X Marks the Singular Masochist

Rita

I have to get ready... I'll meet with a friend and

try to survive the day.

Oops. Rita, my father's widow. She's one of THEM -- unattached adults who have a problem with Christmas. We say good-bye and for a moment I wonder if I should analyze why I'm not feeling anything. Like, empathy or at least guilt about not feeling bad. I shrug and decide it's okay to feel okay. After all, I told her that I'm totally in love with Karl Lagerfeld. I told her about a recent interview and that I totally get him. She called him a crazy nut.

According to Kathy Reichs, by now my father's corpse should be.... oh, wait - he's part of a wall. His urn is. Rita brings that urn flowers. I can relate to that about as much as I can relate to someone who puts out food for the Gods. If the food doesn't vanish, then....? Maybe try a subway station. The food will disappear, I swear. Even half-smoked cigarettes will find new lungs to destroy. Magic! Beer should work, too. Too many unused brain cells on the planet as is. Let's stop the waste, shall we?

Let's face it: for a single person who feels bad this time of year, Rita could be doing worse. It must be the same mechanism that is at work in ad campaigns: a need is created people didn't know they had, it's being reinforced over and over, word of mouth makes the round, you need to keep up with the neighbors and if you can't, you're the odd person out. The poor poor product-less chick. Better get moving or at least start feeling sorry, Have-not. Watch some Christmas movies and get into the spirit prontissimo.

Like the many others who then try to drown their imaginary sorrows in alcohol. Too bad that alcohol, like fat, can't find a target. You tell the fat to hang onto your chest area, for example, but it has butter fingers. It slips and slides downward. Even though it's lighter than muscle and I'm pretty sure it would swim in milk!

Alcohol is a depressant. Smart choice. For a masochist, that is.

So, the following day they'll feel... we know this .... worse. Yes. And it will be like in 50 First Dates or Groundhog Day until in ACT III it's finally New Year's Eve. After another day of wallowing in their perceived sorrow plus the physical discomfort, they'll drag their feet back to work.

Of course they took the week off. It's imperative for single/widowed/divorced people to have too much time on their hands in week 52. Nothing ought to distract them from feeling miserable.

The ones who have mastered the art even invite people to their I'm-so-lonely pity party. Free booze. I'm pretty sure it's an industry. There's always money to be made from people's misery. Alone on Christmas? No real problems to worry about? No sucky responsibilities to shoulder or boring functions you have to attend?

Fear not, you child-free Scrooge, you DO have a problem and there's a solution. Join us at Single-No-More for $ 100 (buffet w/cheap caviar plus 1 cocktail included) and you, too, will find your soulmate or at least Mr. Right Now with a big, warm...erm... heart. And a pulse. Guaranteed!

Sign up now and we even throw in a $ 10 off coupon for next year's My-boyfriend-took-my-money-and-went-to-buy-booze-now-I'm-still-waiting... event.

Back to Rita's package, my Christmas package. Every year I amazon her some books I know she'll love (gift wrapped by amazon very nicely, she says) . So there's no running around or standing in insanely long lines at the post office for moi. It's a win-win.

In turn, she sends me a sort of CARE package which absolutely must include chocolates and homemade cookies. My faves, no less. My caloric intake reaches dimensions only known to bears or Rosie O'Donnell.

The withdrawal will take a few days. The feeling that I absolutely need to consume chocolate. I need to put my body on that rollercoaster. Sugar rush. Slump. Repeat. Gain three pounds.

Maybe next year I'll do the smarter thing: give the cookies and chocolates to the subway Gods.

Beating the Nasty P

My house is clean, the laundry done, I'm blogging. This raises one question: what exactly is it that I should be doing but don't? Yep, I'm procrastinating. Big time. Before you get all holier than thou on me.... One word: taxes. Plus, I'm positive I've got to pay. My rather obvious way of preventing myself from doing the nasty task is to do all the other tasks I don't like but still prefer over digging out receipts and crunching numbers. As you know from a previous post, though, housework always gets the creative juices flowing. Hey, I'm on a juice-fast, so? Okay, back to serious:

Moviequill asked in his post for tips re: overcoming procrastination. And no, I'm not responsible for that potty-mouthed headline. Seriously. Not responsible. Okay, so he gave some tips and I remembered an article by Dr. Bill Knaus over at Albert Ellis Foundation, aptly titled Beat Procrastination Now! It's rather long, err, comprehensive. First, you might want to scroll to Mental Diversions chapter. So true and hilarious at the same time. If you're in a hurry, you then want to scroll down to Adopt a Philosophy of Self-Acceptance, that's where the lists start, the step-by-step plan. Yepp, not just one list, several lists.

On the other hand, if you're procrastinating screenwriting, you may just have a problem with your sp. Like me. I'm scared of all three of them at the moment. They're in different mega-evil departments of Rewriting-Hell. But they don't let me be, chars showing up at my bedside. Nice. Or you may stuff your pie-hole with actual pie and afterwards need all that precious energy to digest the pie. Just a thought. Oh, and spectator sports? Don't count. You don't actually exercise while you watch other people playing ball. I know, wouldn't that be cool? We could hire professional exercisers and would all be in the best shape ever - all of the time!

CUT TO:

Several hours and far too many computer-crashes later.....

Numbers are crunched for last year and this year --- not too frightening. There are still some deductions around, I'm sure. Got 3 more days to dig them out. Boy, am I feeling relieved!

And I wrote a couple of scenes for my thriller and a new opening for my rom-com. Longhand, how I hate that. Some very funny stuff, though, love that.

Paging Dr. House

Christ. I feel like this whole damned year they've been sticking needles in me, ultrasounded me, x-rayed different body parts and I'm not exactly feeling oh-so-much better. Let me clarifiy: the meds have given me a different set of symptoms. Like, ah, pain. Don't worry, that's just from the water I'm retaining now, says my doc, and I should just cut the dosage of one of the meds in half, no biggie. Nice. At least you didn't kill me, jerk.

Let's look at the bright side:

I'm not anemic anymore, so I won't collapse for lack of iron again. Nice, right? It's something. I'm Iron Woman now, watch out!

Of course I might collapse while being on that juice fast that I'm doing trying to get rid (pronto!) of those useless six pounds I gained on account of the meds, but hey. Plus, they can keep their expensive not-covered-by-any-health-insurance-plan tests, I'm Ms. Heal Thyself Now. Oh, anger is a powerful thing. A source of power.

