic Games Opening Ceremonies as I was just beginning to realize that the Canadian Tenors, had most likely performed the non-televised pre-show. So I’m sitting on my couch playing “Hallelujah” and suddenly KD Lang arises on top a big white drum and starts givin’ er.

It was strange. And quite frankly, unpleasant. Nothing against KD’s performance which was as dig down deep and heartfelt as it comes. But I wasn’t my boys version and, truth to tell, it wasn’t my version. I don’t mean that to be prideful. Especially since I discover that Leonard Cohen’s Hallelujah is one of the most covered songs. Reason for that has nothing to do with Leonard Cohen’s celeb. Sorry Leonard. It has to do with the brilliance of the song as a piece of music and poetry.

It’s a great song, no doubt. But why is so suddenly mine? And why does it seem to spring up on me everywhere? That I don’t know. It appears in the movie The Watchman and tonight, as I was channel surfing in the movie St. Ralph. Which really hit me in the head and heart hard as I’d been practicing the blessed thing all day.

Seriously I have played and practiced this song nearly every day for months. I can't go to sleep at night till I've heard it.

So what is it with me and this song?

Monday, February 15, 2010

Hydrogen Hydroxide Please

Okay, note to self. Hydrate better when working at home. I went to the gym with much less HOH in the tank than usual and thought I was gonna throw up at the end there a minute. Definitely one of those workouts where the endorphin train never got out of the station. Ooofff.

Alright, now, as I was such a good girl and telecommuted properly today, I missed the men’s downhill quals(my very favorite event) so now must navigate a minefield of info to try and find a channel playing the finals without tipping me as to the outcome.

Then I will work on my Rain Girls beat sheet and seriously get that script moving along. Kind of a relief not to have to work on the rom com for a few weeks. A high-school love triangle a kidnapping and assorted alien skullduggery is much more what the post-v-day-blues require for the snapping out of a totally useless and indeed harmful self-pity.

But first will pound some serious hydrogen hydroxide.

Sunday, February 14, 2010

7 chances for love

So. Tonight this just about turned into a big rant about Valentine's day and love and all kinds of horrifying stats spewed out by National Geographic channel.

Instead I stopped. Saved the rant into the "not posted" folder and reconsidered.

I have a new toothbrush. It makes me hopeful it is a Crest spin brush and sounds oddly like a didgeridoo, but boy after you use it you sure know your teeth and gums have been well loved.

One of the stats the NG threw out tonight was that we would each experience love an average of seven times. Good news for me, that's for sure. I am certain it has been once, confident that it has been 4 ... Hah! and if you asked me about today. Like this very single day? I would confirm that there are at least three lovely men I would go out of my way for and at least 3 more waiting in the wings. So that was seven at one time, right?

I didn't write today. Other than this. I was afraid. I was afraid to face the day. I was afraid to face love. When I write, love comes to me, whether I will it or no. So I spent the day sorting receipts, cheering atheletes, reading the book club book, going to the gym. Anything and everything to not write.

Writing you see, is the only place that I experience love as opposed to observing it. So for today, I will say goodnight. Tomorrow, I will write.

Thursday, February 11, 2010

Canadian Tenors – Breaking Big

Now I do recognize that some of you might be thinking this is now the Canadian Tenor’s blog 24/7. However it is not. It is about the art and craft of writing as seen through the lens of me. Thus, it is a reflection of what is going on in my head and what in my life influences my art. I love it when I get to use the word “thus” – it brings such a pomposity and gravitas to an otherwise mild-mannered sentence.

This week the boys are more than usually present in my life, thoughts and even geographically. Do you know that the boyfriend of one of my co-workers called her from BC Place yesterday to specifically NOT tell her that four famous people just walked by him and one of them said “Hi” to him. Of course, he couldn’t tell her who they were, so she went ahead and guessed. Since she’d been at the dress rehearsal for the Olympic Opening Ceremony on Monday and had watched the four stand-ins for these famous folks, she was fully equipped to shout out “It’s the Canadian Tenors”. Worst kept secret in town kids. After the phone call she raced to tell me. What delighted me the most was not that I got to know what they were up to, since I sorta already guessed, but her excitement at sharing the news and the fact that her boyfriend called them “famous people”. Yah, I guess they are kinda. And after appearing on Oprah yesterday and the Olympics tomorrow, the whole world is gonna know them as famous people. Mind you, the world really should know them by now since they’ve been to 5 continents in the past year. Rats. Now getting tickets to their shows really is going to be impossible.

