TNMC

I've been what you might call stuck in terms of writing lately.  Not writer's block because I never stopped writing.  It's more like I slowed down massively.  The effort was there but the output wasn't.  I've come up with all manner of explanations to myself and they're probably all bullshit.  I'm not particularly interested in excuses, particularly my own.  The current script was simply not coming along as quickly as I wanted.

And then I remembered something.  For years I've juggled multiple scripts at once.  When one wasn't happening I'd just jump to another and keep writing.  Over the previous year my focus was on rewriting and so there wasn't much jumping around.  It was one script at a time until a particular draft was finished, and then jump.  So I sort of forgot about my own system.

Yesterday I remembered.  And it was liking ramming a plumber's snake through a clogged pipe.  The clog let go and everything just poured through.  But instead of a disgusting mass of rotting hair what emerged was several brand new pages on my zombie project.  I should have thought of this weeks ago.  The zombie project is a particularly nice change of pace as I have endless ideas for it and not even a hint of a story so far.  The no story thing is certainly a problem but if I just keep pouring out enough scenes and ideas, something will develop eventually.  More importantly it gives me a lot of freedom to write just about anything which is a wonderful antidote to the other script which is rather tightly structured.

For some reason writing about blood getting sprayed around is rather cathartic.

For the first time in years, I will not be hosting a live chat during the Oscars. I know, you're heartbroken. But with mom in the hospital I was distracted and nearly forgot about it entirely.

So my recommendation is to go to Kevin Pollack's Chat Show and watch his snarky take on the whole thing. That's probably what I'll be doing. And my sole prediction is a massive upset where Inglourious Basterds sneaks past Avatar and The Hurt Locker and steals Best Picture. Personally, I'd give it to Up in the Air, but the Academy has yet to ask my opinion on these matters.

I am tearing my hair out trying to think of a damn title.  Usually this part is pretty easy.  Titles usually just sort of appear out of thin air, ready to go.  This time out my script refuses to divulge a title.  Worse yet, it feels like there is one there, just slightly out of sight.  It's just hovering beyond my reach, taunting and teasing me.

Grrr.

Okay, you can go about your business.  I'll just sit and stew thank you very much.

Once again, I'm playing around with After Effects.  For once, the victim is not my son, but my cat.  She's a fairly demented cat but sweet in a stalker-ish kind of way.  And despite that glowing description, I'm using digital effects to make her less than cuddly.

Tony Quirino died yesterday.  The great majority of you don't know who that is but for me he was a constant presence.  I can't claim to have known him well but he was always there when I was growing up.  Tony owned and operated the Crandell Theater in Chatham, NY.  The Crandell is almost the centerpiece of that little town.  It began life in the 1920s as a vaudeville theater but has for most of its life served as a movie theater.

Obviously, I'm a bit of a movie fan.  Okay, I'm obsessed with film and am working hard to become a filmmaker.  The roots of that obsession are in the Crandell.  Seeing Star Wars as a six year old was a formative moment in my life.  I saw it twice in theaters in its first run, once at a drive in and once at, you guessed it, the Crandell.  Tony sold us our tickets.  And he would sell me tickets to every other movie I'd see there until last year.

It's a family operation.  His parents owned it and passed it on to him.  He sold the tickets and was the projectionist.  His wife Sandy ran the concession stand.  And it was that way the whole time I was growing up.  When I moved back to NY in 2001 I was delighted to go back to the Crandell for a movie (probably The Tailor of Panama) and discover the place was pretty much exactly the way I left it.  

Even better, in the last ten years the Crandell had become home to the FilmColumbia film festival, which I rave about here every year.  Every October I move into the Crandell for 3-4 days, emerging with a huge smile, an empty stomach (you can only eat so much popcorn) and numb ass.  It's the highlight of my year.  Last summer it hosted the premiere of Ang Lee's Taking Woodstock.  The film was shot in the area, so it was a natural choice.  And I got a chance to meet Ang Lee as a result.  It's also where I met the great animator Bill Plympton.  He signed autographs for my kids along with little pictures.

