Walking the Lonely Road

You talk the talk, but can you walk the walk?

No, I really can’t. I can’t walk the walk, I discovered while out walking today.

I’ve been showing off a peculiar gait the last few weeks, owing to an annoyingly persistent and annoyingly minor foot injury. This iffy ankle has encumbered me so much that I can’t run like I used to – halving court time at basketball and reducing my morning jog to a power walk (read: unnecessarily urgent foolish-looking pace) – and adding insult to (minor) injury, it isn’t major enough to excuse me from work or elicit ‘Nawww…” responses from Parking Inspectors gleefully issuing tickets to my begrudgingly able-bodied self. This grey area of physical affliction drives me insane. I just want one way or the other: happily resigned to bed and blogging, or running for my life from ninjas, terminators, Pennywise and Spanish bulls.

Really, my hobble is just the tip of the iceberg. I can’t walk the walk – the metaphoric one, connotative to action and follow-through of attitudes and plans for the future. I’ve stopped trying nearly completely in the last month. There have been glimmers of an actual pursuit of my ambitions – attending the Sydney Writers’ Festival, scribbling poems, scratching jokes, searching jobs – but what have I done worth showing to partners, audiences, prospective employers? I’ve grown lazy and I don’t think it’s because of the ankle.

I’ve been shaken, rudely, of late. There are some who are gifted with the virtues of resilience, dedication and sacrifice. And there are others who haven’t had the will or cause to learn these virtues. I am in the latter category of people and, merely nagged by my professional responsibilities and ambitions, I am ashamed of my situation.

I tried so hard this year. I bit bullets and at last shared my work; reaching out to friends, family, peers and strangers. I applied for jobs I felt ill-qualified for and got interviews. I jumped into impro performance. I studied, read and wrote daily. I set deadlines and I met them.

These attempts, these plans, these projects haven’t worked out. I had sneaking suspicions with these jobs I missed; I considered the odds of competitions and incentives; I could feel relationships crumbling bit by bit. These slights happened in isolated weeks, on ordinary days, between the delightful and the hum-drum. They weren’t so surprising nor were they dramatically affecting in my life. They were so small, so surreptitious, so slight… That word is married so perfect to its definition.  

My passion has fizzled. I now wake and use the morning aimlessly, work afternoons and nights, and consider projects in the witching hour when I am too apathetic to truly imagine and innovate. And I hear and see all the wonderful things my loved ones are achieving or striving to achieve. It’s entirely on me, I tell myself now, like I told myself so many months ago when I returned from travel and began doing; thinking decisively and getting at this life business. Only now, I can’t see anything in the future I can feel hopeful for. There are very broad brushstrokes of collaborations and very distant deadlines. I need something now. Something shiny to capture my sense of wonder, desire and purpose or I may fizzle out completely. I want to be that excitable puppy again who pee at the hint of a writing incentive.

I thought about my prospects on my midday-til-dusk walk. I considered returning to study, moving out, moving cities, jumping into more stable work suited to my skills and experience. I think I know what I want to do, what I must do, but it’ll take hard work and discipline. It’s even difficult just to discuss these things with others. I often detect a certain tone and expression when I talk to family and friends about what I do and want to do. My dreams and my measures of success should be my own, but inextricably linked to these senses of happiness, expression and fulfilment is their worth to others and especially those I deeply care about. It’s no fault of theirs. Maybe they just think that I’m talking the talk.

It’s entirely on me. I made something out of the clean slate five months ago. I just have to keep working, keep planning, keep aspiring and keep writing more than anything. To keep me motivated and self-aware. To make me resilient and inspired. To withstand rejection, disappointment and criticism (...mostly coming from myself, no?)

The secret to inspiration and success

What is the first thing you do in the morning?

I try to remember my dreams in that 10 minute sleep-in window I afford myself the night before when I set my alarm.

Meanwhile, I listen to the world outside my bedroom. I listen for sounds of birds, traffic, rain, wind, lawnmowers, garbage trucks – which all help me recall what day of the week it is and what time of the morning. Then I usually place myself in context.

For instance, it is before ten on a Friday. I have work in a couple of hours. Damn, and it sounds as though I might have enjoyed a beautiful day out. Or, it is before eight on a Saturday. I have work in eleven hours. Damn, and it sounds as though I might have enjoyed a beautiful day out.

When I work dinner shifts, I tend to write off the whole day. I literally don't mean this literally. I stall, procrastinate, snack. I pick a few small errands to do and achieve maybe one of them. I feel pressed for time and watch the clock all day – a behaviour that often prolongs time, but when you have to be somewhere else, the minutes and hours slip by suddenly.

I’ve been haven’t been too eager to write lately. No subject or story has particularly tickled my fancy. I’ve scribbled a few blog ideas down on paper and brainstormed some funny bits for some collaborative projects, only without the compulsive urge to work on them, make them better, see them through. I feel like it was just yesterday I was obsessed with writing – obsessively writing, living in the world of the characters; my first sober thoughts in the morning and my last conscious ones at night.

This was probably 6 weeks ago when I was excited by some competitions, and before that, my most enthusiastic writing sessions were in September-October and March-April of 2012. I had a very close look at these dates in my old diary,  hoping to find the secret to inspiration and success. I found that was working around 20 hours a week, talking regularly with friends and had key writing incentives in mind. I was also consuming many books and newspapers and fascinated by the world at large. When I’m not writing, I slump into Facebook exploration and watch much fictional television.  During these proudly productive (though stressful) periods, I was also getting earlier nights’ rest and finding the time to exercise daily. I was busy and motivated by others. Re-reading my blogs, I seemed engaged in my own original thoughts and musings. I also seemed wittier!

I felt accountable to a writing partner, someone older I respected, who believed in my talent and understood my humour; someone whose own talent and humour seemed vastly superior to my own which at times, made me intimidated, frustrated and envious.

Strange enough, I’m in that position again, but with a new partner. I suppose a chief difference between this partner and that last is that this one is keen to make things. He produces what he writes. He does soundscapes and recruits others’ help. He is proactive about writing.

So what is wrong with me? Why aren’t I writing for these exciting partnered projects? Following my sleep-in and dreamy recollections of a morning, I open my curtains, stretch, pee and usually then go for a jog. When I get home, I rehydrate, turn on my computer, shower, log on and have breakfast. I check the newspaper, open computer windows, catch up on email and Facebook notifications and the general newsfeed. I do this everyday and as I do it, it sickens me. I am so obsessed with the online world and connecting to others on such a superficial level. For all the sources of inspiration I want to expose my brain to and professional networks I seek to open up, really I just feel like I’m becoming petty, unimaginative, disingenuous and dumber.

I saw a brilliant talk Alain de Botton gave in Seoul just recently (via Facebook newsfeed I should mention, rather hypocritically). The man is so fascinated by ideas it’s fascinating. The man’s ideas are fascinating as well as challenging and thought-provoking. This talk was about where and how to learn to live happily and as good people. Education systems like school and university don’t teach us about living happy private lives. Religions don’t necessarily provide answers either – especially for the growing number of atheists in the world, myself being one of them. Who can we look to? To Alain, he says. Not in those words, exactly, but he has set up The School of Life – institutions to help with the moral, ethical and interpersonal situations we look to solve and better understand.

