I think I know my issue with blogs. I can't help but feel like I am talking into a vacuum. I'm not used to that, I am used to feedback. On stage, I get instant feedback. Even if there is no sounds of laughing or coughing, I can feel when the room is focused on the story, on the moment of interaction. I hate to admit it, but as much as I pretend to be a writer (I do enjoy being on my own), I am an actor, and I need people, I need conversation, I need interaction. What I've really felt writing this blog is that while I may have an audience in mind (albeit one person, depending on my mood), I'm really writing to no one, at least that is my feeling on this end. Doesn't that sound so whiney and camp? "Ooh, poor poor me, wasting my fingers away on this cold, plastic mat, coated with the most basic elements of language with nobody to share it with." Yeah. Lame. Ignore that bit, that's the actory side of me. Now, the equally vain but deeper part of me wants this to be a dialogue, or conversation. At least less of me talking to the Great Wall of the internet.
Man, I remember my metaphors being much more intelligent. I thought doing a lot of reading today would have helped that bit. Oh well. Here's what it is: I want questions. I want to answer questions. I do have thoughts all day long, but it gets tiring answering my own questions, especially when if I know I'm the only one listening, I won't surprise myself with the answers. I only surprise myself when I'm talking with other [real] people. Like when you have a problem that's bugging you, and the second you ask someone else about it you get the answer. That's what it's like, but I am also aware that when the pressure is on, that's how writing is. When I've truly had pressure to write, the most amazing connections and solutions come out of me, because I can't rely on time and thinking, only on the moment and how brilliantly ideas coalesce, like turning coal into diamonds with heat and pressure. Then again I sometimes get ridiculously long sentences. Short ones too. For effect.
All my ramblings aside, I want questions. Whatever they are. Bring me the heat and pressure.
Bite size nuggets of self-helptual inspirationality.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Growing pains and stretch marks
I've been fighting the pressure to grow up most of my life. I seem to give in now and then as need be (the key part there is need), but never grew up voluntarily. I think that might be how it's supposed to be. I don't want to give up my big dreams, but to make them happen, it seems I have to at least look like I'm a big boy who's responsible. I think the first step would be to stop complaining about it and just do it already.
This must be what normal people feel like.
This must be what normal people feel like.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Time and compulsion
Still trying to figure out how I can say yes to one thing and not say no to another. For a while there I said yes to most everything, but that burned me out, so now I am more selective. This gives me more "free" time, but I also feel like I am missing out on things, which is true. I think I even felt that before, but I have more time to feel it now.
I watched a program on savants on the Science channel. They have this compulsion in their brain that they cannot turn off. I do sometimes wish I had that so I would be compelled to write and create, but I am very glad I have the ability to turn it off. An uncontrollable obsession is not something I desire...that much.
I want to take a few more classes in different things, but I am focusing myself (instead of saying limiting myself) to two things outside of work; writing and improv. Other acting is mildly on hold...or at least limited, and though I see workshops on producing and other things I would like to learn, I have to say no to them if I want to keep my sanity.
Yep. I'm complaining about wanting to do more things. In all honesty, I think this blog is an excuse to not write, which is really what the rest of life is for writers. Even for Russel T. Davies (former showrunner for the new Doctor Who). At least I'm in good company. The question for me now is: how do I up the pressure to write without overtaxing myself? That's my next lesson in self control/motivation. I am open to suggestion (and threats if necessary).
I watched a program on savants on the Science channel. They have this compulsion in their brain that they cannot turn off. I do sometimes wish I had that so I would be compelled to write and create, but I am very glad I have the ability to turn it off. An uncontrollable obsession is not something I desire...that much.
I want to take a few more classes in different things, but I am focusing myself (instead of saying limiting myself) to two things outside of work; writing and improv. Other acting is mildly on hold...or at least limited, and though I see workshops on producing and other things I would like to learn, I have to say no to them if I want to keep my sanity.
Yep. I'm complaining about wanting to do more things. In all honesty, I think this blog is an excuse to not write, which is really what the rest of life is for writers. Even for Russel T. Davies (former showrunner for the new Doctor Who). At least I'm in good company. The question for me now is: how do I up the pressure to write without overtaxing myself? That's my next lesson in self control/motivation. I am open to suggestion (and threats if necessary).
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Letters
I don't write letters anymore. By that I just mean I haven't written one in quite a while, maybe almost a year or so. I used to write them more.
I wrote one to Stephen Speilberg letting him know he should remember my name because I have big plans, and once they are achieved, he will be very impressed. I wrote a letter to the woman who did the voice of Cortana in the Halo video game series after seeing her in a play in Portland. I said "I was pleasantly surprised to see Cortana playing Elizabeth Bennet."