Where's Dr. House when you need him, anyway? Many of his less fictitious peers got the sucky bedside manner down but none seem to have the knowledge/skills. Or give me Cristina and Meredith Grey. They might be able to come up with something. Urgh, reality sucks so bad sometimes.

Good thing my TV quit. Again. Third time this year. At least its repair is still covered under warranty. Yepp, it's that kind of a TV. The lemon kind a.k.a. JVC. Repairs usually mean I'll be TV-free for at least a week.

As a general rule, TVs only go black-screen on weekends when the manufacturer hotline is not staffed. Trust me, it works like this all the frigging time. The 2-year warranty ends next month. I seriously would like a replacement TV because I don't think this one puppy will ever just work and not break down again in a few weeks.

So I think while I'm trying not to think of solid food, chewing food, the texture of food, et cetera and so forth, you get my driftwood - hey, Dr. Brown would be good, too. What, he's a brain-doc? Shoot.

I think I might as well trade carpal-tunnel pain for the pain in my fingers that is, supposedly, caused by the edemas caused by the meds. (I said edema, you goof, not enema. By the by, enemas are good, according to Prince Charles. I know, Prince of a country where men still proudly display their chest hair, even über-cool (yeah, right) ex-junkie pop-stars, who am I kidding. There's the train, the train of thought, let's jump back on:) Cause and effect, one scene building on the other, I can hardly remember the frigging inciting incident.

Which, I guess, means that I should run out and get some Gingko Biloba or something since my memory clearly isn't working well, either.

And then I'll read the transcript of next weeks House, M.D. episode (they're airing season 2 here). Huh! JVC will not succeed in keeping me from indulging in my fave addictions. Sure, I've read all the posted Grey's Anatomy transcripts I could find. If someone knows where ALL of them are posted, drop me a comment.

Happy Holiday-weekend!

Writing Season

New dates for those who enjoy to speedwrite in virtual groups:

14 Day Screenplay (screenwriting, duh)

This round will take place Sept. 30 - Oct. 13.

Nanowrimo 2006 (novels)

Novel Writing Month is November! Click on link and sign up for a nice email-reminder.

Several non-fiction translations kept me rather busy this month.

Drugs, drugs everywhere. Argh. I entered the drugstore today and what was the first thing I saw? Yep, DVDs. Of course. I just had to check them out. Mr. & Mrs. Smith was sitting there, darn it. Two of my fave actors in a movie I still haven't seen. A no-brainer. I'm so looking forward to watching it this weekend.

The bonus material is terrific! I'm listening to the director and writer talking about the film right now. Too cool.

Who Fired the Editors?

Seriously, what the hell happened? I can't even express how ticked off I am....

Is it really too much to ask that someone reads over the galleys, perhaps even someone who speaks the language and - yeah, I know, now we're entering the land of witches and fairies - has the ability to spot a typo or that there's an apostroph that doesn't belong?

I thought publishers used to employ people who did just that. Is it now solely the writer's responsibility to hand in a manuscript that's perfect and fit to print as is or, worst case scenario, the translator's?

(Translations are nothing I write about in detail because, quite frankly, I'm worried about my blood pressure. I'd pop a vessel or something, I swear. Nobody seems to check their work. Nobody. That's the only explanation I have for all the horrible incompetent hack jobs I've encountered lately. It's a tough job that requires a broad set of skills and knowledge that far exceeds merely "knowing words". Looking up words in a dictionary won't cut it. Author's tone/voice ought to be preserved and then there's the "little" issue of knowing the culture; knowing both cultures, actually. But I think if someone took the time and read the translation this person would stumble over this or that weird thing just like the reader does in the end. And I would fire any translator who doesn't even know how to translate a simple, everyday word like "business card" into her own language. That must be one huge rock that old lady lives under, holy shit. The paper her degree was printed on must be all yellow by now and she obviously "forgot" to stay current. That is another issue that pops up, believe it or not. Something's missing - classes, perhaps? If you can tell from reading the translation what mistake the translator made before you see the source text then that's bad. That's really bad.)

Seeing typos online, in blog posts or comments, that's a completely different thing. Who edits their blog posts? Who re-reads their comments? I've stumbled over some of my mistakes and couldn't believe it. Hung my head in shame even though there isn't a reason for doing that. Anybody who judges a fellow blogger in that respect lives on another planet, obviously. Or blogs for a purpose other than fun. And most people blog/comment for fun, they take a break from writing or whatever and they don't get paid for it, either. It's not our frigging job. I even cut a newspaper like the NYT or a mag like DER SPIEGEL some slack if there's a typo in an article that I read online. For free.

When I buy a book I have certain expectations. They are all about the story, the author. Until recently, I thought that a text free of typos and grammatical errors would be a given. But now I know better. It's not the odd publisher who quickly under tight deadlines threw a crappy piece on the market but in general it's all good. No. Nu-uh. It's Lübbe Group, it's Limes (Patterson in translation (hardcover, no less)- do not ask; Eschbach), it's Diana Verlag (Melissa Bank (hardcover) in translation - nobody read this before it went to print. I swear. That's the only explanation I have for this mess).

My fave publisher - Diogenes - has Suter, Cuelho and Arjouni on their list of authors. Not only did I realize that hey, I know and recognize a publisher I trust (!!), I now also am aware that they care enough about their authors and their readers not to insult them with sloppy work. I do appreciate that.

It's a collaboration. Should we not be able to expect that each and everyone involved in a project does their job? They want great stories, this that and the other thing from their authors, and they want the readers to shell out the money too, and to keep on buying their products.

In the end, what's a reader to do? The answer is not that simple. If you don't buy a book, the author loses out on royalties. If you do buy it you feel like an idiot for supporting the publisher and telling them via your money that all's swell - when indeed you curse and throw your hands in the air when a typo or grammar mistake threw you out of the story.

I have no answer other than: write to the publisher and let them know how you feel about their product you just purchased. How you feel about their work.

Perhaps they think that either a) we don't notice (dumb customer) or b) we don't care (ignorance is bliss). I don't believe that either one is true. I've seen one customer complain in her review on amazon about typos. But that won't do anything.

Jesus, what a rant. Terrible. I just wish I had no reason to be upset.

