And then there are the times when you’re writing along, minding your own business, and someone kind of weird sits down next to you.
I’m sitting at the library today, getting lots of work done, as a matter of fact--or I was, until somebody just arrived to share my table.
This fellow looked normal enough--t-shirt, cargo pants, computer bag. Mid-40s, grayish, longish hair, glasses. Not too bad looking. He starts by setting his stuff down, hanging his denim jacket over the chair.
Then he starts wiping the table with damp paper towels. Okay. Maybe it looked a little sticky or dirty, that happens sometimes (although not usually at this upscale library).
He wipes and he wipes. And he wipes.
Then when he finally opens his computer bag, it’s full of bubble wrap. Oh, wait, no, there’s a computer wrapped up in that bubble wrap. The bag seems to be lined in it (the kind with the big bubbles), and then the computer itself is wrapped in it (the kind with the smaller bubbles). He unpacks his computer, carefully repacking the larger sheets of bubble wrap back into his bag, and laying the smaller sheets out on the table. He folds them into a lap-top size mat and places his computer on top of it.
(I’m thinking, won’t that heat up his computer awfully? None of my business--)
He reaches into a pocket of his computer bag and pulls out a smaller bubble-wrapped package. This one is his power cable. And another one, containing an extension cord. (That’s kind of a clever idea, why didn’t I ever think of it? Except not wrapped in bubble-wrap.)
He sits down, he adjusts his bubble-wrap place mat so it is perfectly square underneath his computer.
I’m no longer working, you notice--I’m now blogging instead. I’m completely distracted. And he doesn’t smell too pleasant, either.
Hmmm, there’s a carrel across the room that’s available. I’d really get more work done with a little privacy.
Does that make me a bad person?
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Monday, April 12, 2010
distracted
Today we’re writing at home, but with distractions. Pandora is on the computer, and someone (else) is cleaning the house. [If someone (else) were not cleaning the house, I would be cleaning it, and hence, not writing. House cleaning is a primary means of writing avoidance, so I avoid doing it whenever possible.] The refrigerator is another big distraction, not to mention the pantry.
Pandora just got the “pause.” I cannot write with music playing. Also, the mic picks up the music at odd moments and I suddenly see words appearing on my screen all by themselves, like “Me and my cousins and you and your cousins it’s a line that’s always running.” (Stupid software understands Vampire Weekend better than it does me.)
However, when I am forced to write in a café or something, I can often tune the music out if it isn’t too obnoxiously loud. And if the talking is a dull roar, that’s okay, too. On the other hand, if someone is sitting right next to me having an intense conversation, that’s a killer. Suddenly nothing in the world is more important than whether she finally got the top she wanted at Ed Hardy or whether the stupid idiot texted her back. Or whether he understands the nature of the job and is willing to put in extra hours for no pay. (For the experience.) Sigh. Other people’s lives are so much more interesting than mine.
Writing this blog is, of course, the ultimate distraction. Because I’m actually writing, so it doesn’t qualify as writing avoidance! And I can futz with the template for hours, I tell you, there is nothing more fascinating than deciding what it will look like. And I haven’t even launched! Will today be the day I announce this blog to all my “friends” on Facebook? (If so, scroll down and read the posts in order, dammit!) Will I click on the “monetize” link and start selling adspace? Then I can start obsessively counting my hits and followers--will anyone click on the ads? How many pennies will I make? Will this blog make me famous so the studios will be begging me to write screenplays for them? Or will it make me so rich I'll never have to write a screenplay again?
Hmmmmmm . . . must ask agent.
Now I'm facing the fact that it's been over a week and I've yet to take myself on a single "artist's date." I had such great plans, sitting out on Dockweiler Beach. I was going to go to Union Station to admire the architecture. I was going to check out the Renoir exhibit at LACMA. But why bother when I can look at pictures of it all from the comfort of my computer? And have the refrigerator close at hand.
But I will be back in my shrink's office tomorrow admitting that I failed. I did not break out of my box. I did not open up my head. I did, however, get halfway through the re-write of the outline of the big commercial movie.