These are the things I am interested in right now: being good and being good enough. Not too surprising for my young, careerless, creative, 22-year-old self living at home whilst friends and brothers are already establishing careers and families. Stories around these matters I usually write about. (Yoda-like are my sentences.) With this latest partner, overarching themes haven’t exactly emerged. Perhaps I should ask him what kinds of things he likes to write about. Obviously he has a vivid imagination and remarkable flair for the English language and we share interest in the same TV shows and movies, but what personal aspects does he hope to fulfil in writing. What ideas does he connect to? Nostalgia? Anxiety?

But I think perhaps he’s already told me. Or alluded to or hinted at, in the way that males seem only capable. He hasn’t stated explicit fears or anxieties or meta-conundrums like I have to him (and most others I encounter). But he has identified with specific ideas I have blogged about. This should say it all, should it not? Doggone, I am writer, after all, so I should know:  SHOW, don’t tell.

This Woman's Work

In the past month, I have opened up to three writing collaborations.

One with a friend from Improv who shares an admiration for Shaun Micallef, Steve Martin, Wes Anderson and Super Mario Bros. (A) has creative industry and marketing degrees, applied skills in sound mixing and works as a copy writer. This partnership is particularly exciting because (A) is so damn excited about ideas and supposing, which in turn, challenges my creative thinking and positions me to consider new perspectives. I don't often share my work with others, but as it happens, a script and a blog I had written were our entry points to brainstorming and realising some writing projects together. I really appreciated the feedback on my writing and the opportunity to hear not only an outsider's opinion - but that of a very talented writer. I have paid close attention to the ways he gives feedback - complimenting, smiling, acknowledging ideas and directions. When he offers new ideas, directions and discourses - they're still fundamentally related to my original work (and they happen to be very interesting too). We have tossed up ideas for a feature trailer, one-act play and radio sketch/series.

A second collaboration is with a friend of a friend (M) who is a writer/director/editor/VFX specialist. We have never worked together - only socialised - but there is definitely the grounds for a diplomatic relationship. Hopefully we can bounce of each other to produce a short for the SOYA film section due in 54 days (according the website - I'm not pedanticly stressed, simply too lazy to calculate the due date myself... early July I should think).

The third union is with a dear friend and brilliant novellist-to-be. She suggested we gather for a writing session in the library, to force us to sit and down and write without distraction. I thought this would entail us mostly focused on our individual projects, but we talked and traded work and wrote one word/phrase/sentence at a time story, which I learnt in Improv. It was hilarious and suprising and words flowed like champagne the following 30 minutes before pack up. She spoke very encouragingly about my 31 Digital Series - which I am 90% sure has been passed on. That is, "given a pass" not "passed onto executives at the ABC for development because it is so brilliant and that's why it's taking so long to hear back from them". I say, it's awfully unprofessional not to acknowledge my submission and return a "thanks, but..." email. My dear friend said we ought to write a TV show together. I am not sure how this would go considering we don't watch much of the same television. I am open to the process however, if she is really keen.

I didn't get in my port folio to SOYA's written word competition two days ago, which was disheartening. I was lousy with my time management and assumed the uploading would take a couple of minutes. The site frigged me around with its formatting standards, hidden icons and bandwidth for 20 minutes - the last 20 minutes to deadline. I should have edited my work sooner as opposed to the day of. Lesson learned (for the zillionith time).

I've decided to write a poem for Mother's Day. I got the idea after stumbling upon a American Christian sermon on AM radio. Following a microsleep at the traffic lights, I thought it'd be a fine idea to stay alive and so I blared the most engaging, annoying commentary throughout the car and into the street (the windows being down to smack blistering cold air in my tired face). The broadcast caught my attention (and inspired my gift idea) with the recycling of pastor W.L. Caldwell's Mother's Day sermon from 1928. It began like an ode to all mothers then became a chastising of "modern" mothers and made reference to the ideal women of biblical times. The 2013 pastor delivered this and added several of his own points - again, idealising the "motherly" role of women and hating on women with careers, who neglect their children or who choose to have "selfish abortions".

I'm not a mother but I often think about how I'll raise my children, what important lessons I want to demonstrate to them and what legacy I'll leave them. I still don't want to have children for another 6-8 years because these are the days that I want to establish the worst most horrible, unfulfilling, selfish thing in the world - a career. Maybe there will be no greater defining moment in my life than when I love and become responsible for lil Clarence, Wesley and Abigail (surrogate names).

But a career - stimulating, contributory, positive, character-building, society-progressing work - shouldn't be underestimated or scoffed at. Life is about doing things and work is as valuable and necessary as it comes. To develop skills, a sense of worth, to form ideas, connect with others and their ideas; to feel something beginning and unfolding and growing and one day accomplishing something long-awaited and hard-earned is incredible. In biblical times, life was simply about survival: eat, pray, love. Humanity is an evolutionary species, you can't deny that. We need to feel challenged and do more.

It was so ridiculously hypocritical and nonsensical that this Christian pastor should look to the model of an ancient marriage and exemplify the gender roles within in it, whilst condemning its polygamous nature as a side-note. The story was about Elkanah who married a barron woman named Hannah, so he married again to a woman named Sarah to have his children. Apparently, this hurt Hannah for she could not give her husband blessed heirs, in addition to making her jealous of the other lady in the household. The 'moral' was that Elkanah's first and enduring love was still Hannah and he displayed this in public by giving her large helpings of dinner. The what?

After that verbal assault / mind-fuck, I continued to evaluate a woman's worth, or perhaps, work. Recently, I started a volunteer project with a young woman from Saudi Arabia. She is my age and has been married over a year, explainng that it is her culture's norm for women to settle down with a family in their early 20s. I met her husband yesterday as well. Both of the Saudi nationals are incredibly kind and mature and seem capable of sharing a long, happy, respectful marriage. Both want careers at the same time. A Somali woman I met through another community program was surprised that I didn't have children like her (at 19 she had her first child, today at 28 she has 5 altogether). Whilst I feel she has missed out on the wonderful things of higher education and work opportunities that I value, this woman couldn't help but feel sad for my motherless situation.

Neither life choice/challenge is ill-advised. The next woman will always want something different. My plan is to follow my dream to write because it makes me happy, it makes me think abouts new things, old things, people and relationships, humanity and life in general. This stuff enriches me. I want my child to discover the wide world; find something in it that's beautiful, that makes her laugh and wonder with amusement, that inspires her to better it and make the most every day's possibilities, that she may learn to navigate it and feel comfortable being amongst it, feel the high of achievement, the rush of love and awe of self-growth.

Anyway...

I've been reading High Fidelity by Nick Hornby which is an utterly depressing account of someone living half-hearted / broken-hearted. Still, it's an engaging and easy read. I've been thumbing through Shaun Micallef's Smithereens, Syliva Plath's Poems, George Carlin's When Will Jesus Bring The Pork Chops? and the amusingly biased The Courier Mail.

I performed Improv in front of a live audience for graduation two nights ago. I was nervous and also paired with an incredibly nervous partner. Our scenes had highs and lows and honestly, we never gelled, but it was still a heap of fun. It wasn't so nerve-racking at the show went on and I am thirsty for more. I know I can become better at this if I seriously committ to it. The last month I've had little energy/inclination to perform Improv, for a variety of contextual/chemical reasons, but it may just well be the thing to inspire my creativity and save me from hopeless ponderings. Second term, sign me up.