The Canadian Tenors are breaking big. If I had a dime for every person who told me, with a slightly dazed expression on their face, that “Gee, they really are great.” or “I don’t usually like that type of thing but they are good.” Or “I’m surprised how much I liked them.” “The harmonies are amazing.” “What great voices.” Well if I had a dime for all that I’d have enough to pay for my next concert ticket. Me? I’m not surprised. Me? I’m smug. That’s me Ms. Smuggie SmugFace. I TOLD you they were amazing.

I had the privilege of experiencing the Canadian Tenors be amazing once again last Monday night at a Surry Arts Centre performance that was sold out months in advance. And I use the word “experience” because “seeing and hearing” is a woefully inadequate phrase. I went all by my lonesome and it was anything but. That crowd was happy to see those guys and those guys were glad to be home. A joyful musical mutual love fest ensued. The ovation after their rendition of “The Prayer” was so enthusiastic it brought out a mock apology, “Gee sorry you guys didn’t like that one.” Yah, we liked it alright. And that silence you heard from the crowd after Fraser Walters finished singing his solo “Homeward Bound” was so thick and liquid I forgot to breathe for a minute. I suspect I was not the only one.

Though all in all I’m a little ticked after the fact cause they got me feeling all happy and generous. What happened then as I’m sitting in my little intermission glow is that the CDs for sale in the lobby sold out and the women sitting next to me were crestfallen. So I go and give them the copy of “The Perfect Gift” I brought to get signed. Or I actually tried to give it to them. What’s up with that goofy impulse to give strangers something I spent my hard earned cash on and give up adding to my collection of signed copies, a signed copy for every concert. I was on a roll. Stupid endorphins.

Of course they wouldn’t accept the gift and tried to pay me, but I insisted that I hadn’t paid 20 bucks for it (true, cheaper on-line http://bit.ly/b8jpLQ ) and had no change (a lie, I’m such a liar). So in a flash of inspiration I said, donate the 20 to Voices for Bulembu, the boys charity, the web address is in the liner notes of the CD (http://www.voicesforbulembu.com/ ). So much for inspiration, she forced the 20 on me and asked me to donate to the charity for her as she didn’t have a computer. Cripes. So now I’m out a CD and a souvenir and I have to go to all the trouble of donating the money to charity and I told a lie. Stupid, stupid endorphins. Maybe I should stick with exercise and chocolate. And wine. Wine is good.

But I won’t. The Canadian Tenors are breaking big and I’m going to enjoy my reign as Ms Smuggie IToldYouSo Smugface too much to give them up now. So I guess I’ll just have to shut up and suffer through the fact that they made me an “Instrument of Peace”, just for a few seconds mind you and just 20 bucks worth. Damn signed CD collection just collects dust anyways.

Punked by Oprah and Celine Dion - The Canadian Tenors

Okay I watched the Oprah show about an hour ago and I am still laughing. The Canadian Tenors. Wow did you guys get got. I'm thinking your pal David Foster had somewhat to do with all that. Seriously you guys got Punked by Oprah and Celine Dion! Gonna live that down? Not any time soon.

Okay I just made an inadvertent quacking sort of snorting noise cause I'm trying not to laugh out loud. Which is stupid because I live alone in a top floor of a concrete building with 16 ft ceiling heights and I'm still worried about waking the neighbours with my mirth.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tubL9EaiztM


Celine totally surprises them. Remi doesn't miss a note. She brings in a completely new vocal line and it is please play it again time. Yup. So great. So go away because I'm going to play it again and revel in a gorgeous moment for some young men who give us all so much and make me so proud. Like I had anything at all to do with it! Hah! I crack myself up. Anyway and much more importantly.

The Canadian Tenors are a hot ticket and doing a bunch of Olympic stuff but they will be back in Vancouver Sept 19th for a concert Voices for Bulembu, likely at the Chan Centre at UBC. It is their goal to be able to educate and support 2,000 AIDS orphans in Swaziland by 2020. Their last concert there raised a million dollars. Don't you want to be part of that kind of love? I do.

http://www.voicesforbulembu.com/


To see what happened last year. Check back here for the latest in venue and ticket info and I'll see you in September. Bring your love of music and your heart. Neither will be disappointed.

Tuesday, February 9, 2010

Did you ever notice …

… of things you don’t like there is always too much. Like dirty laundry and dishes and bad TV. Then there are the things of which you never have enough: sleep, free time & hugs are just a few.

