I spent a great deal of this weekend cross-stitching. Yep, cross-stitching. I'm working on a project I can't even remember buying. I pulled it out of the closet last week and found I'd done a tiny bit and then abandoned the project. So I decided to get to work. And work I have. I'd estimate that I'll be close to finished by the time we finish the third season of Mad Men we're watching!
But as I was sitting there stitching yesterday Angela asked me a question. She wanted to know if I enjoyed doing it or if it was something I felt I had to do. I told her I did feel like it allowed me to "be lazy" and watch TV but that I also liked the sense of accomplishment I felt when I finished a project, or even a row of stitches.
Every day I get up and think about writing. Some days I write, other days I just think (I know, I know, I should write every day but whatever, no one does. And if they do I say they have problems, namely nothing else to enjoy in life). For me writing is a job. And for a lot of people they see results at the end of the job. They see a ditch dug or a person put back together or a grade on a test. But for me, I rarely see solid results. So much of what I do on a daily basis happens in my head. It's all me. Sure it's the paper and the computer but it's not terribly concrete. And I know, God willing, when I sell a script, it won't ever look like it did when it left my hands. It will change, it will never be finished.
But cross-stitch is something I can finish. I can do the french knots, I can finish up all the red stitches. I can frame it and put it up on a wall. I can give it as a gift. And I derive tremendous pleasure from that. From knowing something concrete has been accomplished.
Now the only problem is I'm running out of people to give things too!
Monday, November 30, 2009
Friday, November 13, 2009
I did it.
Before every golf match in high school I would get physically ill. Yep, every single time. I would be miserable. Riding the bus to the match, waiting for my turn to tee off, teeing off (don't even get me going on the day I whiffed in front of EVERYONE in Ann Arbor), all of it made me physically sick. Needless to say I don't like to put myself into stressful situations.
So why'd I choose a career in screenwriting? The NBA of the writing field? Because it's what I want to do. It's what I have to do. It's what I do for hour upon hour upon hour late at night, early in the morning, when I could be doing something, anything, else.
I say all this to announce something very stressful -- I have finished my latest screenplay. Yeah, yeah, I know, a script is never done, not even once it's shot and up on the screen. But I'm done for now. I wrote a blog back in March about getting the idea and first sharing it with a friend. And now, over eight and a half months later, I'm done. There's a stack of pages eight inches tall next to my computer (I measured) that indicates drafts done and rewritten in just the past few weeks. There are countless drafts on my external hard drive. But now it all comes down to one neatly bound (with three brads, yes, I know, there's synergy to those three brads) stack of 94 pages. Ninety-four pages that are basically me, standing naked, in front of the entire world.
Tomorrow Ang is going to take my screenplay to a co-worker who's husband is a retired agent. This wonderful co-worker insisted Angela bring it to her upon hearing that I was a screenwriter. So tomorrow I will stand naked in front of the world. I will bare my soul, my hard work, my brain, my creativity, my being, a good portion of my life for the past year to this stranger. And I cannot express to you what this feels like.
I am rational in realizing nothing may come of it. John Grisham had hundreds of rejections before getting published, yeah I know the stories. I know the odds are so not in my favor. But the fact is this: I wrote a screenplay. I didn't just talk about it like everyone in this town does. I didn't start it and never get back around to it. I wrote it. And then I rewrote it. And then I picked at the scabs and made it bleed and wrote it again.
And now I am done with it. I have to be. I have to move on and finish a "shitty first draft" (God bless you Anne Lamott) of my TV spec for class. I have to delve into this huge black binder containing my novel that I've been stubbing my toe on since I finished that first draft last December. And I have to start work on my next screenplay. Yep, that's write. Tomorrow I'll put away all my papers and notes and scribblings about "Operation Gold Digger" and I'll open up to the musings on several new ideas I've been playing with. And I'll begin again. All over again.
So why'd I choose a career in screenwriting? The NBA of the writing field? Because it's what I want to do. It's what I have to do. It's what I do for hour upon hour upon hour late at night, early in the morning, when I could be doing something, anything, else.