Go'on, av a go

Today I submitted a short film script for QPIX's Producer's Lab competition. The 11 page script became the sixth draft of a 17 pager I wrote over a month ago. I re-imagined the 'thematic message' last night, condensed the beginning this morning and rewrote the second and third acts by 2pm. Although I like the script, have mulled over the premise a while and re-drafted rather quickly, this doesn't necessarily add up to a shortlisted short. I didn't get feedback before delivery this afternoon but an equally important factor in the writing world is to meet deadline. I have struggled with this in the past. The usual process has been obsessing over the due date, chipping at it a little everyday until, procrastinating 3 of the last 5 days, completely re-imagining the protagonist's arc in my sleep or on a jog, manicly writing and not sleeping the last 2 days, finishing only two thirds of the script but commending my quickly, re-imagined effort, then going off to malfunction in my day job (overcharging customers, starting three different tasks, underestimating weighty objects, overestimating my 'guns', forgetting to blink, etc)

Indeed, I am weary and over-worked - just the day before I crammed to submit a proposal to 31 Digital. I didn't finish the script :/ due to a surprise (customary) re-imagining of story elements. However, I did have a revelation to submit a package made up of the pilot's synopsis, the show's thematic treatment, character breakdowns and a series outline. I used colour and graphics and everything! Almost proper professional. I think this would actually do a better job at painting the world, showing off the best jokes and selling the concept than a tiresome, black and white 25 page script would. What's more, defining and summarising these chunks in the package helped me realise the characters and the  pilot's structure. Now I can finish the damn thing.

This recent writing flurry has genuinely seen me develop RSI. Coupled with balancing (strangely, increasingly hot) plates at work, my wrists feel like they have been bound with coarse rope to a steel drainage pipe in a dark, dank basement for weeks on end. I am kidding. And also about genuinely developing RSI. My bones are just weaker than usual.

I have been re-watching select episodes of Grandma's House and Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip. I can't tell you whether this was for leisure or study. I don't understand my thought processes of late. Living - being me - has been so surprising, as though I am watching some lazy, ditzy, irrational girl on TV. Speaking of which, I've taken up New Girl again (ouch, Zooey) and have laughed quite considerably. Previously, chiefly, this show amused me. And the first half dozen episodes of the new season were lame - Parents guest-starring Jamie Lee Curtis and Rob Reiner as Jess' divorced mum and dad was wretched. The online summary of the episode Eggs - next in queue - read so stale I nearly skipped it. I am so glad I did watch - writer Kay Cannon crafted some of this show's most hilariously left-centre dialogue and most entertaining scenes in this gem of an episode. Great performances by the cast, too.

An interesting Q&A this week, with a guest panel made up intelligent, well-respected leaders of various faiths. Oh and Josh Thomas (WTF?). Some (of the usual gratingly nuisance) tweets remarked it was a breath of fresh air to shaft the pollies this week and give voice to deep thinkers and universally spiritual matters instead. However, I have to say, there were no surprising questions and answers on the program. That's right, I've got the meaning of life all figured out. No, not really. I only mean it I didn't hear any new perspectives, arguments or proclamations. For example:

- Many religious leaders do believe in evolution and the Big Bang Theory
- You can be a Jewish athiest (of course)
- Muslims don't actually condone the 9/11 terrorist attacks
- Jihad means 'personal struggle' (as opposed to a fundamentalist curse or attack)
- Genesis should be interpreted metaphorically
- Celibacy has been an on-again-off-again vow in the Catholic priesthood
- The Catholic Church will never take responsibility for sexual abuse because of this flaw in their institution or for disgraced attempts at covering up said abuse

Important topics of discussion and for contention, nonetheless. I am particularly sickened hearing more instances of the latter point occuring.

No pressing deadlines. Got my eyes set on SOYA next month. Would like to polish Hostages pilot and other recent projects too. But for now....

C-leepy

Characters: First Impressions

I haven't read Blake Snyder's Save the Cat, a book providing amateur and seasoned screenwriters with a framework or "beat sheet" for feature films. I hear and read writers, producers and critics refer to the structure more and more as I delve into theory and the current Hollywood scene as I attempt knead out clunks, cut the fact and fashion act breaks in my scripts. Although I write sketches and shorts, word is, this structure is solid for all models of storytelling. The word is actually like gospel - so affirmative, so believing in this script-selling formula - and I find it a helpful, sensible guide as I re-draft. I have stumbled across one review of the book which disputes Snyder's taste in movies and calls out Snyder's lifting of other scriptlords' ideas for his own beat sheet. The criticism is well-justified and even amusing - check it out here. Snyder, screenwriter of Blank Check and Stop Or My Mum Will Shoot died in recent years and only in middle-age. However, from accounts of his generosity and mentoring qualities, I gather it's the un-sugar-coated truth is that this man was passionate about screenwriting.

"Save the cat" is an original beat Snyder's contributed to the cult world of how-to screenwriting. This beat is supposed to be a moment - the moment when a character does something that makes the audience see them as relatable, sympathetic or the story's hero, such as saving a cat. I've been struggling a with making a protagonist in one of my stories likeable - largely because he was ill-defined and replica-ish to suit a premise. I found a save the cat moment in the form of a weak spot which I think humanises him.

Anyway, I've been intrigued by such techniques and their effectiveness, replaying in my head a mixed review I heard about 50/50. A writer/critic didn't see a journey Joseph Gordon-Levitt's character had to overcome, besides the extrinsic cancer battle. The reviewer also despised the introduction of JGL's Adam for the reason that it seemed inconsistent of character. Paraquoting: "He was set up as rule-follower which is fine and JGL's performance is very charming, but this wasn't a defining characteristic of Adam at all and there was no rule-breaking later to tie it back or show evolution."

I think this is a very fair point. Adam wasn't strictly, decidedly by the book. Whilst his "save the cat" moment could have been more eloquently designed (eg. bookended, integral in the story), Adam isn't an eccentric or even so much a character - he's a reflection of the mild-mannered average-guy writer who went through a similar battle. Whilst not hugely or precisely indicative of a unique or out-of-this-world personality, I think it's still a valid first meeting of Adam. He doesn't take big risks; he obliges convention and social decorum, and don't we all? To argue it's relevancy to the film's theme and character arc, Adam comes to an unexpected halt; he needs to live his life more fully and improve his relationships. We meet a man that isn't head-on with conflict - yet - and who holds back by force of habit and inherent beliefs. Adam's "save the cat" moment is slowing his jog to a stop at traffic lights at a road without traffic.

Late for a deadline

I'm late, I'm late, I know. Of course I had the time around other committments and happenings, but I was quite decided against posting a blog the last few days. I didn't think I had accomplished much written work. Although I think about stories and characters constantly -  I tell you, constantly - I was stuck in my tracks, stuck in my head, stuck in a funk.

