The Hive
The official blog of science fiction / horror author Terence West.
William Gibson Blog
Famed author of Neuromancer and Johnny Mnemonic: The Screenplay.
The Word Foundry
Joe Clifford Faust's "blog of a working writer: tracking writing projects, musings on the
creative process, occasional side trips into music, media, politics, religion, etc."
A Writer's Diary
By Cynthia Harrison, who has the good sense to quote Virginia Woolf: "The truth is that writing
is the profound pleasure and being read the superficial."
The American Sentimentalist
"Never has any people endured its own tragedy with so little sense of the tragic." Essays by Mark W. Anderson.
Screenwriting By Blog
David C. Daniel writes a screenplay online. "I've decided to publish the process as a way to push myself through it.
From concept to completion, it'll be here."
SeanAlonzo.com
Official site of occult fiction author Sean-Alonzo, exploring symbolism, alternative
history, philosophy, secret
societies and other areas of the esoteric tradition.
Crafty Screenwriting
Maunderings of Alex Epstein, tv scribe, about life, politics, and the tv show I'm co-creating.
Stealing Heaven From The Lips Of God
Writer & Artist, Dee Rimbaud reflects upon politics, religion, art, poetry, the meaning of life,
the nature of God and why toast always lands butter side down on carpets.
The Writing Life...
"And it came to pass that all the stars in the firmament had ceased to shine. But how was anyone to know?" The Half-Life Conspiracy
Saturday, December 31, 2005
Happy New Year On July 4, 1993, I was in the VA hospital and experienced something that changed my attitude toward fireworks thereafter. As the night's sky show began, several Vietnam vets in the hospital dove from beds to floor, yelling "incoming!", thinking we were under mortar attack. Over 20 years after their experience in 'Nam, they still were suffering. I haven't been able to enjoy fireworks since because I keep thinking of them and seeing them dive for cover.
12/31/2005 01:36:00 PM |
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The New Yorker Finally "attacking" the NYer DVDs. Printed out some things to carry with me, reading material on the run: a long interview with Hemingway by Lillian Ross from 1950, the first NYer stories published by Salinger (1946), Cheever (1935) and Saroyan (1938), plus a poem of Saroyan's I've always loved. Hope to dabble here almost every day.
12/31/2005 11:22:00 AM |
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Pop/jazz songs Here are the first three songs I wrote after hooking up the keyboard to my computer. A couple of jazz singers are considering them.
Writing in 2006 I don't make New Year's resolutions. However, I think about the upcoming year and what I hope to accomplish. Of course, first I always hope for continued good health. This is the bottom line for old farts. And good health for Harriet, whose life is so much a part of mine. And for Sketch for that matter. The dog is one of the family.
As far as writing goes, 2006 would look good if I:
Finish Kerouac's Scroll, my new novel. Better if my agent digs it. Even better if he sells it.
Get a good start on the next short novel, Mistress.
Finish my research for the historical dark comedic novel and maybe start writing.
Finish research and start writing the next libretto.
Write one or two screenplays.
Put together two more issues of the review as strong or stronger than the first.
New Year's Eve Will I last until midnight tonight? Hard to say. Some years I do (lately), some I don't. In my hard-drinking youth, of course, this was a big party night. I still remember the wildest, scariest NYear's eve experience I ever had. This happened when I was in my 20s, living in SoCal. I was driving home from a party, pretty drunk surely, because suddenly I saw a cute little tree in front of me. I stopped the car and got out to check it out. I was driving down the grass island separating four lanes of traffic going each way! Yep, the island was lined with cute little trees, which I had missed (not to mention oncoming traffic). So I got off the island and continued on home. The gods must have looked out for me because I got through my drinking days without ever hurting myself or anyone else and, astoundingly, without ever getting a DUI. It boggles understanding. Indeed, I only had two auto accidents while drinking and driving, both solo, running into something, banging up the car but nothing happening to me. How the culture has changed (I think). It was not at all unusual to drink and drive in my day -- indeed, often you had a bottle of beer in your crotch as you drove. Somewhere (was it Wyoming?) I remember finding a drive-in window at a bar!! I do not lie. A hot day, drove up to the bar's window, got half a dozen gin-and-tonics to go in plastic cups, and we were back on the road.
Portlandia ... and favorite passages V From my short story The First Stoplight in Wallowa County about the mysterious appearance of a stoplight in a small Oregon town that has none:
If there was one place worse than Enterprise, it was Portland. By the time the bartender had shooed Fletch and his posse out onto Main Street, the focus of their insults had changed considerably.
"Look at Portland's crime rate," said Fletch. "You can't leave home without locking your door."
"They got drugs worse than L.A.," said Renford.