I say all this to announce something very stressful -- I have finished my latest screenplay. Yeah, yeah, I know, a script is never done, not even once it's shot and up on the screen. But I'm done for now. I wrote a blog back in March about getting the idea and first sharing it with a friend. And now, over eight and a half months later, I'm done. There's a stack of pages eight inches tall next to my computer (I measured) that indicates drafts done and rewritten in just the past few weeks. There are countless drafts on my external hard drive. But now it all comes down to one neatly bound (with three brads, yes, I know, there's synergy to those three brads) stack of 94 pages. Ninety-four pages that are basically me, standing naked, in front of the entire world.
Tomorrow Ang is going to take my screenplay to a co-worker who's husband is a retired agent. This wonderful co-worker insisted Angela bring it to her upon hearing that I was a screenwriter. So tomorrow I will stand naked in front of the world. I will bare my soul, my hard work, my brain, my creativity, my being, a good portion of my life for the past year to this stranger. And I cannot express to you what this feels like.
I am rational in realizing nothing may come of it. John Grisham had hundreds of rejections before getting published, yeah I know the stories. I know the odds are so not in my favor. But the fact is this: I wrote a screenplay. I didn't just talk about it like everyone in this town does. I didn't start it and never get back around to it. I wrote it. And then I rewrote it. And then I picked at the scabs and made it bleed and wrote it again.
And now I am done with it. I have to be. I have to move on and finish a "shitty first draft" (God bless you Anne Lamott) of my TV spec for class. I have to delve into this huge black binder containing my novel that I've been stubbing my toe on since I finished that first draft last December. And I have to start work on my next screenplay. Yep, that's write. Tomorrow I'll put away all my papers and notes and scribblings about "Operation Gold Digger" and I'll open up to the musings on several new ideas I've been playing with. And I'll begin again. All over again.
Sunday, November 08, 2009
Turning the music up and the world down
Music has always been a big big part of my life. I can remember listening to eight tracks in our red car when I was little, and in the stereo that my dad finally sold a few years back at a garage sale...to my grandma who now has it in her basement. I missed the record generation but I had my share of cassette tapes. I still remember the first tape I bought on my own - Whitney Houston's Whitney. I loved that album. I now own it on CD.
There was Madonna and Bon Jovi and Tiffany and New Kids on the Block and all those really great, horrible late 80s early 90s groups like Color Me Badd and Kris Kross (Gonna Make You Jump, Jump!). I remember passing around the lyrics to Papa Don't Preach in a portable at Northwest Elementary School like it was the biggest contraband around.
And then of course, there was Michael Jackson. I remember hearing Beat It for one of the first times in my friend Sandy's room. She was older than me, our families' were friends and she was cool. Michael Jackson was cool. And I was reminded of that this weekend when Angela and I went to see This is It! - the concert documentary. I was immediately transported back to my childhood and just hearing those first few chords made my feet tap and my shoulders start to move. That music is a part of me. I came home and bought twelve Michael Jackson songs on iTunes Saturday night and have listened to them over and over all day.
And yet I go through stages with music. For the last year or so it hasn't been a large part of my life. In high school I was in choir and there was music everywhere. For a time in college, when I lived in a room with two other girls and barely had a mattress to call my own I played music all day at work, pounding the songs into my being. Jennifer Knapp's Kansas will forever be a part of my soul. Right now, it's silent in my room and yet I can hear the first song as clear as if the stereo were on.
I love country music, pop music, rock music, showtunes, even rap. I know the words to Kanye West and Eminem songs. I know every verse to more hymns than I can count. I love Billy Joel and Barenaked Ladies and obsure songs I get for free off the Internet. I listen to songs over and over again until I know all the words. And this summer that happened again. It started with a song from the Fox TV show Glee. And then another song and another and before I knew it I was listening to music again, all the time. Loudly, iPod plugged into the speakers, blaring through the house. I hope my neighbors loved it.
And then something else happened. I discovered this little known singer songwriter who I had been all but oblivious to until this spring: John Mayer. Yeah, I know, where I have been for the last ten years or so. Apparently not listening to John Mayer records. But suddenly I couldn't stop listening to his first studio release. I played it every day on my commute to my internship. I played it as I ate lunch in my car and then drove around the block and back in the parking garage. I listened to it until I knew the words and the chords and the stories. And then I bought two more of his CDs. And I've listened to them for a few weeks straight now.