Development

I met with a good fellow and discussed Project Hostage. Bringing a partner to a project previously solo, wholly thought up by you thus far, isn't an easy transition for either party. Despite my whimsical intentions, I'm sure I was clinging to ideas in our meeting and wasn't clear painting the full (yet incomplete) picture for the show. It was still a very valuable brainstorm and I hope he isn't scared or indifferent at the proposition of similar meetings in the future. Good fellow linked me Community creator Dan Harmon's model for TV/web/story structure. I've experimented with that of my pilot accordingly, and to meet this model's criteria some characters have changed. As in, the decisions made by characters have shifted to others and I now find a better defined protagonist - now quite likeable!

To mention also, in preparation for this brainstorm - I took on an exercise TV Wet Nurse Matt Hill recommended. I got out my address book and plucked the identities of the people I find most unique and fascinating. Breaking down their personalities (in a nice, friendly, non-stalker way) I saw the pattern of inherent contradictions about these people. Such deductive work proved inspirational as well as spookily relevant tying in with another exercise I was attempting from Rib Davis' book to do with adding contradictions to realise interesting characters.

Writing

So since last week and chiefly in the last eighteen hours I have produced a new draft of the pilot episode. Today also, I had an idea for a sketch - I have no understanding where it came from or at what point it occurred to me. Did I sit down and start typing? Surely not. The obscure idea was somehow implanted. Cobb.... Anyhow, I rather like it and showed a couple of people. They weren't too excited but the reception was generally positive. I shall endeavour to find a producer with an offbeat sense of humour, or in the least, a 'what the hell' attitude, so I can film this pretty.

Improv

This is a new and wonderfully fun thing I do on the weekend. This Sunday just past, I had a moment during a couple of scenes. Rather, I was in the moment. I didn't even realise I was in the moment during the moment. Wowwww. I wasn't like that the previous week or whenever I've performed in front of an audience, and one had indeed gathered for these two scenes. Some good laughs, surprised myself, gave a high-five.

Watched

Mark Duplass movies. Because his eyes are deep wells of beauty and truth and humour. The movies were pretty decent: the first being Safety Not Guaranteed (2012) with the first shared scene between Aubrey Plaza's Darius and Duplass' Kenneth being the highlight; the second one a mumblecore, The Puffy Chair (2005 - written, produced by Duplass, and co-directed with brother Jay).

Last few weeks I've been tuning into Josh Thomas' series Please Like Me. Whilst not great or rapid-fire comedy, I appreciate the honesty behind the writing. I do rather like the father's performance as well.

The last few episodes of Girls has certainly confirmed my love-hate relationship with the second season. I'm quite intrigued by Adam's storyline at present and also Hannah's OCD development - I'm now wary about my tendency to count my steps in a 1-2-3-4 pattern. But I'm leaning towards the rationale that this is to do with my daily running to music with a 4-4 key signature, as opposed to an undiagnosed mental obsession.

Sat through two hours of a DVD explaining the origins, accessibility and fulfilling capabilties of Scientology. Its followers seem to belong to diverse races, ages and classes of people. Beside stabilising their lives through Scientology courses, they all have in common confidence and good looks. Quality casting or the physical manifestation of bodies that have reconnected with the beauty and power that is their Theta? The line between writer research and my actual search for enlightenment has become blurry, and I recognise Scientology is a kind of worrying institution to be flirting with. Never fear readers, their country-club-esque, sauna-loving Church requires its members to invest money, and I am fresh out.

Read

Although highly engrossing, I did not finish Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy in time for book club. I've been loaned Tim Costello's Tips from a Travelling Soul-Searcher in which Costello has proffered the challenge, competition and point of life is to collect the most and best stories and after skimming through his personal anecdotes, inspired musings and thought-provoking philosophies, I think it's fair to say Costello's won life. I'm recording many notes for scriptwork. I'm reading another excellent buzz-word book on spirital growth - informing one of my characters to fairly humorous results.

Adaptations: from novel to Claire's imagined movie to actual film

Watched Jane Eyre – nice treat considering I’ve been guzzling sitcoms and fast-paced Hollywood flicks lately. The pace was steady, the stunts fleeting, tension built on emotional relationships and sexual suspense. I felt seriously creeped by the ghost-story element. I'm glad there were no harped up bets and competitions like in The Silver Linings Playbook which I am yet to determine whether I liked or not. My viewership was seriously marred by having read the book upon which it was based. My problem is that I obsessed about how it would be adapted while I was reading it and the third act was completely re-imagined for the film. I did manage to pick the downplay of the roles of the brother and Danny, as well as the extent of the family’s Eagles obsession. However, I was surprised to see the inclusion of elements I considered superfluous – for instance, the torturous wedding song (originally by Kenny G, not Stevie Wonder) which I mused would have been neat to have seen threaten Pat again in the third act, only to be defeated, perhaps if it was incidentally playing at the dance competition. This might have been another form of substantial proof of Pat’s acknowledgement of the past and ability to move forward.

Reading Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy for book club and have been marvelling at the language and intricacy of the plot. Also, working up a mental sweat keeping track of names, codenames, etc. I decided to accompany my reading with one of its adaptations (that is, cheat), and opted for the 1979 BBC series over the more condensed 2011 film version. A third of the way through the book, I felt swindled that the first episode opened with events I am just starting to read.

I understand adaptations aren’t required to be completely faithful. They are essentially a reproduction or reimagining of an already deemed good (read: marketable) and successful (read: profitable) story. Where details are omitted, blended and condensed in time, the familiar tone of the original story should be conveyed through film’s technical elements. I felt the original story of Jane Eyre through the performances, pacing, music and mise-en-scene and therefore appreciated the adaptation. Even with my expectations of conciseness and Hollywoodisation, The Silver Linings Playbook jammed in and stacked on more than was needed. Another peeve of mine regarding the screenplay was that characters explained their behaviour or the behaviour of others. For instance, the audience is explicitly told why Dad wanted Pat to watch the NFL (making up fathering failures in the past) and why Pat said and asked inappropriate things (can’t filter his thoughts, undiagnosed Bipolar [where exactly is the quintessential depression, by the way?]. These parallels could still be drawn with subtle performance and subtext in the dialogue. Whatever happened to audiences making sense of motivations, wants and needs on their own? Though, I suppose this was somewhat achieved in having Tiffany offer sex to Pat without explaining the direct link to her dead husband’s sex obsession and how her denying it to him was involved in his tragic death.

Pitched Project Hostage to separate groups of family and friends. Confused what to do regarding the logline which received positive feedback from film/literary peers but negative reception from tv-watching-family. All in all, they were valuable experiences. After a short time to reflect, I have managed to construct some subversive scenarios out of suggestions and queries. I’ve got thicker skin than I previously thought, but still should learn to let go of some ideas.

Listened to Scriptcast on scene writing and studied beats and act breaks in Grandma’s House and Arrested Development scripts.  Sat down to write the pilot’s first scene, I realised that I need to properly outline scenes before attempting dialogue – I’m tending to be indulgent setting up the premise, plot and jokes.

Beats, genres, flicks - lessons from the past

Big week of development. Pulling my heart and head together. Tossing shards of doubt and anguish.

Thumbed through Crafty TV Writing by Alex Epstein again, focusing on chapters on sitcom beats and pitches. A good basis for Project Hostage but I feel the examples aren't detailed enough and perhaps outdated in terms of genre and pacing. Sorry, Magnum PI.