"Streets full of whores and winos," said the mayor, and he yelped like a coyote.
Others pointed out the lack of mountain-clear water and clean air in Portland, no fresh beef available, all that big city red tape, new freeways opening all the time, traffic you wouldn't believe, and no real beauty, certainly nothing like the Wallowas. Portland was a city that commissioned Beauty and got Portlandia, a copper statue of a scantily-clad lady holding a pitchfork.
Another story about our downtown Portlandia statue, an adornment which some actually admire. There was a statewide poetry contest about it. The winner was the personal lawyer of the judge. The poem is mounted on a podium across the street from the statue, along the bus mall. If the timing is right, you can read the poem just as a bus with its engine out of tune pulls away from the curb, leaving a cloud of stench in your face as you read the line, "Follow that breath!" I love it ha ha.
12/31/2005 07:36:00 AM |
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Friday, December 30, 2005 Favorite passages IV This is a nice end-of-the-year exercise, thinking about my body of work over a period of 40 years and remembering favorite moments. This is from my first detective novel, a proposed series, which 25 years ago an editor at Bantam told me was a B+ book in an A market. Here the detective's friend relates his theory about how and why the L.A. freeway system was constructed. From The Deadly Doowop, set in LA in 1954:
"I mean, I know we live in a prejudiced society but--"
"Prejudiced society, shit. Racist, Red. Racist to a conspiratorial degree."
I'd heard this theory two or three times before, usually when Butch had had too much to drink, but I'd dismissed it as the anger and frustration of a victim of prejudice.
Butch said, "If she wants to live in the best neighborhoods, man, the lady got no choice but to pass for white. Nobody's gonna let Negroes move around at will. Why the hell do you think they're building all these new freeways? Think about it."
"I don't see what this has to do with freeways."
"Come on, Red, open your eyes!"
He pulled a ballpoint pen out from a pocket and began drawing on a napkin, all the while continuing with greater excitement.
"What do the white City Fathers fear most of all? The expansion of Negro neighborhoods, man. The darkies infiltrating good white neighborhoods. I'm not jiving. Looky here."
His diction was changing as he spoke, so that now he was sounding more like Lovin' Dan the Sixty-Minute Man, with his hip vernacular, than like the cultured Butch I knew. He turned the napkin around so I could see what he'd drawn so quickly, a pattern of lines with a circle in the middle.
"This is the Freeway Grand Plan, okay? They even published it in the newspaper. Now this here is Watts, man. So more Negroes have been moving into Watts, so it's expanding to the west, right? Oo-ee, we got to head off them niggers at the pass! And so we start building this here Harbor Freeway to block them off, and this here Santa Monica Freeway to catch and trap all the ones that slip over the boundary before we can finish up the Harbor. But now Watts is expanding east, man, cause it's got to go somewhere, and so we got to head off them damn niggers again, oo-ee, baby, let's build ourselves the Santa Ana Freeway, only this time a whole mess of niggers got so far east we got to come down with another one, too, the Pomona Freeway -- look at it, Red. All these freeways ain't nothing but fences to keep the niggers from getting too close to good white neighborhoods. You mentioned South City. Well, what's South City, man? A town because people want it to be a town? Hell, no. It's nothing but the part of Watts that got over the Santa Ana but got cut off with the Pomona. It ain't a freeway system, Red, it's the walls of a prison!"
I stared at the napkin.
"You're saying," I began slowly, "that the purpose of the freeway system is to contain Watts?"
Butch laughed. "Shit, man, I think I'd better pay the check, you so dumb."
Favorite passages III I almost never write poetry but now and again something pops into my head, usually 90% finished. This one from several years ago I still like. The first place I sent it to published it.
ADVICE TO AN ARTIST ON CHOOSING A WIFE
May the gods bless you with a wife who understands you
If you are not so fortunate may she accept you for who you are
and if not this at least put up with you
If she cannot put up with you may she not kick you out
or if she does not also call the police or the Mental Health Institute
but even if she does may she not inflict bodily harm or drive you to cut off an ear
though should this happen may the blade be clean and not cause infection
Yet if serious harm comes to you may she at least spare your work and not destroy it
and if she must let her forget the work hoarded by your friends
If she knocks on their doors may they not be home or refuse to answer or escape out the back door
Favorite passages II From Sad Laughter, a play about Moliere and his very young wife, Armande:
ARMANDE: Charles says that you wish to see me.
MOLIERE: I've heard a rumor that you're taking diction lessons.
ARMANDE: Yes, I am.
MOLIERE: I give the d-diction lessons in this company!
ARMANDE: But you've been so busy that—
MOLIERE: Who is he?
ARMANDE: His name is Pierre.