So I think I’ll call it early and retire to the dark chocolate bed with the slab of marshmallow mattress and have me some sugar plum dreams. Not that I like sugar. Nor plums all that much either to be truthful. Something maple syrupy would really be much nicer. Ohhhh, I know maple syrup fudge. Yeah, there you go. I can dream about it without guilt cause I am woman who went to gym, cooked a healthy meal, played guitar, wrote and talked with people I love. Now that is some kinda good day.

But bed early. Too late to sleep last night as I didn’t want to give up the last fragrant wisps of beauty. And I think, besides the maple fudge, I’ll also dream of being loved. And of being valued. Maybe I’ll replay all of my office friends passing thru my office today to ask about how the Canadian Tenors concert was. And their true joy in listening to my silly, excessively detailed account of the event. But true, you know, because they love me. So they not only tolerate my silly, they embrace and encourage it. It makes them happy somehow to see me clap my hands like a five-year old and wax rhapsodic about the music and performance and the deep peace and joy the boys always sprinkle, and my concerns over their tiredness and crazy schedule.

See, I don’t want to go to bed tonight either as with the dawn comes the obligation to be present in the world. But sleep I must, for as in this, as in so much else, the Bard is correct.

“Sleep that knits up the ravelled sleave of care. The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath. Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course, Chief nourishier in life's feast.” William Shakespeare

So I may not get roses or kisses this Valentine's Day (bah humbug). But there are those who laugh at my jokes and ask for my advice and who love me for all kinds of silly ephemeral reasons. So I am profoundly grateful for them. And, maybe if I keep up the new 30 workout time I can have a couple pieces of maple fudge. Or a couple peanut butter daisies. MMmmmmm.

I don't want to go to bed - post Canadian Tenors

Cause then it will be tomorrow.

I don't want tomorrow. Today was really nice. People valued me today. People loved me a bit too, I think. Nice, because I love them, so it was a lovely win-win.

But if I go to bed, and I should it is really, really late. My Canadian Tenors will have to fade back to a reality type situation. Never my favorite arrangement, don't you know. But I am going to bed to sleep and dream all the dreams that live within me.

For my boys. No. I am not sick of you seeing you Remi. Are you sick of seeing me? Maybe. Silly. Is one sick of a fine wine? An exquisite painting? Even the tiniest of variations in your performance gives me joy.

I can see you guys are tired and need a rest. JEFFREY please schedule in a rest. Our boys need a rest. All of us who love them will still be here after they rest and return to us refreshed. See? the joy of not having a fan base driven by teenage hormones. We will long for your return and reward your re-appearance with joy.

I could expand upon my argument, but instead have decided to leave it there and really go to bed. The Canadian Tenors: you bring me joy. I just feel better about life and the world after seeing you. So I do apoligize. I know that it is long and it is tiring. But you do bring joy and hope. I heard a woman joke with her friends that she felt so uplifted and refreshed that maybe she could skip church on Sunday See, spreading that happy is your purpose and I am here to remind you of it in any way that I can.

Okay 2:10, and an early corporate morn tomorrow. For all of you that tune in regularly - I love you too.

Friday, February 5, 2010

An Extra Gold Star Please!

So first attempt to workout may have been thwarted (how often do you get to use that word in a sentence?) But your girl refrained from the siren song of the Friday Martini, returned to the gym 30 minutes later and achieved a fine workout.

Now, briefly the second thing and then the loooong awaited martini.

My body feels weird. Now I know you all want me to say that it feels weird in a good way. But that wouldn't entirely be the truth. You see when you finally start paying attention and pushing the ole' bod. It really does'nt like it very much. So if you think it's been all sweetness and light and endorphins? No. Just no. Hardest thing I have ever done and tears from the pain and the despair always a blink or two away. This week the ankles are rebelling. And yesterday sucked wildly as I felt more than usually like a gorgon and despite 5 weeks of workout success and probably close to 20 pounds I felt hideously ugly and a useless lump of ogre dung. Today was better, not that it required much of a climb.

Today the reflection in the mirror and the fit of the clothes and the acuity of the mental function asserted the positive forward progress. And I did get to think "Jeepers, this much change in 5 weeks! What will 10 be like or 20 or 50?" We will see.