Listened to the commentary for Extras - Season 2 Christmas Special featuring writer-director-star partners Ricky Gervais and Stephen Merchant. I wouldn't recommend it. The men even admitted they didn't know what to say. One bronze nugget I took away is that George Michael is a very natural actor and genuine personality.

Listened to Scriptcast  episodes on scene writing, favourite superhero movies, selling loglines with Marie Rose, rising actress and blogger Alexandra Choi, The Big Lebowski, and web shorts. Matt Hill examined one argument that superhero movies were preventing quality films from being made. Hill was skeptical, figuring the superhero film phenomena was merely replacing last decade's mediocre action flicks. To his and my surprise, according to US box office stats, the most successful films of the 1990s were not action movies, but comedies and science fiction genre films. The list was impressive (and nostalgic): Liar Liar, Sister Act, Mrs Doubtfire, Jurassic Park, Independence Day and Terminator 2: Judgment Day . Compared to 2000s, superhero movies and their sequels absolutely dominated the US top ten. Hill lamented that movies like Terminator 2 probably wouldn't get produced in today's movie climate. That is a sad thought indeed.

I also took away the script doctors' tips to consider a scene going in three or four radically different directions - a very surprising and hilarious exercise for comedy writing I have found. In other news, apparently Larry David is the engineer of A and B storylines intersecting and resolving each other!

Watched Singing In The Rain and turned it off. Such corn and colour and rapidfire dialogue. At least Donald O'Connor and the noisy cinema scenes still impress.

Watched Girls season 2 episodes 3 and 4 and loved them. Three was a return to form. Four was a risky stand-alone, short-film-ish, thought-provoking triumph. I questioned Patrick Watson's place in it at the beginning, but ultimately, he delivered. As long as Lena Dunham continues to write, produce and act so fine, hey, by me, you are most worthy of nuding up if that's what you really like to do and want to share with the world and be essentially remembered for.

Watched season 1 of The Drew Carey Show which was a delightful reacquaintance. I paid close attention to the story beats and was finally able to attribute a joke that has stayed with me for years:
Drew meets his friends before a date. Oswald recoils.
Drew: What? Too much colonge?
Oswald: Too much - there was more??

Even so, if shot today, I don't believe I would watch this sitcom. While the comedy still stacks up and the tone is fundamentally charming, I feel the format is outdated (hint hint, Big Bang Theory; even you, Two and a Half Men; you shall never escape my scrutiny, Whitney). What's more, the 'Average Joe' premise doesn't appeal to me without that particular cast/generation of comedians.

Fleshed out 6 characters for the premise of Project Hostage I don't believe I'd have been able to do this as effectively going back twelve, even six months ago. The traits and backstories I used to think were cliche, now appeal to me quite considerably. With the right tweaks and detailing, I see many opportunities for nail-biting conflict and stew-brewin' tension.

Redrafted Project Homeless following some feedback from a friend. He didn't understand the underlying point/theme and I admit there wasn't one. The ending wasn't satisfying; I merely saw an opportunity for irony, which would do fine if it were a sketch. I considered writing a typically happy resolution, which bored me at first. But damn, it works for the story and writing it sans the corn has been a terrific challenge. It's closer to resembling a short film now, though, it is trajecting rather expensively.

Head aches, rain pours, waiting tables soon. Will draft tonight.

Claire.

Working for the weekend

Friday evening - that's two days ago - Dad stopped by my bedroom door to say goodnight and something else; something no unemployed twenty-two year old still living at home hears from their parents.

"Why don't you take the weekend off?"  I was taken aback.  Perhaps part of my stronger work ethic of late has been brought on by a freeloader's guilt or to prove to my family I am not a waste of school tuition and attempts to integrate me into society. I pish-poshed Dad's suggestion with the wave of my smaller-sized Dad hands, honestly believing weekends don't really apply to me for the present. He said again, "it might be good to have a break from the writing and the job hunt. You're always going." I never thought my family saw me this way. I thought that when they think of me it's more of a kid playing with sticks in the mud situation. I felt appreciated, though undeserving of a "weekend off". I always listen to my Dad's advice but I rarely need it. I'm sorry, that should be heed it. Maybe it was because it was permitted, or simply to appease the unnerved glint in a worried father's eyes, that I did indeed take it easy this weekend.

And by 'take it easy', I mean, 'go fucking mad'.

Saturday was filled with cyclonic thought - many centred on the origins of commodities like vinegar and pepper. Sunday was incidentally and almost exclusively 'Insect Thoughts' day. Preoccupied with all the hard-hitting questions of great worldly consequence, I found I wasn't fully able to enjoy typical leisure activities. In fact, they felt like a chore to the extent where I started to procrastinate by bounding to other leisurely pursuits. It was hedonism gone mad. Perhaps this is what Russell Brand's drug-addled, sex-addicted past was like," I pondered. "Only in place of drugs: pringles. And instead of sex: Ira Glass".

Maybe I shouldn't have "planned" to have the weekend off. I actually wrote a list of things to do like I would for any day of the week. Perhaps it was this very consuming need to be productive that Dad wanted me to abstain from. Or again, perhaps, I didn't feel I had earned my weekend. The backstory is this week I was absolutely pepped to discover and prewrite projects for a short film competition and TV series pitch which are both coming up in March. The deadlines are so near and I hoped to have recruited a whole team for a location scout for a locked in script by now, is my improbable dream. I'm waiting to hear back from a potential partner regarding all this and wish he was as enthusiastic as me.

All weekend I had this quote playing in the back of my mind. It's from Andy Warhol:

“Don't think about making art, just get it done. Let everyone else decide if it's good or bad, whether they love it or hate it. While they are deciding, make even more art.”

That's how I should have spent my weekend - writing, which I actually enjoy. And my stress levels are best managed when I have ample time to plan, write, edit, etc. Dad might work at his computer all week but my leisure is work***NOT PAID*** and guilt has been gnawing away at my insides. Double-whammy-ironic-guilt also festered in my pancreatic region when I wrote some thoughts and reflections and jokes and loglines down after I vowed not to.

Dad didn't like seeing me uptight or glued to my keyboard but for now, that is who I am. And it is doing a better of job of keeping me sane. I still used my weekend and by any other's account did enjoyable things. I walked, ran, swam, drove, shopped, spent time with family, talked to dear friends, photographed, painted, cooked,  read The Silver Linings Playbook start to finish, watched the complete series of Extras, read the paper's arts columns and liftouts, did a cryptic crossword, ate delicious food, listened to my favourite podcasts, revelled in dreamy music and even moongazed, cuppa-tea-in-hand...

But I genuinely tasted insanity and saw things and felt like a ferret all without the assistance of drugs or alcohol. From whence did this maternal concern for drone bees come? From WHENCE?

C-breezin

Subvert your procrastination: use sweet thoughts to start writing

I planned to commit today to writing.

So I went outside for a walk.

This was as escapist/procrastinatory as it sounds. But I like to think that deep down I know it’s the best way to clear my head and develop my stories.

Except today, because I went out looking for a donut.

Incidentally (or not so incidentally?!?!?!) the bakery was closed due to Chinese New Year and so I walked on listening to Scriptcast with Matt and Eric. The radio show signed off before I knew it and I realised a good hour had passed since I had told my father "I'll be right back". I supposed he was coordinating search planes over unchartered areas of the Pacific.