A thought to ponder: who's a better writer, the one who is contented and secure, who comes from a place of honesty and compassion, who looks at the world with inquisitiveness and without judgment? Or the miserable, depressed, lonely wretch who looks at the world with sarcasm and contempt but is really, really smart? Discuss.
Pandora just got the “pause.” I cannot write with music playing. Also, the mic picks up the music at odd moments and I suddenly see words appearing on my screen all by themselves, like “Me and my cousins and you and your cousins it’s a line that’s always running.” (Stupid software understands Vampire Weekend better than it does me.)
However, when I am forced to write in a café or something, I can often tune the music out if it isn’t too obnoxiously loud. And if the talking is a dull roar, that’s okay, too. On the other hand, if someone is sitting right next to me having an intense conversation, that’s a killer. Suddenly nothing in the world is more important than whether she finally got the top she wanted at Ed Hardy or whether the stupid idiot texted her back. Or whether he understands the nature of the job and is willing to put in extra hours for no pay. (For the experience.) Sigh. Other people’s lives are so much more interesting than mine.
Writing this blog is, of course, the ultimate distraction. Because I’m actually writing, so it doesn’t qualify as writing avoidance! And I can futz with the template for hours, I tell you, there is nothing more fascinating than deciding what it will look like. And I haven’t even launched! Will today be the day I announce this blog to all my “friends” on Facebook? (If so, scroll down and read the posts in order, dammit!) Will I click on the “monetize” link and start selling adspace? Then I can start obsessively counting my hits and followers--will anyone click on the ads? How many pennies will I make? Will this blog make me famous so the studios will be begging me to write screenplays for them? Or will it make me so rich I'll never have to write a screenplay again?
Hmmmmmm . . . must ask agent.
Now I'm facing the fact that it's been over a week and I've yet to take myself on a single "artist's date." I had such great plans, sitting out on Dockweiler Beach. I was going to go to Union Station to admire the architecture. I was going to check out the Renoir exhibit at LACMA. But why bother when I can look at pictures of it all from the comfort of my computer? And have the refrigerator close at hand.
But I will be back in my shrink's office tomorrow admitting that I failed. I did not break out of my box. I did not open up my head. I did, however, get halfway through the re-write of the outline of the big commercial movie.
A thought to ponder: who's a better writer, the one who is contented and secure, who comes from a place of honesty and compassion, who looks at the world with inquisitiveness and without judgment? Or the miserable, depressed, lonely wretch who looks at the world with sarcasm and contempt but is really, really smart? Discuss.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
deadlines and such
April 5, 2010
Today’s episode of Writing in Public brings us to the dance studio, which doesn’t really count because I write here all the time. Twice a week I bring my 11-year-old god-daughter to her ballet class, and despite the on-the-hour chaos when classes change, and the ongoing background piano accompaniment (HEAvy on the DOWNbeat), I get a lot of writing done here.
Let’s face it, I often get more writing done when I’m not at home. There’s just so much more writing-avoidance readily available at home. There’s the laundry, which always seems to be in a giant mound no matter how recently I did it. There’s the refrigerator. Unfortunately, the phone follows me where ever I go, as does the e-mail. But I do find it much more embarrassing to sit for hours playing Mahjong Towers Eternity (which was a free download from a coupon on a Borders receipt!) when people might actually see what I am doing. Writing in Public does keep my nose to the grindstone.
Unfortunately, my writing process often includes taking naps. I haven’t figured out how to do that in public yet. Not without getting my computer, phone and purse stolen, at least. And there are those times when you just sit and stare at the screen.
Nothing’s coming.
Anything now?
Nope, nothing.
La-da.
Wonder how Mahjong Towers Eternity is doing without me?
April 6, 2010
Which brings me to the downside of writing in public: deadlines. Not like “this is when you have to turn in the draft” kind of deadlines, but “dance class is over you have to stop now” deadlines. Or in today’s case, the “library parking is only free for two hours” deadline.