Terrorized and waiting for a machine

The big challenge of this very particular now is that I went down to the gym and for the first time in 5 weeks both elliptical trainers are occupied. Since I detest the bike and my joints are not yet ready for a work out on the treadmill of anywhere near the intensity I can get going on the elliptical, I came back upstairs. Dangerous choice because now I’m thinking about having a Friday night martini and skipping the workout. But not really. It became very evident to me today upon exiting the shower that my body has changed a lot in the last 23 workouts and I’ll be damned if having to wait 20 minutes for the machine is going to keep me from workout 24.

Two things are very much on my mind about that. First I am more then a little overwhelmed by the support everyone is showing. And quite honestly terrified. I don’t want to disappoint anyone and frankly am wishing I’d kept my mouth shut and tackled this incognito. Cause keeping my mouth shut is something I do soooo well. Quit laughing. Yet I wonder too if I’d have kept at it without friends and family past and present crawling out of the wood work and piping in with their words of support. I now even have friends checking my wall regularly to make sure that I’m still posting Year of Buff updates. Alright. Wish me luck. I am going downstairs again and hoping to get a machine. Put it out there to the universe that I do, okay? I'll get to the second thing AFTER I workout.

Tuesday, February 2, 2010

And now I lay me down to sleep

I’m pretty certain that this post will be both brief and a bit dull. Though I did hear the Angels singing tonight while working out. Look out people, whole new obsession is born. Endorphins. Say after me, Endorphins.

I am tired. I am still battling the allergy thing. I did lots of good work. I wrote at lunch and the hour before guitar class. I thought too many thoughts today (as I am wont) but it was a great day. I played my show off piece for my guitar teacher tonight. For the first time I played GOOOD. It actually sounded really good. He was pleasantly surprised. I live to pleasantly surprise him. Harder then you might think as it involves, daily, me overcoming the resistance to the thought that I am not much of a musician. I can however dance. That I can do. So I set the fingers free to dance the steps and the sound comes out okay. Huh. Guess all that obsessive knitting and typing over the years has finally come in handy in a completely unexpected way.

Missed sharing Tuesday night yam fries with Sweet Potato though. Hope she is well and having fun on the island.

Talked with Hoosie way too late into the night but we just can't seem to shut up. Next time I'm setting the egg timer.

I almost tripped and fell I was in such a hurry to change and get to the gym. I get so stiff that I stagger to the water cooler all day, my eyes swell from some weird office allergen, but I am working out and I am writing and I am dreaming of glorious things, and beautiful men. And universe? At last count you owe me 22 memorable, juicy, amazing kisses from some really, really hot guys. That was the deal and you will pay.

Monday, February 1, 2010

I am so Fracking lucky

Check out a post on the CityCinderellas blog of one of my new friends - she does make me laugh - do watch all the way...

http://bit.ly/buEoSH

Sunday, January 31, 2010

The Perfect Man - A summary to date - 1-5

1) He must have world-class take my breath away intelligence.
In short he needs to know lots of stuff that I don’t. Good luck with that mere mortal boys.
Ref. Skyhammer, Pablito, Frenchiepants, Hoosie, The Analyst, Angel Boy

2) He must laugh at my jokes.
More than that he must motivate me to tell even greater jokes.
His laughter. I relish it, I crave it. It is a new addiction with no calories and only side effects are sore cheek muscles from smiling and sore abs from laughing.
Ref. Hoosie, Pablito, Angel Boy

3) He must enjoy to give and receive frequent massages.
The memory of just how good he was at the art of massage. And he loved doing it too. Mind you it was part of his training in physical education and if memory serves one of the few classes he actually bothered to attend. This is really just a euphemism for the idea that he really, really has to like touching me. But you knew that.
Ref. The Fiancée, The Analyst, The Baritone

4) He must embrace his sense of silly.
A man who can giggle without then turning around and leaping on the table in the presence of a mouse? Someone who would be happy to eat cinnamon toast and tea every morning for a week, simply because you announced that it was “cinnamon toast and tea” week. Makes me feel cinnamon toasty just thinking about it.
Ref. Skyhammer, Hoosie, Pablito, Frenchiepants, The Cossack, The Analyst, The Skateboarder, Angel Boy

5) He must make me feel brilliant.
Because he IS brilliant in some way and then when he gets that very considered look and says to me “You’re brilliant” – I actually believe him. More than that, he has to not mind that I just might, in some ways be more brilliant than he, and instead of finding that frightening, finds it exciting.
Ref. Skyhammer, Hoosie, Singer, The Jester