Yep, I'm a silly little boy at times.
In addition to letters telling people to remember my name because I am going to be big someday, I also wrote letters telling people to remember my name because I wanted them to have it. Love letters. I miss writing those, or maybe the excuse to write them...or just everything about them.
There's something powerful behind writing down words, especially by hand. Maybe it's the whole real world part of it, or the fact that it cannot be deleted, or the other fact that very few things in the real world show evidence of being touched by a human, especially people.
Maybe it's the idea that all that time and physical effort, although it's generally simple, has a very specific audience of one person. Emails can be copied and sent like nothing, and blogs...well, not that more than a dozen people have ever glanced over mine, but it's not very personal to anyone other than myself. A letter though, is a private work, generally a labor of love in some form, which is a special kind of special that only seems rare to those who don't see it often enough. --I think that's where we all are right now.
I wrote one to Stephen Speilberg letting him know he should remember my name because I have big plans, and once they are achieved, he will be very impressed. I wrote a letter to the woman who did the voice of Cortana in the Halo video game series after seeing her in a play in Portland. I said "I was pleasantly surprised to see Cortana playing Elizabeth Bennet."
Yep, I'm a silly little boy at times.
In addition to letters telling people to remember my name because I am going to be big someday, I also wrote letters telling people to remember my name because I wanted them to have it. Love letters. I miss writing those, or maybe the excuse to write them...or just everything about them.
There's something powerful behind writing down words, especially by hand. Maybe it's the whole real world part of it, or the fact that it cannot be deleted, or the other fact that very few things in the real world show evidence of being touched by a human, especially people.
Maybe it's the idea that all that time and physical effort, although it's generally simple, has a very specific audience of one person. Emails can be copied and sent like nothing, and blogs...well, not that more than a dozen people have ever glanced over mine, but it's not very personal to anyone other than myself. A letter though, is a private work, generally a labor of love in some form, which is a special kind of special that only seems rare to those who don't see it often enough. --I think that's where we all are right now.
Monday, February 21, 2011
Apparently specific
Crap, I forgot I committed myself to doing this every day. I think that was only one or two blogs ago. Life happens. I just need to deal with that fact...no, I just need to accept that as fact. The two might look the same from the outside but make all the difference inside. The point is, I'm here saying things when I have nothing to say, but so much I want to say.
I want to talk about my first improv show at the Brody (level 3 class), and compare the art form to Hopi sand painting. Etherial, temporal. You have to be there to see them, because they are not built to last, they are built as a brief experience alone, like life itself. I want to talk about how I am happy to have gotten an email from the Brody people saying I am invited into level 4 performance lab, which means more chances to to this in front of people, but also means new people, which is what it is.
I want to talk about how I'll miss some of the people I've worked with, knowing that even if we all move on to 4, it will be about 16 people strong vs the 5 people intimacy of level 3. I want to talk about the past classes, how through all of them people have come and gone, with only, what, 3 or 4 of us that went through levels 1, 2a, 2b and 3 together? I want to talk about how my life has had wonderful moments with people flitting in and out of it, and that the moment is really all you have...or maybe that's just the song from the recent 30 Rock episode fumbling through my thoughts.
What I really want to talk about is life itself; the mystery. Though I guess I did, looking up at what I wrote. The more specific I am, the more people can relate to it. That's one of my favorite paradoxes in writing, or creating. The sheer volumetric power of specificity.
I want to talk about my first improv show at the Brody (level 3 class), and compare the art form to Hopi sand painting. Etherial, temporal. You have to be there to see them, because they are not built to last, they are built as a brief experience alone, like life itself. I want to talk about how I am happy to have gotten an email from the Brody people saying I am invited into level 4 performance lab, which means more chances to to this in front of people, but also means new people, which is what it is.
I want to talk about how I'll miss some of the people I've worked with, knowing that even if we all move on to 4, it will be about 16 people strong vs the 5 people intimacy of level 3. I want to talk about the past classes, how through all of them people have come and gone, with only, what, 3 or 4 of us that went through levels 1, 2a, 2b and 3 together? I want to talk about how my life has had wonderful moments with people flitting in and out of it, and that the moment is really all you have...or maybe that's just the song from the recent 30 Rock episode fumbling through my thoughts.
What I really want to talk about is life itself; the mystery. Though I guess I did, looking up at what I wrote. The more specific I am, the more people can relate to it. That's one of my favorite paradoxes in writing, or creating. The sheer volumetric power of specificity.
Friday, February 18, 2011
The weight of the world
I love baths. I try to take as many of them as I can. That is my time, alone to think, and read, and create...mostly just to indulge in myself, my body relaxing and my mind minding.