Yup, today I’m at the library, which is not really writing in public either, and all the other people with laptops really are writing, or researching, or doing homework. Nobody comes to the library just to look cool. (In fact, I’m sitting across from a woman with neon orange earplugs in her ears, you can’t get less cool than that.) Also, I’m at the Beverly Hills library today, so there are no homeless people taking naps here, either.
I didn’t get much written yesterday at the dance studio because I was, in fact, editing and re-writing the post from the day before. And today I’m not going to write very much because I do have to work on the screenplay (and I’ve only got 1½ hours left in free library parking).
I just came from a meeting with one of my personal goddesses of screenwriting. I’ve got two screenplays in progress at the moment--a big, commercial, four-quadrant comedy, and a little, terrifying, indie thriller. She was giving me notes on the little indie, and as always, she was dead on.
So today, I’m going to take advantage of the peace and quiet of the libes and actually go to work. The only question is, will I be disciplined and work on the big commercial story that is going to pay the mortgage (I hope), or do I follow my heart and work on the dark, twisted, psycho story that I'm going to have to direct myself and pay for with credit cards? Hmmmmmmm . . .
Today’s episode of Writing in Public brings us to the dance studio, which doesn’t really count because I write here all the time. Twice a week I bring my 11-year-old god-daughter to her ballet class, and despite the on-the-hour chaos when classes change, and the ongoing background piano accompaniment (HEAvy on the DOWNbeat), I get a lot of writing done here.
Let’s face it, I often get more writing done when I’m not at home. There’s just so much more writing-avoidance readily available at home. There’s the laundry, which always seems to be in a giant mound no matter how recently I did it. There’s the refrigerator. Unfortunately, the phone follows me where ever I go, as does the e-mail. But I do find it much more embarrassing to sit for hours playing Mahjong Towers Eternity (which was a free download from a coupon on a Borders receipt!) when people might actually see what I am doing. Writing in Public does keep my nose to the grindstone.
Unfortunately, my writing process often includes taking naps. I haven’t figured out how to do that in public yet. Not without getting my computer, phone and purse stolen, at least. And there are those times when you just sit and stare at the screen.
Nothing’s coming.
Anything now?
Nope, nothing.
La-da.
Wonder how Mahjong Towers Eternity is doing without me?
April 6, 2010
Which brings me to the downside of writing in public: deadlines. Not like “this is when you have to turn in the draft” kind of deadlines, but “dance class is over you have to stop now” deadlines. Or in today’s case, the “library parking is only free for two hours” deadline.
Yup, today I’m at the library, which is not really writing in public either, and all the other people with laptops really are writing, or researching, or doing homework. Nobody comes to the library just to look cool. (In fact, I’m sitting across from a woman with neon orange earplugs in her ears, you can’t get less cool than that.) Also, I’m at the Beverly Hills library today, so there are no homeless people taking naps here, either.
I didn’t get much written yesterday at the dance studio because I was, in fact, editing and re-writing the post from the day before. And today I’m not going to write very much because I do have to work on the screenplay (and I’ve only got 1½ hours left in free library parking).
I just came from a meeting with one of my personal goddesses of screenwriting. I’ve got two screenplays in progress at the moment--a big, commercial, four-quadrant comedy, and a little, terrifying, indie thriller. She was giving me notes on the little indie, and as always, she was dead on.
So today, I’m going to take advantage of the peace and quiet of the libes and actually go to work. The only question is, will I be disciplined and work on the big commercial story that is going to pay the mortgage (I hope), or do I follow my heart and work on the dark, twisted, psycho story that I'm going to have to direct myself and pay for with credit cards? Hmmmmmmm . . .
Sunday, April 4, 2010
left to my own devices
So my shrink is going on vacation for a week. AUGGGGGHHHHHHHH! OMG! How will I survive? How will I not blow everything up? How will I not alienate everyone I know, murder my mother, and set fire to my local pet shelter?
