Of Muffins and Coffee

Hello again.

I suppose this will serve as a warm up before I start my notes on this script once more. I've chosen again to write the notes by hand, for some reason the process of doing it that way helps me follow through. Also, I suppose, I look a bit more professional to these people occupying this coffee shop. That's a plus. I hope one day they'll ask me for a business card, and I can say, "No."

I am also currently listening to a Rayess Bek album that I bought the other day. He is pretty freaking rad, flipping between languages as he hip-hops in my brain. I wonder if it'll be conducive to good writing. Haven't tried yet, tonight will be a test.

And so I sit, with a cup of coffee and a chocolate chocolate chip muffin, ready to write.

Thanks for the company.

(I read Neil Gaiman's blog, and it seems like he has things to say all the time. Maybe it's because he gets asked questions. Ask me questions. Or maybe its because he keeps bees. Or maybe its because he is an accomplished, famous writer. Whatever.)

A Breath of Fresh Air

I've gotten second wind in my writing life. It seems like every day this week I've been off to the park or coffee shop just to write and work on things. I'm currently making notes (handwritten. that's just how I felt, and it got me going. do what it takes.) on some of my partner's section in our anti-hero script. This is long overdue, and I'm a douche bag. I get it. Better late than never, because we've got a good idea that just happens to be marketable. It's not every day you get those.

As a writer, you can't only just write things with marketing in mind. You just gotta write it down. Evict it from living in your head and make it set up shop written down somewhere. Even if it isn't complete or done, just get it out. It'll get all jumbled and overwhelming if you don't purge every once in a while and I need to get a lot better at keeping my hand on that release valve. I'm consciously aware afterwards, however, if what I've barfed onto my laptop's hard drive can be published or marketed... though, I have never really done either of those. I can just sense it. Just because I rarely go out on the limb to try and get stuff out there (YET.), doesn't mean I'm not right about feeling that stuff out. I've trusted this feeling before with other people's work to some success, so maybe that means I'm a better reader/editor/gut feeler/producer kind of guy than I am a writer.

Anywho, on the same good news front in the realm of writing: the project I'm writing with He Who Must Not Be Named (yes, that one.) is going swimmingly. After my bout of writer's block, a bit of inspiration came from an amazingly inventive and well written section by him. He single handedly kicked me in the idea factory and I ended up producing my section way before my deadline. So, thanks to him. What we're writing means a lot to me, and probably him, so whatever it ends up being, I'm sure we'll both love it and the process.

Time to flip back up to the opening thoughts of this post and talk a little about where to write. The short answer is: Wherever pushes you to fucking write.

I've rarely found that I get a lot done at home; there are too many distractions. Maybe that's just what I tell myself, but I end up surfing the web or playing videogames. Watching a movie or whatever. None of that is bad until it eclipses what I want to get done. So I leave. I may still have internet access at these places, but I am more embarrassed to check Facebook and read really nerdy things in public. Fark is okay, I can read that as a break out there in the world, but checking Gamepro religiously is just... well... unacceptable for some reason. It probably would creep others out just as it does me. I still listen to music no matter where I go though, and I can take breaks just to stop and watch people as well. If I want, order a drink and a muffin. And write write write.

I spend so much time in my room at home that the idea of Getting Out uncorks my creativity. Isn't that the basis of much imagination? To get away? For me it is.

But alas, the Grind is closing as I write this, so I will clean up my dishes and head home. Probably play xbox until tomorrow. Have a wonderful whenever-you-read-this, everyone.

Jobs.

It's been a while, but I thought I'd update for the sake of updating.

I, like most of the nation, am looking for a job. A job with benefits that I do not hate, preferably in Ohio or in eastern Indiana or western Pennsylvania. Hopefully Ohio so I can just go to school here while doing it. Grad school. Yep.

Jobs are scarce. There is still talk of me nailing down a job with that producer in LA, which would be sweet, because then I could work from Ohio, and I'd be doing something I love. No benefits, but I could totally go to school while working it. Win win. Which reminds me, I'll call him today to see what's up. I think he's got a short film in production this month that I was invited to be on the set of, but due to financial woes I will no be able to. Yes, it IS a cool horror film. I wish I could check it out.

MONEY, for god sakes, people. MONEY.

Well, back to this project I'm working on/taking "breaks" to look for jobs.

Maybe a full update later, complete with my awesome sense of humor.

WARMING UP

A lot has happened since we last danced, blog, but I want to focus on writing. So here's a brief list of all that happened:

- Driving

- Girlfriend

- Philadelphia

- Golf

- 4th of July

- Bachelor's Party

- Wedding

- Grandma's 80th Birthday

- Puppy Visit

- Driving

- Girlfriend Leaving

- Golf

There. That's about it. All of it was good.

Now, writing.

