February 2007 Archives

IFP is having a screening of AWAY FROM HER, Sarah Polley's directorial debut, followed by a Q & A with the indie queen herself, this coming Monday night.  I must go to this screening.  I must not, however, have to pay the $95 to join IFP.  If anyone has a contingency plan for this disaster, please let me know. 

I am working on several projects right now, writing-wise, all of them different, all of them uniquely challengely, and all of them driving me crazy, in their own mentally unstable, hair-pulling, pill-popping, endearing little ways.  I am not enough of a professional (or a professional at all) to have a complete grasp of my process, but I will say this:  My writing is at its best when I am working on several things at once.  For a long time, I didn't think this was true. I had to finish something before I even thought about another idea.  That was before I understood the concept that nothing is ever finished, and if you wait for something to be finished, you will just be frustrated and creatively insecure.  Everyone will always have an opinion, probably something you've never thought of before, and, while you don't have to take every note you're given, you do have to have an open mind.  This, however, does not make re-writing any easier.  Nothing makes re-writing any easier.  It's the single most important skill you can have, the ability to take notes and implement them without having to have your hand held, but it's a pain in my ass.  Or yours.  You know, whatever.  The collective ass. 

Which is why I like to be drafting something while re-writing something else.  When I'm drafting, I have the silly thought that whatever it is I'm working on is gonna be great.  This false perception gives me the confidence to wade through the mish-mash of tomfoolery, sloppiness, and utter gnashing of teeth that is re-writing on another project.  

What's the lesson in all this, you may ask?  Well, nothing.  I'm writing this entry to half-assedly explain my crankiness over the past few days.  I'm rewriting a pilot, working on some prose that's personal and laughable, and starting a comedy spec.  I'm also having nightmares, so I'm not sleeping well (apparently, Vince Vaughn Kevlar is now recurring), and I'm being just plain mean to about everyone I speak to.  Not that you're not all assholes, but still, I feel kinda guilty.  So here's your apology, half-ass and desperately in need of a rewrite.  Vince Vaughn made me do it.     

As some of you may have noticed, I have not been blogging.  If you were to ask me why (which would imply that you care), I would not be able to give you any sort of coherent answer, other than the fact that I've been working on my own writing, getting next to nothing done, and feeling rather frustrated with myself and my apparent lack of ability or energy.  But really, I'm not whining.  For the most part, I've been happy.  Take yesterday, for example, when the Designated Driver not only ordered pizza in celebration of the Oscars, but also made guacamole and cobbler.  Apparently, food makes me happy right now.  As does sleep.  Again, take yesterday, wherein I did not drag my fat ass off the couch until around 2 PM to go for a jog.  But seriously, why leave your house when there's an SVU marathon on USA? 

Also, I have started this horribly annoying habit of falling asleep on the couch, then sleeping there until, say, 7:30 AM, at which point I stumble into my room and sleep for another hour or so.  The problem is that my DVD player is broken, and I don't have cable in my room.  I have to have background noise when I fall asleep.  Otherwise, I will hear evil spirits and murderers and Bill Cosby's unforgettable Ghost Dad.  Serves me right, I guess, cause I had a nightmare last night.  A Vince Vaughn nightmare.  He was a serial killer who was basically made of a kevlar, and I had a gun, but what use is a gun against a man made of kevlar?  He was also half-robot, which is still confusing to me, as Vince Vaughn is about the least robotic person I can think of.  Anyway, I woke up in a panic around 4:30, then could not get back to sleep.  Guess I shouldn't eat cobbler and guacamole in the same sitting, huh? 

TNuts had her baby!!!  Chlydia wrote a lovely recount of the weekend's events - check it out at kylydia.wordpress.com.  Now, I'm not much for babies.  In fact, they frighten me, what with their tiny fingers and toes and their alleged "soft spots," which I'm always afraid I'm going to mistake for a Staples Easy Button.  Every Christmas, as my cousins consistently forget to use condoms, babies are added to our family, and everyone likes to hand said babies off to me, then point and laugh at my look of both terror and confusion.  What if I drop it?  What if it cries, and then everyone will know babies don't like me?  What if I forget I'm holding a baby and fall asleep, then drop it?  Oh, wait.  This isn't about me.  This is about TNuts, and how awesome she is, and how lucky her son is to have her as a mom.  He's such a cute baby, I don't know if I'd be able to resist picking him up, were I less than two thousand miles away.  But as is, I'll have to wait for Derby.  Guess this means I'll have to stay sober for a couple of hours - I'm gonna go out on a limb and say it'll be worth it.

 

You know my favorite way to start the day?  Yep.  You guessed it.  With a snarky email from Cliffhanger. 

"From:  Cliffhanger

To:  Mascriv

Subject:  I am a Pain in Your Ass (note:  Melissa made up this subject because she is a bitch) 

You're pissing me off. As of tomorrow, you will not have blogged in a week. I'm upset. I'm sure your other friends think you are dead. Are we overloading you with other writing? Being a reclusive writer has its perks, but that doesn't look good on the blog front."

Back to me bitching about snarky emails.  I know.  I've been a bad blogger.  Some people may or may not know what's going on in my life.  Others, like Cliffhanger, who spend approximately 89% (I'm sure this is incorrect, but I can't add or subtract, nor do I have any concept of reality, so deal with it) of their waking/non-working hours with me, know it all.  And she of all people should know that I have not been a recluse lately.  Luckily, I know her well enough to know her motives, as there were several gems this weekend she'd love me to recount on this here blog, including her inappropriate working of the phrase, "I'm sooooo wet right now" into every other sentence she spoke at Successful Writer's kick ass Superbowl party (at least it made us seem intriguing to several people at said party), the fundraiser for impoverished Asian children we accidentally attended on Saturday night (we expected disco dancing, we got slides of hungry children set to Michael Jackson - perky, happy Michael Jackson), and our four hour jaunt to Swinger's between the hours of midnight and four AM for peach cobbler.  I know, I know, these are not details, and I'm going to get yelled at for being passive aggressive, but really I'm just a little tired and in need of a nap, so you'll have to wait till tomorrow to hear stories of wetness and cobbler.