I was well on my way back home when a light sun shower forced me undercover at a local shopping mall. "Hm, probably re-married to Chris Noth by now," I estimated - so I went inside to stay a while. Feeling blisters and burns of guilt, I sat down on a bench and started writing in my little ideas book. [She went looking for a donut but listened to a scriptwriting podcast and took a notepad and pen? Ha. Nice try. That is one sneaky subconscious.]

Define writing she mused...

Thinking about writing, re-reading mail and journal entries found in any old, random book, napping, jogging, getting lost in Runcorn, listening to This American Life (when they were free), listening to the Les Mis soundtrack, browsing for pastries, watching Les Mis concerts on Youtube, trying to make oneself cry, drawing on one’s legs, finding one’s Mother and nagging her with existential questions while she reads the newspaper, helping one's Mother complete the daily crossword even though she didn't ask for it, planning lunch, looking up new recipes for dinner, googling apple cider vinegar substitutes, plucking one’s eyebrows, reviewing travel photos, jotting down an idea for a short set on a bus, realising one decidedly funny joke, thinking about telling joke to family over dinner, thinking about posting joke on Facebook or that starved Twitter, thinking about blogging it, thinking about posting the blog on Facebook, opting to save it for a script, self-diagnosing the latest emotional stress condition as seen on Brisbane Times, following net links to an award show's red carpet, Google-Image searching Jennifer Lawrence, looking up that girl from the party and her photos on Facebook, tidying every room of the house except one’s own room, looking up the next event on Facebook, browsing for a dress for the next event on Facebook, buying another ugly writer shirt, going to the next event on Facebook and being asked the usual question “So what have you been up to?” and giving the usual answer “Writing”.

Essentially this is one of the more dull, less productive days of being a writer.

Ambling aimlessly around the centre, I realised why people go out to the shops alone for no reason. It’s about the need to be anonymous; to get outside of those damned, confining, familiar walls and be able to forget who we are or what we're supposed to be. We like to let our minds wander from the usual stress and responsibilities and move idly from store to shinier store. Our brains relax whilst we feed the eyes and sometimes our second stomach. The person your family, friends, roommates, partner and workmates recognise you as wouldn’t – nay, couldn’t try on a pair of leopard print jeggings, but the sales staff and other shoppers don’t recognise you as that person. And you couldn’t feel happier or more free being a nobody for that hour of the day or week. Only the second someone clocks you, the new walls of your blissful kingdom of anonymity begin to quake. Hence, the sheepish murmur to the sales assistant, averted gaze from that casual acquaintance and letting of the lift doors close on your father's mother.

Shops mostly sell things we don’t need. But they have things we admire and want and nobody – no feeble, pension-hogging blood relative – should rob you of the illusion that you can access, afford and own those wants with any degree of will or effort.

After finishing my chocolate milk, I decided to return home – by foot again, to the huff and moan of my second stomach.

Food was still on my mind. Specifically, why I and many self-employed workers and heartbroken losers turn to needless, ravenous consumption. I recalled my first health scare. I haven’t had ‘scares’ since, only because my approach to my health changed and has grown increasingly mindful over the years. I can recall it only fuzzily but I must have been slapped / had the shit kicked out of me by a report on diabetes or heart disease one day (circa 2008) because I announced with steely eyes and a straight back before that evening's meal: “Mum, give me all the vegetables from now on”. I used to be rather suspicious of vegetables and harboured a nuclear missile-aimed hatred for onion. Now, vegies and I are like best friends-- except society allows me to eat them and so I savour every bit of oniony nourishment on my plate. The one thing can't do is lamb. On the occasions I've had it over the years, I've found it quite the challenge to chew. I've searched my sneaky subconscious and I really don't think it's baby-animal-related. I can't explain how or where I first came to feel this way. I just know it feels instrinsically baboon. I mean, wrong.

A breakdown of my food consumption today straddles the two, incontrovertible camps of human emotion: fear and love. I love eating nutritious foods because I have a fear of poor health translating to a fear of an inability to do everything humanly possible transcoding to a love for so much and so many in my life deciphered as the fear of dying and losing it all. I used to think about the state of being dead a lot in high school and moved onto pondering the purpose of being alive in university. I don’t consciously dwell on that stuff anymore except when I’m fine-tuning the details of my funeral, epitagh and feature-length video will. That’s technically about my legacy rather than demise, I believe, the girl sitting alone with unwashed hair and tissue boxes for shoes tells herself, before putting out another cigarette and swigging the last drops of her secret-stash, morning moonshine. Really, I love living my life and I fear any and all obstacles that hinder my living it. Because I want to do things and feel challenged. It's so sensible and straight-forward.

Anyway, I try to eat better foods and less sugar. Another wholesome change was rediscovering exercise and running to R&B beats that brazenly objectify women to blow off pent-up post-adolescent aggression that might otherwise be channelled in situations with murderous consequences. I also love shooting hoops and the associated “One Tree Hilling” of my burbs: bball underarm, angst in heart, bonafide fly-girl stomp.  I had a couple of friends express their concern with my associated weight loss - the way one uttered the word "skinny" was akin to invisible talons taking a firm, mangled grip of my flesh - and they scared me into thinking I had an eating disorder for about a week. But I'm not one to eliminate foods (baaaaa!) or skips meals and dessert is more important to me than any family, friend or modesty in a bridesmaid's nothing-to-the-imagination gown.

I do admit, however, that I am prone to foetal-position-self-shame when I manicly snack to offset writer anxieties. Something about the way crackers SNAP and CRUNCH soothes me as if Steve Martin himself had whispered “you are a true thinker, of abyss-like, trapped-Chilean-miner-depths, and you're an impossibly funny wordsmith.” But effectively, things don't get done, self-worth is not felt and I feel as heavy and salt-encrusted as a Sumo wrestler. This does not help the whole living-brilliantly-every-second-of-my-life syndrome I burdened myself with post-university. This might mean the odd mood swing. Yes, try to forget all your preconceptions of what the youngest and only girl child in a family behaves likes – for I, yes, I, have lashed out at those I love dearest. Compound this impatient, self-loathing context with the fact that my family foster a very healthy relationship with crackers and biscuits. Healthy as in constant; permanent; married with three children and a second mortgage. Furthermore, with most members of my family being male, they seem to feel like Kings and – probably, in a typical fashion – get better looking and more ripped after indulging in their collective sweet tooth after most meals.

A classic situation – as in traditional as well as humbly humourous – took place after just licking our dinner plates clean the other night. Dad went for a packet of biscuits. Specifically, to do the scene justice, he opened some chocolate-drizzled, chocolate chip chunk cookies. Brother grabbed one also and both men sat, contentedly chomping away. “Hmp?” like a question. “These are good,” Dad thought. “Yes, they’re a good snack,” Brother added.

Before you outthink me and feel entitled to snigger: yes, I wanted a cookie. Sue me. Guilty as charged. Checkmate. For I, twenty-two-year-old human adult, still regard cookies just as I did when I was sticky-fingered four-year-old. I have sampled cookies for over two decades, far and wide – across all the brands, food chains, Australian East Coast cities as well as the gastronomic adventureland, the baked goods Haven that is the United States – so that  I have now fledged into a cookie connoisseur. That night I wanted to read and write and I was worried about starting and never stopping (eating, that is) and never starting (reading and writing, that is).