I'm extremely curious why this phenomenon is now so common. What has changed in recent years that led to this?

Tight Plot to the Rescue

I've read some mediocre - okay, one was godawful - best! selling! books. Cover to cover. What, you say? Has she lost her edge? Marbles gone fishing or what?

The lesson: P-L-O-T

It's king, it's queen, it's everything.

If you had only those two choices: would you rather read a boring, non-moving book (or watch..... film) where nothing much happens, say, other than on 5 or 6 plot points but it has sort of interesting characters or would you choose the book (film) where something's up every 5 or six pages, even though the chars are not to your liking b/c they're underdeveloped (but perhaps you got 20 of them, or perhaps it's a crime mystery with clues popping up left and right) ?

My answer: I've read a novel that sucked. Twentysome chars, idiotic, but stuff happened all the time and I had to know where it went. Best selling romcom.

On the thriller front: I read Patterson's 1st To Die. Idiotic stereotypical female protag, idiotic Women's Murder Club, stoopidola romance. BUT the other half, the serial killer plot, reeled me in just when I was about to return that thing to the library. At around 100+ pages or so.
(Following volumes in that WMC series were co-written with different authors, the collaborator on the latest two is female, I guess.)

And yep, let me point that out since the question came up elsewhere recently:

We only wonder if the writer is male if your female protag sucks. Got that?

We don't have a general prejudice. Some male writers know they can't write convincing females so they write from the male's POV and focus on him and his friends or whatever. Their female main chars (in romcoms, for ince) might not get much screen time/ many pages. That's perfectly fine, it works.

And some just know how to "write women". Love you guys.

Nuff said.

B-junkie, F- or M-junkie. So what, I buy used.

I don't get people who don't read. Seriously. I can't imagine a life without reading. Hell, I don't want to imagine it. I read a variety of genres. From pulp stuff to literary fiction. Yep, it ain't all Woolf, Camus, Gide, Suter et al all the frigging time. (Don't believe me? What has jet-black hair and green eyes? No, guess again. Nope, next try. Okay, I tell you: one of Jackie Collins'* characters, that's who. See?) That's one reason why I love my black leather backpack - I can always have a book handy. Waiting in line? Horror! Got a book? Allrighty then. (Did ya just see Jim Carrey? Me too.)

Today I read on author Andreas Eschbach's site (note: scroll down, there's a button for English language. French as well, btw) that an "aspiring writer" wanted to know if he indeed "has to read. You know, books." What's that, is writing so much more hip or something? And reading is so yesterday? Christ!

I still remember a reading in Seattle, in a U-District bookstore, with Sherman Alexie. One of the funniest guys ever, for sure. Phantastic sense of humor. He reads in the three digits. A year. I can totally see that.

When I checked in for work last week, waiting in line as usual, there was this guy ahead of me, a book clamped under his arm. I couldn't read author name or title, only the claim that it would be "The best thriller of this year". Wow.

So I tapped on his shoulder. "Yo, what's the best thriller of the year?"

He knew instantly that I was talking about his book. "Der Schwarm by Frank Schätzing." (That's The Swarm by Frank Schatzing to you guys, I know.)

Then the guy in front of Thriller-guy turns around and tells us how he worked at a hotel this summer break and found that everybody is reading the same two or three books. The bestseller list stuff. How weird is that. Dan Brown came up and why he likes to read historical fiction and so forth.

So who the hell are those freaks who don't read? Huh? Who are these people?

They must be mutants. (Or?) the types that just have to play their frigging MP3 stuff - unplugged, meaning without headphones - on the subway. Or gab on their frigging cell phones. Or play games on their effing phones if they can't afford to recharge their prepaid calling cards and gab on for hours about stuff that just. can't. wait. another. nanosecond. It's that effing important.

If I were to believe the headlines of print newspapers, we all don't read. If the numbers are down, something must be off. I can't imagine any more people reading on the subway than I see doing so already.

Perhaps it's the used book sales? With eb-ay and am-azon marketplace, halfpricebooks etc. sure the number of used books bought and sold must have significantly increased, no?

I know I'm in trouble whenever I pass *cough* a bookstore. Yep, passing is the wrong word. I should just write "enter" because passing by one seems to be humanly impossible.

Then there's the other thing... I knew I was in trouble when I saw some bins on the sidewalk last Saturday. After work, of course, plenty of time (mistake. Time plus opportunity equals trouble. Big time.). A bin of DVDs. "They gotta be too expensive", I thought. And "Even if they're not (starting at 3 bucks!?) I'm not gonna buy something I don't know about. Not again. Remember Henry - Portrait of a Serial Killer? Godawful, so foggeddabboudit."

Did I stay away from that bin? Of course not. But I didn't buy anything, right? Right? Oh, well, you see, it wasn't Robin Williams. Hey, with this guy, you never know. No, it was the story concept. I read about that Zoe-chip and how it records your whole life and re-memories and the guy who cuts together a feature-length film from someone's chipped memories.

How effing cool is that? Hey, I had to see it. How bad can it be, I thought? I buy it b/c I have to know what they did with this excellent premise. It's not like Click, where I heard the premise and went HOW COOL, and then I saw the trailer and thought "Shit, another great premise driven into drivel-land." Oh well.

The FINAL CUT I liked a lot. Glad I bought it for 5.50. I also dug The Break-Up, which opened here recently. Only it's weird with that film - it's so much better than the sum of all its many clichés. Weirdorola, definitely.

By the way: still not impressed by Burrough's Running with Scissors. (Nope, Jerry Springer freak show guests aren't my cuppa joe, not even if there's a writer in the mix who thinks this stuff is all so new and so very interesting to his readership who never ever have heard of white trash with college degrees or somefing and are just thrilled to bits by (t)his drivel. Oh, wait, he's also gay. Yeah, phew, right. That changes everything. Gold, pure gold, this stuff. Uh. Gotta do the pc thing? Do I hafta? Didn't think so. There's another movie coming out I don't have to watch. RWS with the non-Brit Blonde, what'shername, you know, Apple's mom? Gwyneth, right. How cool, 7.50 I can spend ... on Perfume: Story of a Murderer. Yeah! That's opening soooooon! In a theater near moi! Not you, honey, near me. Me, me, me. Yyyyyuuuppp.)

