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.”
Monday, June 14, 2010
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
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 clichés 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.
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 clichés 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.
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.
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