Didn't do any. That list is devoid of it.

It's my turn for a deadline on the Secret Project, and I'll be working on that next. Blog is first, blog is warm up. Then after the SP, I'll move on to the script that has been hell of neglected by me, and I'll try and take some weight off Mike's shoulders. At least I've read what he's written. That's a start.

Oh shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit. I lied. I did do a bit of writing while I was gone, and it ties into what I want to pontificate on tonight. I wrote a speech, for the wedding, as one of the best men.

Public speaking is horrifying. I was talking to my cousin at my Gma's birthday party and he threw out a staggering statistic that more people think that public speaking is scarier than death than the other way around. People would rather die than have to speak in front of people. I blame technology... and that speaking in front of people is a literal evil.

I knew I had wanted to talk about us as friends, our group, instead of focus specifically on Skip and Emily. This was a risk, and the internet told me not to do this. It was their day, after all, and I should be focused on them. I just really wanted to get to the point of how much the groom's side of the wedding party loved Skip, and that even after everything we've been through, that it didn't mean shit in the face of us still being friends like we used to be. In a way, reassuring him that nothing was really going to change now that he's married.

This, my friends, is the UNEDITED, not-note card version of the speech that I wrote. A lot of it was kept in, but I did cut stuff out and reword things. I will try to remember and mark what I changed:

Hi there – sorry to interrupt any scintillating conversations that might have been going on, but I’ve been told a few speeches are in order, and that because I’m a best man I’m require—I mean--- lucky enough to take part.

Many of you don’t know me I’m sure, my name’s Brian, and I’ve known Skip for about 11 years. I’ve known Emily for much less, having met her only a few times because of distances and school, and that’s probably why I wasn’t chosen to be a maid of honor as well.

I wasn’t quite sure how to go about writing a wedding toast, so probably like every single other person giving a speech tonight, I googled it. All the websites claimed that I should walk the fine line between being delightfully charming and intensely funny, both things I probably have never been, regardless of what you’ve been told.

[If you look at this table of groomsmen and the groom, you will see a group of friends that has not changed at all in the decade we’ve known each other, no matter where in the country we have been hiding this whole time. I’ve always been told that I’m not supposed to talk about the bachelor party after it has been completed, but we are a different breed of friends, and there was a moment that I’d like to recall that sums up my point.] Taken out. Thought it was redundant.

Kyle, the other Best Man, began to tell me how much he loves how we as a group can just pick right back up where we left off. That’s it’s like we never went our separate ways. [I took this in for a moment and decided, yes, what with all the mountain dew and Super Mario Brothers we were playing it was as if this was just a normal weekend in 8^th grade.] Changed and reworded and reinserted later in the speech.

[And while writing this and recalling what Kyle had said, I was very pleased that I FINALLY had a segway into being able to talk about the glory days of middle school.] Reworded. We were all locked into the three year “smart kid” classes together, and we all had our categories. Isaac always seemed to have money, Jason could remember and quote Algebra books, I think, Brent read more books than were published those three years, and I was your average “heartthrob.” Skip, now Skip was the quiet one. [The doodler.] Kept his trapper keeper to himself and worked on his art. We cornered every kind of personality category in our group. We were the unstoppable Justice League of dance-going, button up shirt-wearing, afraid to ask girls to dance, cologne wearing boys and we ruled that school in eighth grade. Who were we to guess then that we’d conquer those fears of girls and be getting married someday. [Who would have guessed that that quiet artist of us would be the first to get on that train to marriage town?] Removed completely, and I regret it.

And then in 9^th grade, everything changed. Brent was the first to go. He moved on to St. Pete’s here in Mansfield, paving the way for Skip to meet Emily a few years down the road. I moved shortly after Brent. It wasn’t great, but it taught us early on how to deal with what would come in college anyway, and it made us mature and grow and realize that we had a different form of friendship, and that every time we would be together it very well could be just like 8^th grade all over again. Plus, like I said, it led to Skip meeting Emily.

Skip: I am, we are, honored to be here in your wedding as your friends and your family. Just because I didn’t bring up anything embarrassing about you tonight doesn’t mean I won’t later on. Watch yourself.

Emily: Take care of our dear friend when we’re not around. We know he will be the very best husband he can.

Please raise your glasses:

To this beautiful wedding and the parents who provided it and worked to raise the two wonderful and beautiful people married tonight.

And to Skip and Emily, I’m so honored to know you both. And I know I speak for the whole room when I say we wish you all the happiness and luck in the world. Congratulations.

I was told by being singled out by some people a few time afterwards that it was good. No, no just by my Girlfriend or my Dad. And that was a bizarre feeling for me. I'll tell you why it was weird and a shock to hear that I had done well: The night before, I started to panic. I thought that everything I had written was lame and that my jokes sucked The Big One. I was afraid that I hadn't talked about Skip enough, let alone Emily. But I think that the main reason I was worried was that it was the first time outside of school that I had to creatively write something specifically to be read aloud.