While I'm sort of still on RWS, I've read a romcom by a bestselling authoress (unbelievable, that bestselling part) and am now back in more thrilling waters with James Patterson's 1st to Die. Inspector Lindsay Boxer. His Warren Jacobi char reminds me a lot of Cornwell's Marino. Remember Kay Scarpetta and Marino? Here it's Boxer and Jacobi plus a hunky guy.

Okay, this Boxer chick cries a lot. A whole lot. Might be the illness. I hope that's it. I'm only 115 pages in, so we'll see. It's hardcover, not that cool to carry around, so I'll do some more reading tonight.

All is well on the writing front, I'm happy to report. Remember how I tried out writing Riddance the novel? It's very freeing, this form. Before I forget, check out this blog entry Why I feel sorry for screenwriters by screenwriter-turned-novelist Tess Gerritsen. She knows what she's talking about.

** I'll never forget the first Jackie Collins novel I ever read: Lucky. I bought it - used of course - in Madras, India. If you spend some time over there, you're bound to figure out that everybody reads stuff that's never gonna be a conversation topic at, say, Mrs. Bush's Kaffeeklatsch, at least when they're on vacation far away from home. The books that changed hands there, oh my. They weren't all about yoga or Eastern religion and there wasn't any literary fiction with fresh imaginative and oh-so-clever metaphors to go all geeky-crazy over, let me just say that.

Church vs. Airport

You can't build that airport there.

We have to.

Hm. Okay, but no planes on Sundays.

Here's the flight schedule.

60 planes during my 90-minute sermon? Can this be?

We're building it because we need it, you see?

No planes on Sundays. Or else.

What are we going to do with those 60 flights?

Tell people to attend the service instead.

Yeah, right. No, seriously now.

We'll sue.

Yeah, right. (laughs)

Dot, get me Jawbreaker on the phone. Now. (to mayor) I suppose we're done?

I guess.


My first reaction: 90 minutes sermon? Should I come help edit that overlong speech? What's easier to move - a little church or big city airport? Is there any place where the planes wouldn't disturb anyone? I mean, this is a city, we've got millions of people living here. 24 hrs a day, not just 90 minutes on Sundays. They may even talk to each other during those 90 minutes on frigging Sunday. Or so the rumor goes.

Nevertheless, the church is suing. Anyone wanna bet on the outcome?

There's More to Life - Unfortunately

"I'll fly to Frankfurt, rent a car, visit Annemone, drive to Karlsruhe to stay with Chris for a couple of days or so, then I'm off to Cologne where I'll stay in Suzie's guest room. Then I'll drive up to Hamburg to see you, Chris will come, too. The rest of the time I'll be in Berlin from where I'll fly back to Seattle. Arrive back here in the morning and will attend my first lecture in the afternoon. How cool is that?"

"Nice. I'm looking forward to seeing you. Plenty of time to talk then. I should let you go."

"Dad, I've got 20 bucks on that prepaid card. Don't worry. How are things in Hamburg?"

I was too excited about this whole trip to just hang up. So we talked for an hour. Then I called my brother Chris to let him know he'd be indeed reunited with our father. He hadn't seen him in something like 20 years. Dad wasn't exactly hip to the whole queer thing, ya know. But now he was gonna put it behind him. Wisdom of old age, I thought. Even though every time I thought of him I remembered him the way he was when he was living in the fast lane. He still had a lot of that crazy energy left that would drive "normal people" up the wall.

How did this trip come about? I don't know, really. I've never felt the desire to fly over and visit. Never. Suddenly the idea popped into my head and in no time flat the flight and car were booked, thanks to the IT. I rationalized the expense as an early graduation gift to myself. A quarter early, big deal. And flights were cheap. And I hadn't seen the man in forever, either. And he said he'd come to my graduation. How very unexpected. It all seemed weird and unreal but I like weird.

Exam dates were announced and I realized I could fly a day earlier, even two if I would be really organized with packing and all. I had this sense of urgency which seemed to intensify by the nanosecond. But no, no seats available on an earlier flight. Too bad. Oh, well. Spring Break in Europe! Whooooo-heeeee. Party, party, party in Beeeerrrrlllin. Yeah.

I didn't sleep one second on the flight. Popped my jet-lag pills and wiggled around in the chair. Tried to re-read Virginia Woolf for my honors thesis. As if I could focus on that...

So then, a couple of days later, I thought I'd phone Dad to let him know all was swell. I thought I should - even though he never did strike me as one who worries like other people over 60.

His live-in girlfriend answered. "Well, you know, I'm not sure you want to stay here.... there's a problem..."

Oh Jesus Christ. What now? Did he have to ask her permission for my stay or what? I was not gonna put up with her shit. Nuh-uh. We're gonna make the Dad-and-Chris-do-Oprah-Winfrey-ish-Reunion. Come hell or high water. That bitch wasn't gonna get in our way. End of story.

"I tried to call you but you were already on your way, I suppose."

How delusional was she? I'd cancel my flight b/c she didn't like our little family gathering? Come on, Blondie, get real.

"I'm sure we can sort this out."

"Well, it's.... I'm going to just come out and tell you.... Your father died. You were probably on the plane when he died. A heart attack. He died here, the paramedics couldn't do anything anymore."

Dead. The man was dead. No family reunion, no talks, no kissing-and-making-up. Ever. No good-bye.

I cried, I smoked, I partied, I got laid. I cried while I partied. And I chain-smoked like an idiot. Bro and I got drunk together and shared what we remembered and knew about the man. He reminded me on him. A lot. The way he could tell a story. The way he laughed.

I realized that I had a gazillion questions I needed to ask my Dad. Shit.

I flew back as planned. The chain-smoking didn't stop. I lost weight with the speed of light. I couldn't sleep. I thought I was sick or something.

The way this whole thing went down bugged the hell out of me. What was up with that feeling of urgency? Why did I feel the need to fly over there? Why now and not a year before or two or three? Or never, for that matter? Where did this idea come from in the first place? WTF? I mean, I'd been living my life all these years, my whole life, basically, without the man. I've seen him on few occasions. Still, I felt closer to him than to my mother. And I actually met her and stayed with her and stepfather # 3 (8 years MY senior) for two months. Can't believe I was related to that Texan (by frigging choice. Uggh.) Manipulative Bitch Barbie. But I sure as hell was his daughter.

