[Untitled]
Well, my last post was so gloomy that I wanted to say something new today ...
Problem is, I've nothing to say. So I'll give a thrilling recap of the last few days.
Saturday I spent 10 hours in my little writing room with Rick, grinding my teeth and my gears. The task at hand: put into words how rock and roll makes one feel the first time one hears it -- and spoken in the voice of an imaginary Robert Plant as seen through the eyes of a thirteen year old boy. Feh. I was so wrung out and surly when Rick left that I put in my 'Almost Famous' DVD to cheer myself up. But it didn't so much cheer me up as make me want to hang myself.
Sunday was better (and also Aaron the Geek's birthday). I had a series of tremendously helpful little breakthroughs. I haven't quite figured out how to put the puzzle together yet, but at least the pieces are far more clearly defined. I wrote a scene and fiddled with the timeline. I haven't shared these little breakthroughs with Rick yet ... good lord, the fur is gonna fly ...
Monday I read a lot. William Goldman, Stephen King, The Screenwriter's Bible and the Writer's Digest Guide to Good Writing, which contains pages and pages of litttle inspirational quotes for writers like "As a fiction writer, the last thing you want to be is a liar" (Clive Barker) and "You should spend thirty minutes a day looking at dirty pictures" (Tom Robbins). Little bits of wisdom for clipping and taping on the fridge. I also spent time job hunting ... to no avail. I then browsed around the website of my former employers and silently mocked them and the decline of their entertainment coverage which has become lackluster and bland since they sent me packing for no reason. Assholes. That led to a good half an hour spent supressing the bitterness and rage from being fired from a job I so dearly loved ... swallowing it down into my gut where it is no doubt forming itself into a giant, black, hate-filled tumor that will grow to be twice my body weight and the size of a VW Beetle with hair and teeth and within the year I'll become a wacky story on Fark which will later be read by Tim Riley during the nine o'clock news hour. And I shall name my giant tumor Li'l Kevin O'Live.
Today I started to panic about some imaginary script problem which Aaron quickly handled during a phone call on his lunch break from jury duty. Crisis averted. God bless Aaron.
I had to tell some really great guys today that I wasn't going to use them as primary vocalists in the show. That sucked and I hated doing it. I was reading a story about Clint Eastwood in which he said that he despises casting because he falls in love with everyone and wants to use them all. I definately share that compulsion.
Now I'm listening to the Amelie soundtrack and wishing I was a French filmmaker. Then I could just throw some accordion music and sex into BtJ and all my problems would be solved.
I realize this post is no more cheerful than the last. Sorry.
Problem is, I've nothing to say. So I'll give a thrilling recap of the last few days.
Saturday I spent 10 hours in my little writing room with Rick, grinding my teeth and my gears. The task at hand: put into words how rock and roll makes one feel the first time one hears it -- and spoken in the voice of an imaginary Robert Plant as seen through the eyes of a thirteen year old boy. Feh. I was so wrung out and surly when Rick left that I put in my 'Almost Famous' DVD to cheer myself up. But it didn't so much cheer me up as make me want to hang myself.
Sunday was better (and also Aaron the Geek's birthday). I had a series of tremendously helpful little breakthroughs. I haven't quite figured out how to put the puzzle together yet, but at least the pieces are far more clearly defined. I wrote a scene and fiddled with the timeline. I haven't shared these little breakthroughs with Rick yet ... good lord, the fur is gonna fly ...
Monday I read a lot. William Goldman, Stephen King, The Screenwriter's Bible and the Writer's Digest Guide to Good Writing, which contains pages and pages of litttle inspirational quotes for writers like "As a fiction writer, the last thing you want to be is a liar" (Clive Barker) and "You should spend thirty minutes a day looking at dirty pictures" (Tom Robbins). Little bits of wisdom for clipping and taping on the fridge. I also spent time job hunting ... to no avail. I then browsed around the website of my former employers and silently mocked them and the decline of their entertainment coverage which has become lackluster and bland since they sent me packing for no reason. Assholes. That led to a good half an hour spent supressing the bitterness and rage from being fired from a job I so dearly loved ... swallowing it down into my gut where it is no doubt forming itself into a giant, black, hate-filled tumor that will grow to be twice my body weight and the size of a VW Beetle with hair and teeth and within the year I'll become a wacky story on Fark which will later be read by Tim Riley during the nine o'clock news hour. And I shall name my giant tumor Li'l Kevin O'Live.
Today I started to panic about some imaginary script problem which Aaron quickly handled during a phone call on his lunch break from jury duty. Crisis averted. God bless Aaron.
I had to tell some really great guys today that I wasn't going to use them as primary vocalists in the show. That sucked and I hated doing it. I was reading a story about Clint Eastwood in which he said that he despises casting because he falls in love with everyone and wants to use them all. I definately share that compulsion.
Now I'm listening to the Amelie soundtrack and wishing I was a French filmmaker. Then I could just throw some accordion music and sex into BtJ and all my problems would be solved.
I realize this post is no more cheerful than the last. Sorry.
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