It occurred to me, the other day, as I sat in Starbucks, trying to write, loud music blaring, that music helps me. I knew this a while ago, I don't know how I'd forgotten it but I had. While writing most of my novel I listened to the Garden State soundtrack (I adore soundtracks, and I buy them, all kinds of them!). It's the most played CD on my iTunes account, by far. Those songs have become white noise to me. I know them so well that I can use them to block out the world and focus on the project at hand. I'm now doing that with John Mayer's work. Or, while I'm writing my Bones spec, the Bones soundtrack.
I remember once, asking a new acquaintance what type of music he liked and he said he didn't really like music and I thought that was so strange. There had to be something. Yo-Yo Ma, the Beatles, Johnny Cash (just some of my faves), somebody, anybody. But no, he wasn't a fan of music in general. And I remember thinking how sad. Without music I think life gets too loud.
There was Madonna and Bon Jovi and Tiffany and New Kids on the Block and all those really great, horrible late 80s early 90s groups like Color Me Badd and Kris Kross (Gonna Make You Jump, Jump!). I remember passing around the lyrics to Papa Don't Preach in a portable at Northwest Elementary School like it was the biggest contraband around.
And then of course, there was Michael Jackson. I remember hearing Beat It for one of the first times in my friend Sandy's room. She was older than me, our families' were friends and she was cool. Michael Jackson was cool. And I was reminded of that this weekend when Angela and I went to see This is It! - the concert documentary. I was immediately transported back to my childhood and just hearing those first few chords made my feet tap and my shoulders start to move. That music is a part of me. I came home and bought twelve Michael Jackson songs on iTunes Saturday night and have listened to them over and over all day.
And yet I go through stages with music. For the last year or so it hasn't been a large part of my life. In high school I was in choir and there was music everywhere. For a time in college, when I lived in a room with two other girls and barely had a mattress to call my own I played music all day at work, pounding the songs into my being. Jennifer Knapp's Kansas will forever be a part of my soul. Right now, it's silent in my room and yet I can hear the first song as clear as if the stereo were on.
I love country music, pop music, rock music, showtunes, even rap. I know the words to Kanye West and Eminem songs. I know every verse to more hymns than I can count. I love Billy Joel and Barenaked Ladies and obsure songs I get for free off the Internet. I listen to songs over and over again until I know all the words. And this summer that happened again. It started with a song from the Fox TV show Glee. And then another song and another and before I knew it I was listening to music again, all the time. Loudly, iPod plugged into the speakers, blaring through the house. I hope my neighbors loved it.
And then something else happened. I discovered this little known singer songwriter who I had been all but oblivious to until this spring: John Mayer. Yeah, I know, where I have been for the last ten years or so. Apparently not listening to John Mayer records. But suddenly I couldn't stop listening to his first studio release. I played it every day on my commute to my internship. I played it as I ate lunch in my car and then drove around the block and back in the parking garage. I listened to it until I knew the words and the chords and the stories. And then I bought two more of his CDs. And I've listened to them for a few weeks straight now.
It occurred to me, the other day, as I sat in Starbucks, trying to write, loud music blaring, that music helps me. I knew this a while ago, I don't know how I'd forgotten it but I had. While writing most of my novel I listened to the Garden State soundtrack (I adore soundtracks, and I buy them, all kinds of them!). It's the most played CD on my iTunes account, by far. Those songs have become white noise to me. I know them so well that I can use them to block out the world and focus on the project at hand. I'm now doing that with John Mayer's work. Or, while I'm writing my Bones spec, the Bones soundtrack.
I remember once, asking a new acquaintance what type of music he liked and he said he didn't really like music and I thought that was so strange. There had to be something. Yo-Yo Ma, the Beatles, Johnny Cash (just some of my faves), somebody, anybody. But no, he wasn't a fan of music in general. And I remember thinking how sad. Without music I think life gets too loud.
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