"Coincidence. Sheer coincidence." Said Jenna who subscribes to The Objectivist. She looked at me like I was some sort of lobotomized victim of my Christian upbringing. Some time ago I might have agreed with the coincidence-theory, sort of. But this was too weird. It felt too weird.

I like things I can see, explain, measure. Logical stuff. When all is clear and talking about it doesn't make me sound like someone who believes in aliens or the second coming or one of the many conspiracy theories. I don't have a problem with something like this happening in lit/film. There I might find it interesting. But not in my own life, not in my "reality".

I hate premonitions partly b/c I can't tell them apart from other impulses. They are not visuals, just feelings. And then there's the other thing - when you visit a place for the very first time and you have strong feelings about it. Love it (like Turkey) or hate it with a passion (like France) for no apparent reason. Sure, my Dad's ancestors can be traced back to Switzerland where they lived for a while after they fled France. Huegenots. But gimme a break, what's that got to do with me? Why should I feel uncomfortable when I'm in France?

Still, I did. And I nearly got raped there, had to deal with racist cops and realized that there are situations where maze doesn't do diddly squat for ya. I could have used it after the fact but revenge wasn't my thing. I would do that now and not bother with the cops. But then again - not going to France if I can help it. La Streisand doesn't perform in Germany, either.

I happily forgot most the French I've ever learned at school. I notice I still use words and phrases I grew up with. French and Jiddish. We are a multicultural and multiracial lot. This means I don't have to act so frigging pc around people of other cultures if they act like complete idiots. An idiot is an idiot no matter what race or culture or whatever.

Jane Espenson went and did the work. She read Dan Brown's supposedly badly written bestseller and noticed the overuse of events or things triggering memories. She's right, we often don't know why we remember stuff at a certain time. It actually takes digging what triggered the memory. Could be a sound, a smell, whatever.

Today would be my paternal grandfather's birthday. Maybe that's what woke me up at 3:55 at night and triggered this. Maybe it was the red lentil soup.

Gut-Mensch or Individualist?

I'm alive;) Just barely, though, b/c I had to shift priorities towards selling more of my time for actual $$. C'est la vie for a single orphan w/out the ties that may form a security net - financially or otherwise.

It's election time and with it come political opinion polls that may or may not awaken the delusional. 'Tis the time of spin-masters and manipulators, of sound-bytes and one-answer questions designed to get a certain result. Sigh. 'Tis the time to pretend there's only black or white in this world of grey.

Need an opinion? Don't bother thinking for yourself, buddy, just pick one of your choice of three. That's a lot easier. Don't waste precious time you could spend watching reality on TV.

Bonus material: politically correct statements for you to recycle whenever a hot topic puts you in danger of wasting time thinking about it. Do not think. It'll only ruin your mood. Don't want that to happen. Plus - you might come to a conclusion that's unpopular. See? So totally not worth it! Run with the herd. There's power in numbers.

"Eat shit. Gazillions of flies can't be wrong."

So very '80s. Welcome to the new century, honey. Get your hi-tech gadgets and shut the hell up unless we're calling to poll you. Do not complain about your choice of answers. Pick one and we'll be through in no time flat. Tomorrow you'll read your paper or watch your "news" show and it will tell you where on the mainstream-spectrum you belong. But hey, as long as you're mainstream, you're good.

It's like fashion. You can't go wrong if you buy your clothes in a store that belongs to a fat-ass chain. You wouldn't want to stick out of the crowd, would you? See. If you're a girl, just make sure your nipples are covered. See-through or not doesn't matter. Show what you've got and claim your prize: nipple piercings and a tribal ass-tat that peeks out from your low-cut jeans.

Church.

Doesn't matter which one as long as it isn't Scientology b/c that's so last century. You don't have to go to any services, don't worry.

You don't have to follow the rules, either. Break them at will, just make sure you feel guilty about it.

That's the key. Guilt.

But you already knew that. Because, hell, there's lots of stuff you do and feel guilty about without ever wondering why that is. Walked past the beggar without shelling out some dough? Horrible person, you. Feel entitled to the bonus you got b/c you put in more hours and more effort than that mommy-type who spent half her "working" hours sending text messages to her family and her lover and her girlfriend re: that alibi? How dare you. And then you think that you ought to sell your time to the highest bidder even though you should work for half the dough for a worthy cause from which you yourself do not benefit. At all. That makes it even worthier, ya know.

Never question your guilt. When in doubt - Pascal.

You know you've got to be a Gut-Mensch, not an individualist. Individualists lose sight of what's right - they forget or - gasp - decline to reproduce, those selfish bitches. But don't despair: your punishment is on the way. Higher taxes, high rents for small apartments, higher cost of living. There you have it. Conform or pay up. Isn't it much better to be a live-in girlfriend or wife? Get your calculator, girlfriend, and figure out how much cheaper your life would be then. You might even be able to share a car or own half a house, be covered by his health-insurance. Work part time! Hey, doesn't that sound tempting? Plus: it comes with the right to complain, bitch and moan about the high cost of living!

Of course, if you choose to pay up and stay single and free, you selfish bitch, you got absolutely no right to complain about anything whatsoever -- and you'll really pay through your nose. No safety net. What for? The individual is worth shit. The family is the smallest unit of society. Got that, you freak?

Now go and clean out your closet or something. Donate your old threads to the AIDS-hospice for men that wouldn't take you in, girlfriend, even if you had only hours to live and after you'd volunteered there for years and years. Give and never ever ask to get anything back.

That's the spirit. Good girl!

How the story begins....

A while back I've read a script whose Act 1 - the whole set-up of characters and situation, conflict - made it seem to be utterly predictable. I continued reading despite the sea of red flags mainly because the writer is a pretty good writer so I wanted to see where this was going. Stop. I didn't just continue reading. I scrolled down and read the last two pages. It didn't go where I had feared it would go (I could tell from who was still alive in the end;) so I continued reading, somewhat less alarmed. Something like that happened again with another script, a WIP.

This time I didn't know if I could trust the author or not, I wasn't familiar with his work at all. So I wanted to know where this was going. I was told about "red herrings" and that my assumptions would turn out to be wrong. Well, good. Or is it?

[Disclaimer: I'm not talking about romcoms. Of course we meet the destined-to-be-a-couple early on and hopefully we'll root for them to get together or back together or whatever. But romcoms are a different ballgame. We want to know and see how they get to that place, not if.]