I spent a lot of sessions addressing just that issue, believe me. (How is it that therapy sometimes begets more therapy, I end up doing therapy about the lack of therapy--I could save a lot of money and just sit home staring at my navel. Sorry, that was mean and disparaging towards my shrink but I’m feeling a little HOSTILE.)
Anyway, in making my survival plans, I foolishly made a deal where I would take myself on three--maybe only two--“artists dates.” (Remember that from the ‘90’s? The Artist's Way was the hot read and suddenly everyone I know was religiously doing their “morning pages,” which I could never understand because why spend so much writing time on something that will never pay? And yet here I am, blogging again . . . ) So after I’d made this stupid deal, my competitive instinct kicked in, and I decided to take it one step further and actually do some writing on those artist’s dates. Hence, “Writing in Public Places.”
No, not just coffee joints, that would be cheating. Real places where real people go to do real things, in reality. As opposed to places where writers go to burrow inside their own heads and avoid reality. Or where they go to sit in front of their laptops and have everybody think they’re writing, which is sometimes all you can manage. I’m being kind here, as if all those people who sit in front of their laptops at Starbucks really are writers, and not just trying to look cool and pick up boys/girls.
So even though today I was strongly tempted to remain on the couch all day with Kathy Griffin’s Official Book Club Selection, here I am sitting on Dockweiler Beach, listening to planes go by overhead. Okay, I’ll be honest. Possibly I would not have budged from the couch had not my irritating neighbors thrown an Easter Egg hunt, filling the air with high-pitched squeals of excited little children and obnoxious little dogs.
But here I am nevertheless, and since I got here on my bike, I’m not even equipped with my laptop. I’m not even pretending to be cool all alone on this uncomfortable concrete bench. Instead, I’ve got this ridiculously small blank book--purple leather cover, hand-bound fancy paper ($8.99 at Cost Plus World Market)--and I am scribbling with an old green Uni-ball pen.
This is what my first draft looked like.
I hate writing things by hand. I have terrible handwriting, made worse by this shaky little book and chronic injuries to my wrists from years of pounding keyboards. (I’m a Dragon girl at home, and have gotten pretty good at the dictation thing. You know more about that than you really want to know if you read my previous blog. Which I’m not linking to here, because the pictures of my surgery are just too gross.)
I’m flipping back the pages now and noticing how much more legible I was when I began. Oh well, will edit heavily later anyway.
Yes, I admit to editing--and proofreading--my blog. I know we are living in a “publish first” universe now, but I am a compulsive re-writer, and I am completely psycho about spelling and punctuation. (Shout out to Mrs. Shaw, my 3rd grade teacher, for teaching me about the “sem-eye colon.”)
I love semi-colons, and not just for those little winking smileys. I love the “I’m finished with that thought; here’s another thought that kind of goes along with it” concept--not a full stop, not just a pause, but something in between. It’s my bi-sexual punctuation mark.
But you notice I don’t use them anymore. Hollywood has broken me of the habit. The semi-colon is too high-brow. I don’t want to look erudite or anything. Erudite people are not hip enough to write movies that will make lots of money. Now I use the dash.
It’s very popular in business writing to use a single hyphen surrounded by space - like that. Most screenwriters use a double hyphen -- also surrounded by space. I like to jam my double hyphens right down between the words--like that. I don’t know why. I don’t know why in Hollywood we still use the double hyphen, instead of allowing our software to turn them into the more elegant and slender “m” dash.
I personally hate when my software turns anything into anything. (Don’t even get my started on the evils of dictation software.) When I type (or dictate) “(c),” I don’t want to see © appear on the screen. Thank you, Bill Gates, for idiot-proofing the software so thoroughly that I have to trick it into doing what I want it to do, not what you want it to do!
There’s an irony to the fact that I am sitting on the beach, writing by hand on actual paper, and I end up bitching about software. I am possibly a little teensy bit obsessed with my computer. Clearly, I’ve had more reality today than I can handle. I think I’ll go home and continue this in virtuality. But first, let me check my e-mail on my phone.
