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.
Friday, June 25, 2010
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.”
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.
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.
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.
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
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
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