Back to other genres. Author # 2 thought he was terribly clever by designing his Act 1 to look predictable and lead the reader/audience astray. I don't know if Author # 1 also did this intentionally or not.

I think it's a bad idea.Why?

1. If I don't know the author, I will most likely not read on. Part of those predictable set-ups were familiar chars and situations. In other words - not all that exciting. If I feel like it, I skip to the ending and read the last couple of pages and then decide if it looks worth my time/interesting.

Call me full of it, but if I feel and act this way, one or the other reader might do the same. Especially if s/he isn't required to read the whole thing.

2. If a script starts out like that I'm prejudiced against what will come. Of course I am, why wouldn't I be? I'm bored, I feel bad, I'm already worried if I just wasted 20 minutes or so of my life on a total stinker, Not just something that needs tweaking, snip here tuck there. So this script now has to work hard. Oh, it has to work so many times harder than any other script now. Act 2 has to be mindboggling. Nothing short of fascinating. How else would it get me out of my Act-1-induced funk? I hate it and it has to make me fall in love with it. Good luck.

Often you hear people say stuff like: read the whole thing, don't judge it by the first 10, 20, or 30 pages. Question: why would I assume that the rest is any better? Or different?

Or people complain "the reader must've only read Act 1! That's outrageous". Gee, I wonder why. If it was anything like those two above, I wouldn't blame the reader. Even if it's their job to read, they don't get paid to endure torture.

If those poor souls (not talking about the few pompous f-ucks who get annoyed by the littlest things - usually simply their own personal pet peeves - things that don't even have anything to do with story, plot, structure, character arcs; not anything story-related. Not talking about those PFs, but the others.) are required to finish the read and cover the thing, they might resort to skimming which may not help the falling-in-love part.

I'd say that all that speaks against predictable-by-design-Act-1. Don't you?

[Example for strong set-up with a decline so steep it feels like you just jumped off a hi-rise: John Grisham's Skipping Christmas. This was, for reasons I cannot comprehend, not for the life of me, made into a movie. Christmas with the Kranks. It didn't go over so well with audiences, either. It helps to be literate. Those black thingies are the letters. Read the bloody book and weep. Sober up. The world doesn't need crap like that. Thanky. Grumpy]

98°F ... NO A/C anywhere...

Juggling Two Projects?

The plan was clear and quite simple: let script A (romcom) sit in the drawer. Rework outline of B (thrillerish) start translating and adapting it into novel form, see how that goes (well. Great benefit.). Rewrite B. Get feedback. While waiting for feedback, rework outline of A, b/c it's just not working (too long, subplotitis etc). Rewrite A. While waiting for feedback on A, consider notes for B, rework outline of B, rewrite B. If initial feedback was encouraging to begin with, submit new draft to a contest and see if it does anything.

So. Where are they now?

During new outline of B, main char of A shows up and throws me a nice scene. I'm not biting. I refuse to even jot it down. What am I, an idiot? Girl, you've just got to wait your turn.

Next day. Says she.. New Character could show up. Oooh, the possibilities. Comedy, tension, whatnot.
Whatever. I'll keep it in mind. I'm not interested in writing in a new character, you see.

Next day: there she is again. More details about New Character and the benefits. Explains how that supports the theme/main plot etc. Okay, I create a new doc and jot down that stuff.

Mistake: read blogs.

Look here, she says, that would work with New Char. Plus, consider giving them a diff. backstory to strengthen Male Lead's motivation.
You're nuts, honey. I want to tighten, cut, pace differently. Not add scenes to the beginning. Get lost.

Major mistake: watched some flicks. Especially bad: one was a romance. Shoot me. Oh shoot me now.

That's an interesting technique! Now if you VO'd that one supporting char--
No VOs honey.

Only in the beginning and end. And make him a (insert superb suggestion), that could work well and save time and would add a blahblahossa hossa and there are additional benefits to this, let me explain.

She does and unfortunately I can see her point. Spent a couple of nights fighting and losing and started to rewrite the outline - of A, the romcom, grr.

I'm starting the outline for A from scratch.

Yep, no diddling with the old one. Brandnew. See how the sequences come together incorporating new technique, perhaps (it may not be necessary at all) writing in VO for reworked char, see if New Char, who shows up in second half, works out and what damage NC can do, how and if NC increases tension.

While I do this... if there are scenes I simply forgot (as I'm not consulting draft or previous outline) I then can evaluate their purpose/worth etc. more objectively. Not coming from a "ah, this is so good, it has to stay" point but rather "I forgot this was in there. Hm. Is it worthy?" sort of biased-against-it POV.

I'm wondering if this (working on two very different projects more or less simultaneously) is a good idea to begin with. I know some writers advise against it. Nevertheless, they are not me.There's only one way to find out: The Trial Run. I set a deadline and will evaluate then if it works for me or not.

So. Dunno what it is - does she feel that life in a non-working draft or her unfinished life sucks? I do hope that once A is rewritten we're done, though. Ideally, she'll make some new and more interesting friends. Like, pro readers, agent, producer, actor and the like.

New Leaf

While it's the same-old-same-old out (read: unbearable heatwave, 90+ and no A/C thankyouverymuch), change is happening elsewhere. Re: Links: They got lost during conversion together with my prog bars. Uggboots. All should be back up within a week.

Don't worry, this blog will stay advertising-free. No paid product-placements and especially no paid product pics. I'm not blogging for money.

My job is in marketing/advertising. Around here I'm A.M. Mensch. Should my situation worsen financially I'll let you know and put up a donation/collection box or some in-your-face visible/recognizable ads. Not gonna pull one over you.

It's a personal decision. I know others (who aren't exactly starving or struggling, oddly enough) have made different choices, that's become rather obvious. Even I didn't get it for a while, thought it was a kind of Brett Easton Ellis-ish personal style. Of course it's each individual blogger's own decision to work hard and try to increase their "traffic" and /to cash in on that. It's also each individual blog-reader's personal decision how they feel about this and if they want to support it and/or the individual blogger.

Scott The Reader had a post re: writing for some burger franchise recently. I'll say something about writing to sell merchandising/rides in movies and TV one of these days.

In the end it's up to each individual what they support with their Dollars or Euros or Rupees. If those flicks make good B.O. then there will be more assignments along those lines. Be prepared. Bill Martell had a nice Tip on that, by the way. It was titled something like Writing for Toys.