I spent a lot of sessions addressing just that issue, believe me. (How is it that therapy sometimes begets more therapy, I end up doing therapy about the lack of therapy--I could save a lot of money and just sit home staring at my navel. Sorry, that was mean and disparaging towards my shrink but I’m feeling a little HOSTILE.)
Anyway, in making my survival plans, I foolishly made a deal where I would take myself on three--maybe only two--“artists dates.” (Remember that from the ‘90’s? The Artist's Way was the hot read and suddenly everyone I know was religiously doing their “morning pages,” which I could never understand because why spend so much writing time on something that will never pay? And yet here I am, blogging again . . . ) So after I’d made this stupid deal, my competitive instinct kicked in, and I decided to take it one step further and actually do some writing on those artist’s dates. Hence, “Writing in Public Places.”
No, not just coffee joints, that would be cheating. Real places where real people go to do real things, in reality. As opposed to places where writers go to burrow inside their own heads and avoid reality. Or where they go to sit in front of their laptops and have everybody think they’re writing, which is sometimes all you can manage. I’m being kind here, as if all those people who sit in front of their laptops at Starbucks really are writers, and not just trying to look cool and pick up boys/girls.
So even though today I was strongly tempted to remain on the couch all day with Kathy Griffin’s Official Book Club Selection, here I am sitting on Dockweiler Beach, listening to planes go by overhead. Okay, I’ll be honest. Possibly I would not have budged from the couch had not my irritating neighbors thrown an Easter Egg hunt, filling the air with high-pitched squeals of excited little children and obnoxious little dogs.
But here I am nevertheless, and since I got here on my bike, I’m not even equipped with my laptop. I’m not even pretending to be cool all alone on this uncomfortable concrete bench. Instead, I’ve got this ridiculously small blank book--purple leather cover, hand-bound fancy paper ($8.99 at Cost Plus World Market)--and I am scribbling with an old green Uni-ball pen.
This is what my first draft looked like.
I hate writing things by hand. I have terrible handwriting, made worse by this shaky little book and chronic injuries to my wrists from years of pounding keyboards. (I’m a Dragon girl at home, and have gotten pretty good at the dictation thing. You know more about that than you really want to know if you read my previous blog. Which I’m not linking to here, because the pictures of my surgery are just too gross.)
I’m flipping back the pages now and noticing how much more legible I was when I began. Oh well, will edit heavily later anyway.
Yes, I admit to editing--and proofreading--my blog. I know we are living in a “publish first” universe now, but I am a compulsive re-writer, and I am completely psycho about spelling and punctuation. (Shout out to Mrs. Shaw, my 3rd grade teacher, for teaching me about the “sem-eye colon.”)
I love semi-colons, and not just for those little winking smileys. I love the “I’m finished with that thought; here’s another thought that kind of goes along with it” concept--not a full stop, not just a pause, but something in between. It’s my bi-sexual punctuation mark.
But you notice I don’t use them anymore. Hollywood has broken me of the habit. The semi-colon is too high-brow. I don’t want to look erudite or anything. Erudite people are not hip enough to write movies that will make lots of money. Now I use the dash.
It’s very popular in business writing to use a single hyphen surrounded by space - like that. Most screenwriters use a double hyphen -- also surrounded by space. I like to jam my double hyphens right down between the words--like that. I don’t know why. I don’t know why in Hollywood we still use the double hyphen, instead of allowing our software to turn them into the more elegant and slender “m” dash.
I personally hate when my software turns anything into anything. (Don’t even get my started on the evils of dictation software.) When I type (or dictate) “(c),” I don’t want to see © appear on the screen. Thank you, Bill Gates, for idiot-proofing the software so thoroughly that I have to trick it into doing what I want it to do, not what you want it to do!
There’s an irony to the fact that I am sitting on the beach, writing by hand on actual paper, and I end up bitching about software. I am possibly a little teensy bit obsessed with my computer. Clearly, I’ve had more reality today than I can handle. I think I’ll go home and continue this in virtuality. But first, let me check my e-mail on my phone.
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