That's my selfish time where I dream about future stories, both my own future (Emmy acceptance speech "...thank you.") and stories I want to tell (how exactly should I beat out that episode? What image can I not separate myself from?). The bath is where the world gets sucked out of me and into the epsom salts (yes, I use them), and bubbles, just for fun (and the scent of pomegranate or cherry blossom is just a nice thing to have around sometimes).
Not sure why I'm using so many parenthesis, these words are being said whether I pretend they're supposed to be a cute secret joke or not.
I just started reading "The Writer's Tale: the Final Chapter", a dialogue between former Doctor Who showrunner Russel T Davies and writer Benjamin Cook. I am opening myself up to that same bold use of honesty. Not sure how this will change or effect my blogs, but I do know that they will be different in some way henceforth. I've just given myself permission, which is..well, just what it is.
The story I was thinking of writing while in the bathtub:
I sometimes enjoy hitting the drain when I am done with the warm water and lie there as it drains, the water lowering in the tub, my body sinking down and down, getting heavier and heavier. What struck me today, is that I've never felt that my body was getting heavier, it's just as I describe it that I think that word. In my mind, every time I do this, I feel the cold air covering more of my front and the heaviness the air brings with it as evidence (in my mind) that I am traveling through space at fantastic speed, accelerating. The weight in my body is proof for that image that I am going faster and faster, and the world is pushing by me so fast I can feel its coldness press against me, waking me up.
What I find is that it is so much harder for me to get up and out of an empty bathtub that has recently been full than it is to get out of one that was empty all along. This is my deep statement that takes me to a million different places. The weight of the world upon re-entry. It's heavy, and worth feeling from time to time.
That's my selfish time where I dream about future stories, both my own future (Emmy acceptance speech "...thank you.") and stories I want to tell (how exactly should I beat out that episode? What image can I not separate myself from?). The bath is where the world gets sucked out of me and into the epsom salts (yes, I use them), and bubbles, just for fun (and the scent of pomegranate or cherry blossom is just a nice thing to have around sometimes).
Not sure why I'm using so many parenthesis, these words are being said whether I pretend they're supposed to be a cute secret joke or not.
I just started reading "The Writer's Tale: the Final Chapter", a dialogue between former Doctor Who showrunner Russel T Davies and writer Benjamin Cook. I am opening myself up to that same bold use of honesty. Not sure how this will change or effect my blogs, but I do know that they will be different in some way henceforth. I've just given myself permission, which is..well, just what it is.
The story I was thinking of writing while in the bathtub:
I sometimes enjoy hitting the drain when I am done with the warm water and lie there as it drains, the water lowering in the tub, my body sinking down and down, getting heavier and heavier. What struck me today, is that I've never felt that my body was getting heavier, it's just as I describe it that I think that word. In my mind, every time I do this, I feel the cold air covering more of my front and the heaviness the air brings with it as evidence (in my mind) that I am traveling through space at fantastic speed, accelerating. The weight in my body is proof for that image that I am going faster and faster, and the world is pushing by me so fast I can feel its coldness press against me, waking me up.
What I find is that it is so much harder for me to get up and out of an empty bathtub that has recently been full than it is to get out of one that was empty all along. This is my deep statement that takes me to a million different places. The weight of the world upon re-entry. It's heavy, and worth feeling from time to time.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Even knitting became a fad again
I can spell the impending downfall of Facebook. I hear people quitting the site all over, for various reasons, maybe because it's turned into a drug for some, maybe because I live in a city of hipsters and their little site has gotten too big for them to appreciate it, maybe it's the pervasive selling of "personal" information. Either way, it can't last much longer as it is in our world.
Our world changes so fast now. One fad to another. Remember that singing fish? I think that was about five fads ago. How do you stay fresh and hip (other than not saying the phrase "fresh and hip")? I do a lot of thinking on that front, on how people create things that are consistently on the cusp of the next thing. What recently occured to me is the longer, easier route, where you don't worry about the rest of the world. Just keep doing what you do. The world may leave you from time to time, but you know that the cycle will bring it right back to your door, so why move to the next big city when you can renovate your own home and stay right there?
Yep, I think I'm getting old.
Our world changes so fast now. One fad to another. Remember that singing fish? I think that was about five fads ago. How do you stay fresh and hip (other than not saying the phrase "fresh and hip")? I do a lot of thinking on that front, on how people create things that are consistently on the cusp of the next thing. What recently occured to me is the longer, easier route, where you don't worry about the rest of the world. Just keep doing what you do. The world may leave you from time to time, but you know that the cycle will bring it right back to your door, so why move to the next big city when you can renovate your own home and stay right there?
Yep, I think I'm getting old.
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