Whilst far from a foreign concept to me, I found Dad and Brother's enjoyment of their cookies very intriguing. Just as I told myself not to trust the smiling face of the cookie to break bad habits, the guys were telling  themselves another form of trickery to appease the guilt all the Oprah-endorsed doctors, health magazines and beautiful people  trip us with. It's funny; the small, various ways we permit moderate consumption of food that we know is bad for us but similtaneously fills our bodies and zaps our brains with sensational inner joy. Gluttony, I should have said. It would make that former sentence much simpler but it sounds and reads atrocious. Glut. Glut’ny. Anyway, a darling cookie nowhere near qualifies as gluttony but even still, here was diabetic Dad and Brother curiously commenting on these cookies like they were new to their taste palettes and in fact, the marketplace and entire history of the world. Brother’s remark then seemed to say “Yes, this is a decently nutritious food that we have not previously snacked on but should definitely consider snacking on again and perhaps on a regular basis”. This is the honest to God tone of conversation the men shared.

It amused me and I thought calling them out would somewhat amuse them too. The men scoffed, rather naturally. Silly me, for it seems I had been neglecting my abacus and lost track of the infinite trips to the gym and walks to the orphanage they had made this month. But after ribbing the men I saw my misstep. I had made them feel self-conscious.  I wouldn’t want anyone to make me feel that way. We all do enough of that to ourselves and are responsible for our own diets and choices and lives.  The men knew what they were saying and how they were saying it for a reason. Mum appreciated my point but still I ended up being the only one wiping away tears of laughter like a jerk. I soon forgot I was a jerk. “You have a shrewd eye and make some discerning and terribly witty observations about the human condition,” the crumble of my cookie told me.

Enough about food. Enough blogging. I’m warmed up to write some serious comedy.

REVIEWS: plugging and cross-blogging

Check out my reviews of Hansel & Gretel: Witch Hunters [3D] and Django Unchained at my fun blog. The former is a tad lyrical and entertaining, the latter is more objective.

You could once find them posted here, but I resolve this blog is *about* the writing process; what I learn and am working on myself.

The fun blog has been kicking around a couple of years and contains awfully initimate musings, cynical rants and embarassing anecdotes, hope you might enjoy it too!

    Through the Looking Glass  http://hastalasagna.blogspot.com.au/

Settle personal life; ready for work life

Significant week for family, friends, jobs, errands, bucket list and personal growth.

A realisation: friends are vulnerable and want to get along; otherwise, these people are not your friends.
A reflection: the greatest weapon against challenge and obstacle is your mentality; with the right attitude, you'll muster the self-confidence and natural talent, give the necessary time and apply the necessary effort to blow it out of the water and achieve success.
A resolution: never going to Valley bars again.

Read Graham Chapman's unaired pilot for Jake's Journey once again. After reading the first chapter of Developing Characters for Script Writing by Rib Davis [excellent name], I appreciated the characters in Jake's family more than I did initially. They seemed purely cliche, 2D, on the page over a week ago. Now, I look at them as distinct voices which are quite telling about personality and function within the family/series*. Although I'm not learning anything anything new from Davis' book, it is reiterating important points that I need to infiltrate my subconscious and become as deep-rooted and ingrained as any part of my natural being. I am right-handed; I remember family holidays to the Alexandra Headlands when I was in primary school; characters lives are a combination of what they are born into - where they have no choice - and what they choose, etc. It's provided a lot of food for thought in the early stages of Project Homeless - and I've developed the mantra: characters are always doing and always have attitude [towards people, regarding special subjects and in all situations]. Doing and attitude. I find considering these actions and approaches helps answer questions about backstory, class, education, abilities, upbringing, interests and self-perception - sometimes automatically. But character development shouldn't always be a case of instinct and familarity - Davis notes characters of real intrigue and value are subversive, with contradictions and ambigiuities to their personality. That is to say, character development takes more work than I, like any writer/young person, had hoping for - but the challenge will make it a rewarding process; a twofold character-building experience. WINK!!!!!!!!!!!

* I wish the series had been approved by CBS or one of the American studios Chapman and co-writer David Sherlock were shopping around at. Peter Sellers played the King in the pilot and Chapman, Sir George the knight. I think I will look into seeing whether the pilot is available anywhere....


Watched the complete first season of The Hour. I was thoroughly impressed by the pilot and rather engaged by the  two subseqeuent episodes, but my attention waned as the season continued. This may have been my personal brain-wiring failing - so much sherbet lately!?!? - but I felt compelled to clip my nails, check facebook, email and news sites, crave tea, untangle my stupid necklace, make tea, etc. Barring the possibiltity this was all owing to a mild case of ADHD, could my level of attention be the norm when it comes to television viewership? In that case, Jesus Christ, have I got some work to do to surpass the subtle and witty dialogue by Abi Morgan. I don't doubt there are more distractions readily available to us 21st Century Westerners. Young folk particularly feel urgency to do, see and be more; hence, mutli-tasking. Or should that be multi-pleasuring?? Sounds crude, but watching TV is a leisure activity rather than a task [even still for writers]. Anyway, that wordplay clearly didn't work out.

Back to The Hour: big, big, big cases of treason. I'm undecided on whether it was credible for certain characters within the context of the era, workplace and coincedental investigation. One note I made in a newspaper margin: Rowley chastises her mother for behaviour she herself is copying. We love our parents but abhor the possibility of following in their footsteps. Second note: Freddie's father/unrequited love makes us care about him; his ruthless investigative reporting, his stubborn opinion, his tongue-in-cheek nature are mere entertainment.

Re-watched the first season of Grandma's House starring and co-written by Simon Amstell. I really love (and hate) the way the tension rises, tugs and lets go in the episodes. The dynamics of the show's dialogue really plays with tension and then of course is terribly funny, awkward and unfolding of story. Went on to watch Simon Amstell's most recent stand up show Numb. Incredibly painfully funny sums it up. I just want to hug the man but this may very well tip him right over the edge and just end it all. He is a precious, admirably honest comedian. I actually weighed up whether that brand of humour is what I'd like to pursue, but I fear the over-analysing, self-deprecating, social-situation-dwelling processes crucial to the humour might cripple me in every humanly way. So, when it comes to writing comedy, I choose to be confident, observant and compassionate. And when it comes to life, I am in the affirmative. [I believe it's a slippery slope, Simon.]

I was recommended Commercial Kings by a friend which I found very amusing - for the entertaining behind the scenes premise, cheeky filmmakers and series' tone, hilarious end-product commercial. I saw the Roller Skate episode; the kids and the small town business made a recipe for endearing humour. I'm glad I saw the show and I will not change channel if I find myself seated in front of the TV at that particular time slot with a guilt-free 25 minute window again. Yeah, that kind of show, of that kind of importance to a busily multi-pleasuring writer.

Youtube videos about homeless people for research (as wholly recommended by Davis). Also, a video on how Jerry Seinfeld approaches the joke-writing process.

Tried daily brain-training games on Lumosity with the end goal of improving my focus, math calculation, spatial memory and general attention. I think it is already bearing fruit - I didn't have to google Abi Morgan's name to recall it for this blog!