Like I said, I didn't know Tony well.  But he was always around for all those great films that were such a massive influence on me.  For E.T. I sat in the balcony, in the very back row, right next to the projection booth.  There he was.  I remember my dad assuring me that Tony would get Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan as soon as it came out.  And he did.  And I cried like a baby when Spock died.  I remember seeing Rocky 3 and getting so wound up when Rocky fought Clubber Lang that I jumped out of my seat and yelled at the screen.  Took a long time to live that one down.  I took my first date to the Crandell.  Made it to second base for the first time there too.  No, I don't remember the movie.  I was a bit distracted.  And now I'm grown up and taking my kids to movies there.

It's been a hugely important place for me over the years.  And that makes the guy who ran it that whole time special to me.  So with a very heavy heart I say goodbye.  It was always a dream of mine to show a movie I made at the Crandell.  Maybe that will still happen.  Sadly though, Tony won't be projecting it and won't be watching it.  That would have meant the world to me.  I never had the chance to tell him how much his place meant to me.  Goodbye Tony.  And thanks.

A few days ago, I finished writing a script.  It was the fourth draft for that particular script and it was a great relief to have reached that point.  And with that done, I just sort of turned off my brain.  It was weird because I really hadn't given much thought to what I would do after finishing that particular script.  Yes, I'd print it out and hand it to that small tortured group who gets all of my stuff dropped in their lap to critique.  But beyond that, only vague ideas of what to do next.

After my brain was off for a couple days I realized how odd it felt not to be constantly writing.  And let me clear that when I say constantly writing, I do not mean being chained to the computer, tapping away endlessly on the keyboard.  Typing is the easiest thing about writing and takes the least amount of time.  Most of the work goes on in my head, often while doing mindless activities.  There's a reason I've held onto an otherwise unappealing job for so long.  It allows me time to think.  A more engaging job would probably be more rewarding, both financially and mentally, but it wouldn't give me time to let my brain go on the journeys that let me write.  For the last few days, I haven't been doing that and it's a strange uncomfortable feeling.

Way back in February of this year, I was kicking around a new script idea.  It was an idea I liked a lot and it gave me an excuse to finally write in the sci-fi genre.  Despite reading almost nothing besides sci-fi, I had written pretty much anything else.  And better yet, this idea was going to force me to improve my writing because the main character would not be male and would be more or less sane, which is pretty much the polar opposite of my usual protagonist.  And I kicked this idea around my head for a few weeks before writing, which also went on for a few weeks.  And then the guilt started getting to me.  Ever since I made the decision to attempt a career as a screenwriter, I said that I would work on my craft before trying to sell a script.  The idea was to stand apart from the crowd by being highly professional and more polished than a typical starting writer.  And the concrete description of this goal was to have three finished and well developed scripts in hand before seeking an agent.

The guilt was getting to me because I had three finished scripts in hand but none of them felt like they had been fully developed yet.  Each one was probably going to need one or more rewrites before it was good enough to face the glare of the public light.  And here I was starting a fourth script.  So with regret I set aside this new project to start grinding away on the older ones.  This was the responsible thing to do.  If screenwriting is to be my job, I need to treat it accordingly.  Starting a new script is great fun, but not in keeping with my goals at that moment.  And from that point until just a few days ago, I was driving myself relentlessly to get this done.

So I'm at a point where it's time to make a decision.  Are these three scripts good enough for my goal?  I'm not sure.  A little feedback from my early readers will answer that question for me.  So far, on two of them, the answer is probably yes.  Maybe a couple minor tweaks but nothing large enough to call for an entire new draft.  My hunch is that the third script will need one more draft.  But this is just a guess.  I'm too close to it to be objective.  So feedback from others will tell me if I'm right or not.

And after that...

Obviously I'll pick up that sci-fi project again.  But more importantly, it's clear that the next step is just about here.  And that terrifies me.

I'm confident in my abilities as a writer.  So it's not like I feel I'm not up to the job.  What scares me is that the process from here on out involves a lot of rejection.  I've spent a few years in a bit of a cocoon, working on my writing far from the harshness of the world.  The odds of immediately finding an agent and immediately selling a script are pretty remote.  Sure, it could happen.  But it probably won't.  Realistically, this will take years and add considerable scar tissue to my soul.  That's fine, I'm prepared for that price.  But it won't be fun, and might actually hurt a lot.  So it's a bit hard to take that step, knowing full well what it means.

The short version (yes, I know, too late) is that I'm standing at the edge of a pool with a toe in the water, shivering and dreading the plunge.  But I always love swimming once I get past that early reluctance, so let's get it over with.