Now I'm gonna have some *****Russian Vodka with no-brand Bitter Lemon over a mountain of ice cubes.

Poseidon

Having a crappy day or even a crappy week? Watch a movie where stuff gets blown up and people have to run, jump, crawl, climb, swim, dive or kill an innocent nice guy in order to survive. Watch Poseidon. This works. I'm not kidding. This isn't even tongue in cheek. Nope, I came out of the theater with a big grin on my face. It was an epiphany. I went in expecting nothing. Okay, perhaps some notes on what to avoid when writing a script. Came out a surprised and happy camper. Go figure. [Disclaimer of sorts: Have not seen The Poseidon Adventure. So I'm totally unbiased. Yeah.]

There are a lot of people who will give me strange looks when they hear me talk excitedly about Poseidon (despite it being sexist. Mea culpa).
But the character development sucks!
Didn't matter. What's there was enough for me and I even missed the first couple of minutes.
But it's all about blowing up stuff - and that's all it is!
And, man, it's beautiful.
I'll wait for the DVD.
Well, if you got a movie-theater-size screen at home, go for it. If not, you're cheating yourself out of the experience.

First, the bad: Poseidon movie stills. I've seen stills in three different mags - lackluster, boring, godawfully bad. Especially the one where the cast stands looking at something. ET in the closet among other toys? Backdraft-y-Kurt Russell with the fire-extinguisher, Josh Lucas next to him doing - hey, what exactly? That's the trouble with all the Poseidon action stills - the source of danger isn't in the pictures. Yeah, weird, ain't it? Lucas holds Dreyfuss' hand - no Rodriguez, no view of how deep they would fall. The film looks fantastic. The stills look blah. And they sport oddly washed-out colors to boot.

[Why exactly was there one of Fergie (without Braugher, WTF) with the orchestra? And why was that the best picture in terms of color and composition (she doesn't have any limbs cut off, you see.)? I was glad when the water came and one could be sure not to have to see her (or her boobs or that horrible red dress) or hear her again, thankyouverymuch.]

Then, the other bad: women characters.
Jacinda Barrett - mother and love-interest for five seconds or so.
Emmy Rossum - daughter (of Russell's char) and fiancèe (of Mike Vogel's char)
Mia Maestro - stowaway, Catholic, designated scaredy cat

Put them in a Victorian novel and they wouldn't stick out. Perhaps they all did astonishing and awesome and 21st century things in the beginning that I missed. Let me know. But they didn't get to do or say much during what I saw. Look scared, act scared, act motherly. Look good while swimming. Doubt the men's courage/decisions but only for half a sec. Let them save you.

Here's a thought: Why couldn't Emmy's char be in the swim team and thus perform the task Mike Vogel's char did? (Hire Jessica Alba, if weak-looking Emmy can't do it.) Would be nice if their roles would reflect reality more, if they could play more active parts in groups like this one. Say, they could've managed to free Vogel's character. BTW: That bit, where he comes to and then realizes he's stuck and looks as if he's in pain - that flew by under the radar of the Bad Acting Police, didn't it? Hint: I can be half unconscious and still feel pain. It doesn't suddently occur to me - oops! - now that I'm fully conscious I realize that I'm in pain? Or did he only make a pained face but wasn't in real pain, only scared b/c stuck? Later he seemed to be fine. ?

Okay, so what was it I dug so much?

Of course I'm no expert on films where lots of stuff blows up. Perhaps some of those experts have seen this or that already. For me, OTOH, Poseidon was exciting on that level. I felt like I got to see where every single one of those 160 million bucks went. Awesome spectacle and the score (thanks to theater for revving that up, too) worked well with it.

The tempo. When the other ship went down, you know, the Titanic, I wanted to cut some stuff out (especially the interruption with old Rose, call me shallow). Titanic seemed to want to show us things in real time, like long tiring walks through water. Drama or not, it still was slow going at times - even for me. Poseidon nailed the action pace. For example, the kid isn't caught in this cage-thing for 10 minutes while they search around for tools to cut it open and then try and try to cut it open and then, oops, the water is so high, can we make it out? No. They milk this scene for the emotional drama - my God, will he die? Josh Lucas says he can't find a way in. Nice moment of mother and son interaction. For a moment I'm wondering if they kill the kid? This would be a first. And then - tada - Hero Josh has the kid. Even though - I totally hated, hated, hated the kid. Glad this scene was as short as it was.

They know that we know the whole group isn't gonna die all at once early on, so they keep those moments where the whole group is afraid of what's behind the next door, will it kill them, very brief. Quick action is followed by what-we-gonna-do-now moments or something to catch breath, and on we go.

The stunts. Wow, looked awesome. And again - they're not so in love with their own work that they draw these out like look here, aren't we great? No. They show their stuff and on to the next step. Kewl.

Shocks. There were some nods to horror. Some tongue-in-cheek-like (the two corpses lifted up by Russell, I think) others came over as unexpected side-notes. Time and time again I caught myself thinking: why wasn't this in Titanic? We should've seen this in Titanic! It should've been in there as well. Weird.

Character shocks. Get rid of him or you both will die. Say what??? Wait a minute, so Josh isn't the good guy? And what's Dreyfuss doing there, just minutes after he wanted to kill himself? Man! That gave me something to chew on. I later had to admit that if I'd been the leader, both Dreyfuss and Rodriguez would be dead. Still, it took a long time for me to digest that. Once in a while a hero has to make a shocking choice. One that makes you doubt him. It worked. I'm not sure it worked for Dreyfuss' char that well. He got over it a tad too quickly. But then he was busy trying to save his own ass. So.

Josh Lucas. My. God. When he was around the casino area and in flirting mode, took the champagne flutes - I thought hey, looky here. Bond, James Bond.Why was it they had to settle for that other guy whose face will have to grow on us and who doesn't exactly have a bod to die for, either? Never mind. Realization: Josh Lucas, IT-Boy.

Dreyfuss in a role where I didn't hate him (as in: not arrogant guy hitting on nice lady or just egomaniac). I don't know what it is. Must be something like Anthony Perkins Syndrome (Psycho, duh) or the Robert Duvall Effect (The Handmaid's Tale). Dunno what film did Dreyfuss in for me.