Discussed Django Unchained merits and overrated award success with peers. I am of the opinion it was too long and lacked a strong ideological statement/message - an all-important ingredient to any work from an auteur if one would ascribe Tarantino to be one. I'd call him stylish if anything and I really don't intend to knock him; I'm just being theoretically accurate and integrally, unequivocally right.

Wrote little. But thought a s***load. Have a few more funny nuggets for scenes and new scene ideas too. I've taken on board Seinfeld's methodology by exclusively using pen and paper (for the development stage). I'm in three or four minds about the direction and season length of Project Homeless. Today, I expect to be productive and hopefully settle some quandaries.

Claire, out.

Australia Day, New Year

Writer's log. Star date: same as actual date.

Wrote, read, walked, lay still on the carpet. No BBQ or beer, soaked up the rain, turned off Triple J.

As far as writerly concerns go, it was a very productive day. As far as being an Australian, it was practically treason. Today also, this blog was born in effort to track the progress of scripts, feel accountable for my projects and learn from what I've been reading, watching and listening to.


Weekly report:
Read The Office (UK) Season 2 scripts. Marvelled at how specific and telling character's dialogue was written. Or perhaps Gervais and Merchant have unwittingly cheated given that I am picturing their cast, their timing and blank faces. No. No, I am decided. This is very funny and well-formed on its own. I hope I have soaked up the beats and nuances of these brilliantly considered season.

Also read The Completely Incomplete Graham Chapman which included unproduced scripts co-written by Monty Python's silly, drunken enigma. I especially enjoyed reading his TV pilot Jake's Journey which has inspired me to involve more adventure in my stories and less of the hum-drum that reads entertaining on the page. There's nothing wrong with a good old quest or foray into timetravelling. Old and cliche? Nay, classic. The challenge in screenwriting is crafting something personal and affecting, and if you can do that within the formula for a sellable, audience-loving hit then you're golden.

Listened to Scriptcast - both new (to me; the podcast is on an indefinite hiatius) and repeats with comedian Dwayne somebody, Christy somebody and actors Lawrence Long and Natalia somebody. Richard Walter’s episode was interesting and incredibly familiar (having attended one of his seminars), but I didn’t like it as much as these less “expert” people. I reason that it's because he's already well-established and regurgitates jokes. But I also disagreed with some of his points: the main one being that a novel is easier to write than a screenplay. More books are published than movies are made every year, so yes, it’s easier to get more [read: wider scoop of rubbish] made, but there is still serious genius, rewriting, editing and challenging story decisions that go into a novel. Different skillset and slightly different methods to approach the tasks, but you’re still need to tell an engaging, valuable story and delivering that is nearly shit-impossible.

Disappointed by Girls Season 2 episodes 1 and 2. I found it unbelievable that Newly Skinny (name escapes me!) embraced a profession change so readily – she sought a career in the visual art world, doesn’t she want to hang onto that? There are certainly tranferrable skills and similar personal rewards in transitioning from a being a curator to being a hostess such as service and presentation, but what about her passion?

Enjoyed the addition of Andrew Rannells to the cast and also how Charlie was written in the first episode.

Didn’t enjoy the ‘set up’ of this big secret  taking place in episode one, no doubt to explode at the end of the season shattering friendships and waving Elijah goodbye from Hannah’s world once again (and the series, because Rannells is surely a man with other projects brewing). These people were easy at the time and it'll be an easier point of conflict at the end of the season. Still, I can understand the revelation devastating Hannah all the same.

Didn’t like the Creepy Adam, simply didn’t believe a dismissive douche would feel no shame or embarrassment singing an album of sad songs. It might be funny, but didn’t seem consistent. I could see the evolution of his character in season 1 but I don’t buy stalker – he walks away from things if anything. Though a broken leg might have taken away from his valued active side of life.

Whilst the both doe-eyed Shoshannah and Ray are cute together and provided the greater enjoyment for me, it's honestly too flaky a reconnection. Why didn’t they draw it out more? Probably because it’s just an attraction to be gratified and not a struggle of serious questions and emotions. Perhaps that all took place over the off-season. Even still, that’s the stuff that builds tension and that’s what audiences love to see.

Not interested in English girl’s early storyline at all. And she was super intriguing and funnier in the first season.

As for Hannah and Donald Glover(!), the scene between English girl and Hannah, and all scenes with Hannah and Donald were too on the nose regarding the fact he wasn’t into her writing. Why not leave a little to imagination and not let him give anything away? It’d be more (dare I say) typical of a girl (or her friend) reading too much a male’s slack and non-commital behaviour. Also, it might have been more interesting and unexpected a scene when he does confess his opinion. Then the eventual breakdown of their relationship would be unforeseen. But with his hesitation and terrible lie, Hannah’s on the nose dialogue expecting him to love her writing “like all her friends” and be disappointed that he didn’t, we saw it coming. So we didn’t emotionally invest in their relationship, which we might have by episode 2.

I feel the kind of situations and exchanges within Girls are very much Six Feet Under – in a similar dark, dramedy vein - but that was a show which wasn’t anywhere near sloppy when it came to subtext. It was elegant, let you fill in the blanks nearly completely or be taken by surprise by sudden lines or actions – which did ultimately make sense when you considered what was on that character’s plate. I’m sure I have also laughed more during Six Feet Under’s saddest episode than I did watching episodes 1 and 2 of new Girls.

Speaking of which, haven’t watched New Girl in a while. Might check back in after I’ve assessed why I gave it up.

Enjoyed and wept in Your Sister’s Sister –  the performances, intimate setting and situation coupled  with incredible personal stakes just allowed me to watch it – barely from a conscious or critical perspective.

It wasn’t about grief or about whatever complicated relationship Jack (Mark Duplass) had with his brother – I understand his point: toasting the whole man, not making him out to be perfect. He wasn’t characterised by generosity or selflessness, had a spectrum of a personality, wasn’t perfect but still liked, loved and missed immeasurably.

That was the backstory and they didn’t examine the nature of death or have big musings or profound statements to share with each other or the audience. It was about a family (not broadly or conceptually) - these were real people reuniting, admitting love, sharing secrets and becoming closer and more mature, possibly raising a child together.

I liked the conclusion but I don’t think it was so elegant. The slightest tweak or addition might have made it feel tidier. To clarify, it didn't need to be wrapped up -we received all the closure relevant I believe. I only ask for, a simple shot in the hallway outside the bathroom, rolling backward, or a shot of the house as the final image.

Really appreciated specific details and nuances – like Hannah’s vegan lifestyle, skinny jean men, getting out "that red bike" with the dust (alluding to Iris' intimate knowledge of Jack's past), Hannah remaining standoffish to Jack and not being overwelcoming or acting polite like women often do. She’s not immediately easy to get on with which makes her interesting and it was as if I shared Jack's personal challenge to break down barriers between them. 

Loved the pilot of The Hour. Writing, performance, mystery, MUSIC. I am on board with this show.

Wrote dialogue for Night Walk and scoped a season from one of the premises I had for for Project Homeless. Returned to Brunch and dispensed with ah's and well's and a lot of direction - shaving and substituing for the sake of opening up interpretation for readers and actors. 

In future, these posts will hopefully be select and concise.

Cheers,

Claire