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.

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.

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 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 soufflé 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.

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?

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.

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.

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.