Now, I guess everything should probably sound decent read aloud if it's good, but I hadn't ever thought of that when writing short stories and the such (other than dialogue). How was I to cue myself to read it a certain way, what way did I want to read it? Would I sound stupid? Is the language pretty or just plain stupid?

Not only that, but I'm not even remotely the most confident when it comes to things that I've written that aren't to be read aloud. Let alone confident in front of a hundred people. Strangers. Their eyes fixated on me, ready to stab my neck and face if I say something that falls flat. Those horrible, judging people. *shudder*

By the time I was transferring and doing last minute panic-induced editing to note cards, it was too late to write a new, less lame speech in my mind. I couldn't wing it, that would have been bad for me. No, I had to say, "Oh well" and be aware of the cards burning in my jacket pocket the whole day. There wasn't anything I told myself to be reassuring. No "it'll be okay" or "they don't know you, so fuck them and their thoughts" or "come on dude, 'marriage town' will absolutely kill." I just had to go through with it. And hey, it didn't turn out so bad. People laughed where I wanted them to, I wasn't shaking very noticeably, and I got through it. Everyone liked it, and it was a very cool feeling...

... a feeling that will be forgotten and replaced with fear the next time I have to publicly speak again, I'm sure.

Okay. Warm up complete. Onto the SECRET PROJECT OF INFINITE COOL AND GENIUS.

New Posts

A flurry of new posts soon.

I took a break from writing to spend time with my girlfriend, family, and friends. A few of them even got married, so I was busy.

Right. Real update tomorrow night. Err. Tonight.

DEADLINES = ?

The haitus and joking around get an F.

I don't know what exactly has been going on with me, but I have not been writing at all. I'm sorry I tried to trick you with those Arthur comics.

I've been all out of sorts in a lot of areas in my life and I need to get back on track. I'm becoming complacent with doing nothing and living at home. It's complete bullshit, let me tell you. I think (hope?) I'm going through some sort of change, a metamorphosis, as a person and most importantly as a writer. You see, before now I had enjoyed a rather easy and fruitful time writing things. Some of it good, some of it will never see the light of day. The point is that I was getting shit done. And I know why.

Deadlines.

I was in school, loving the idea of becoming a writer, because school forced me to write and I loved every minute of it. I liked the pressure to create, to type and scribble. Now that I'm not in school, there are zero consequence to me not writing. Every once in a while I'll get irked reminders from my girlfriend or writing partners, but they know me, and I'm not getting graded, so I know they'll let it slide. They'll understand if I don't feel like writing today. Or tomorrow. Or for three weeks. I could set my own deadlines, but that works for a whopping 0% of the times I try to do it.

I have no willpower.

Does this mean I should have chosen another career path? One with security and all that bullshit?

NO.

It just means I have to grow a pair and change. Make the conscious effort to better some stuff. I have a whole laundry list of things that need changed about myself. It would probably be easier to do just one at a time, but what if they're all connected? Hard-wired into the socket of my withering self confidence and lack of motivation?

If I work out and go to the gym, I'll see changes and perhaps that confidence will bleed into my writing, or my search for work, or my hunt for a Grad School.

I could most definitely just interchange any one of those subjects, put a different one at the front, and that small spark of confidence just might shower through in the same way. So I think it's very possible to do it all at once, because I think it's a whole package. Me. I'm the package. Get it? I go without even one part to that package and I bleed all over the kitchen. Nobody likes that, especially my dinner guests. They (and I) would prefer that I not mess up the linoleum.

I just have to start mopping and put that plug back in.

Easy, right?

NO.

I'll have to force myself at some point, and I'm going to start with writing. Know why? Because I love it. I can't live without it, and want to do it. So I'll start of doing that, because I enjoy it. I'll force myself to write a bit each day, and I'll feel good about myself. And if I feel good about myself, maybe I'll say, "Hey. I wrote that. Let's go RUN MILES."

I hope.

Point is, without deadlines on anything (be it health, writing, finding a job, or a grad school), it's easy to get lost in your own sloth. So, you gotta be your own prick of a professor threatening you with grades.

DEADLINES = B+/A- RANGE

INSPIRATION = ?

Inspiration comes in many forms.

For the past few days it has been coming in a blank-comic form, featuring the characters from Arthur:

See? See how fun that is? You can just add whatever you want her to say, and then she will get hit every time. You could have her pontificate on religion (click to make bigger):

Or just utter simple statements:

Any way you choose to do it, 99% of the time it will be hilarious.

... Dammit. If only I could work up the drive to write stuff that matters.

INSPIRATION = HILARITY SOMETIMES