Andrè Braugher. Too bad he was the capt'n and had to stay with (coughcough) Fergie and the rest. I would have loved to see him in the team. Did I miss him sing in the beginning? He has such a nice voice!

Kurt Russell for some reason recalled Backdraft for me. This was kinda cool, too. Too bad that now, at the other side of 50, he finds himself (read: his characters) on the can-be-sacrificed list. Shucks.

Conner, the kid. Sorry, but I would have preferred to let him die in the cage. This was a ridiculous character from the get go just there to annoy me. I don't buy that in circumstances just as these kids would act out their curiosity and wander about. No. They would be even more annoying clinging to their mothers' ball gowns every single second on the way out and cry and be scared shitless. Endanger their mothers by not letting go.

Who's gonna die? Kids do not die. That's a law. People over 50 die. Gladly. That's another law. Seems that usually they volunteer to give their lives for their kids/the greater good/society. Aweeee. Under water, in space, doesn't matter. By now that makes chars over 50 seem "disposable". We can do without them. They're missed the least, lived their lives... What have they got to live for? Depends and bingo? (that's sarcasm, BTW) I say: if the kid's gonna live, let grandpa live, damnit.

Killing off the jerk. Now, it's awfully tempting to kill off the jerk/slime ball/most hated character in a fashion that borders on gratuitous. Well, in a fashion that is a payback. Little aside: I saw Kindergarten Cop I think in a US-Army theater. People applauded when Schwarzenegger beat up, quite brutally to a pulp - who was it, the evil lady principal or something? - they applauded! I was stunned. Might say more about GI's than the film, but still that scene could've been handled differently. In Poseidon we have such a probably (I wouldn't know, see above) clichéd thing. Let the jerk die doing something heroic, how about it? I don't like to feel good when a char gets killed.

As I said, it was fireworks, a visual feast, and it was exciting. I was on the edge of my seat, stunned and generally in awe. I cared about the characters. Perhaps I'm easy - give me a couple of really hot guys (yeah, counting in Russell, he's still got it, bite me), and I'm rooting for them. Lucas as the Bad Boy with definite leadership skills and Russell as a more sensitive mature guy and both seem to be available. Sounds good.

Here's another thought: Perhaps if the filmmakers had put in some interesting women, this flick would've worked better for guys, too. A mother, a Catholic scaredy cat and a little chick princess who only has eyes for her beau - dunno - is any of that considered sexy in Testosteronia? Are they supposed to happily fill the role as protector and savior and then, oops, they're still not getting any? Yep, they forgot to develop the romance, just a tiny bit, even our engaged couple only got a moment so other, more important things could happen. Could Dreyfuss get any in Gaylandia? You tell me. Braugher in Dreyfuss' role - ooooh.

So - popcorn flick, guilty pleasure, whatever. It works on that level and sometimes that's just what the doctor ordered. (Worked better than the physical therapy I had to endure all week that made things worse.)

What's That?

Little Red Riding Hood has a Va-gina Dentata. Who knew?

Emotional Beats. "Method Writing"

I think it was Jane Espenson who recently blogged about writing emotional beats and how they can affect you as you sit there on your keyboard. She said she knows people who cry while they write. No shit.

I remember when I wrote a scene where my lead girl hears the last words of her man who offed himself. Boy. Half a box of Kleenex. I don't know if it's because I use compound characters or why the hell I'm "in the picture". I felt so horrible. I felt like I needed to call someone. Damn, middle of night. The crisis helpline, perhaps? I seriously considered it allthewhile questioning my own sanity, which means that in a way I was a candidate for the crisis hotline. "Sniff, sniff, hello? Yes, I'm writing a script, sniff, and the love of her life, the man she wanted to re-unite with, sniff, went over the cliff on his motorcycle". Yoah, that would have gone over real well with the hotline-volunteers.

The next few days I felt drained. No need to get near the script. Exhausted and tired. Idiot that I can be sometimes, I sought consolation - from a Normalo person. Yeah, I know. That could be a surefire way to get yourself committed. (Not to Writers' Bootcamp, of course, or to a nice retreat.... Stories do exist about writers' attempts to get free food/shelter/paper/pens ... and the loony bin's better than the slammer. Or so the logic goes.) Stating the obvious: Miss Normale gave me the look. No, I didn't see it. You could practically hear it over the phone. The silence. The way it took her a while to say something completely unhelpful. I sailed over the cliff straight down the Grand Canyon. She was up there, locked in completely where one watches documentaries on animal life and never gets lost in anything. That reality that just is, not the one you may create yourself, occasionally... Anyway - at least that scene I wrote panned out exactly as I had hoped it would....

Same script, different scene: I sat down to write a scene where my lead girl gets chewed out by her best friend/confidante, the helper char. It went extremely well. Then helper snapped, fired a comment at lead girl that was so out of line and below the belt, lead girl turned into an ice block, helper slammed the door as she left the scene. Lead girl poured herself a whiskey. On the rocks. I sat in shock. Nooooooooo.

OMG, helper, what are you doing? Are you nuts? She'll never talk to you again, look at her! Not for a very very long time, anyway, and only if you come crawling and have a really, really good apology. Do you have one? I don't. I can't have that, you're the helper, don't you get it? You have to be there for her. Urgh! I need more coffee. And a few cigarettes. Huh, what do I care, I just delete what you said and pretend nothing happened. No. Coffee. Cigarettes. Om, om. Breathe. Finger next to the delete key, I re-read. And re-read. I can't delete it. I can't. It's great. It's true. I'm screwed, but that's how it went down.

All I could think was: I'm screwed. Helper's not being there to do her job. Om, om. I'm over. End of story. Three days or so of agony over that. I felt very lost. I knew this was how this scene had to turn out, this was the truth. I simply was a bit fuzzy as to why exactly.

Until I wrote the inevitable apology. And that's when I learned why helper girl said what she said. Had nothing to do with lead girl, of course. She wasn't angry at her as a person or a friend, she was shooting the messenger for delivering a truth she didn't want to know or have to face.

So I was left to figure out what lead girl was going to do without helper. This unfortunate turn of events made for a better story. The chars did nothing wrong, they were just being true to themselves. The argument and the apology are two of the best moments in that script, I think.

Of course, if something like that would happen during the 14-Day-Screenplay challenge, I'd be so screwed.