MOLIERE: What are his qualifications?
ARMANDE: He's a poet.
MOLIERE: A poet! Really?
ARMANDE: Yes.
MOLIERE: What makes you think you need diction lessons?
ARMANDE: He kindly offered them and I—
MOLIERE: Offered them!
ARMANDE: Yes.
MOLIERE: Then he admires you?
ARMANDE: He saw me in the "Princess" and "Tartuffe."
MOLIERE: And he flattered you?
ARMANDE: He said I need work on my diction and he kindly offered to give me lessons.
MOLIERE: And you have time on your hands, with "Tartuffe" and soon "Don Juan" in rehearsal?
ARMANDE: What's "Don Juan"?
MOLIERE: What I'm replacing "Tartuffe" with. I wrote you a major part.
ARMANDE: I see Pierre only once a week.
MOLIERE: But you'd prefer to see him more often...?
ARMANDE: I'd prefer that you say what's really on your mind. (A beat.) Jean, I have no interest in Pierre beyond diction lessons. (A beat.) Don't you believe me?
MOLIERE: I'm not sure.
ARMANDE: It's the truth.
MOLIERE: He sent you a poem. I had to bribe the boy who delivered it. (Offering the poem:) Here, I'd like you to read it.
ARMANDE (not accepting it): Jean, I've given him no encouragement.
MOLIERE: Read it! (A beat.) Very well. I'll read it myself:
"Armande, these lines are not meant to embarrass
But I'm quite mad about your mons veneris."
ARMANDE: Jean!—
MOLIERE: "And though I am not noted for my wit,
I am a man who appreciates good tits."
ARMANDE: Stop it! What are you accusing me of? Taking him for a lover?
MOLIERE: You said it, I didn't.
ARMANDE: There's no point in talking about something so ridiculous. I'll see you at rehearsal.
MOLIERE: Now that the cat's out of the bag, look who doesn't want to talk about it.
ARMANDE: I don't see what's wrong with taking diction lessons from Pierre — or I didn't, until he wrote that awful poem. I didn't know he was going to do that.
MOLIERE: And the others?
ARMANDE: There are no others.
MOLIERE: The courtiers have been following you around like cats in heat.
ARMANDE: That's not my fault! What's happened to you? You accuse me of causing little Louis's death, you—
MOLIERE: I said he needed his mother.
ARMANDE: When do I have time to be a mother? And I don't have a string of lovers, no matter what you think. I have no one. I have you. But when do we even see one another any more? You're always writing a play or directing rehearsals. I'm always learning lines or rehearsing. Our life together has turned into one long rehearsal.
MOLIERE: Plays don't write themselves.
ARMANDE: You don't even seem to enjoy what little time we do have alone together. I haven't been unfaithful...
MOLIERE: Please don't cry. (A beat.) You know I can't stand it when you cry! (A beat.) Listen — all right, maybe I have been working too hard.
ARMANDE: How can you think such things about me?
MOLIERE: I often play the cuckold on stage, don't I? So maybe I'm just practicing. That's what we live for, isn't it? Perfecting our parts? Fine-tuning our roles? I know I haven't given you much attention lately. I mean, you're right, our life is a rehearsal. My life is a dress rehearsal for a play. Even now, as I hear myself talking, I wonder where I'll be putting this, in what future scene in what future play I'll be standing before someone like you, perhaps before you yourself, the actress, and I'll be the actor, and we'll be talking — in some play, some day — much as we are talking here now. Because that's what my life seems to be, a dress rehearsal for a play. Which, strictly speaking, doesn't really make my life much of a life at all, does it?
From The Half-Life Conspiracy, a story about an alcholic writer's belated peace with the ex who left him for a woman (here he is with an actress playing a role in his play):
WILLOW: You confuse me. On the one hand, there's something very cynical about you. But other times you seem to be having so much fun.
OLSON: I have a theory. Behold the stars!, twinkling happily away. More than we can see in L.A., as a matter of fact.
WILLOW: Aren't they lovely?
OLSON: They don't exist.
WILLOW: Well, I certainly see them up there.
OLSON: They are not shining. Poof!, the stars have vanished, to the twinkle. However: since, to toast dear Albert once again, since their little twinkles take so long to get to our own untwinkling hunk of hot rock, we don't know they're dead yet. So here we are, writing love songs and poetry and fascist ballot measures in a universe that no longer exists. Cheers.
WILLOW: I see what you mean — some cosmic explosion may already have happened, for all we know.
OLSON: Precisely! In fact, there are no more stars anywhere, in any firmament. All gone! And like you say, we won't find out that cosmic fact for thousands of years. Or until tomorrow.
WILLOW: That's very pessimistic.
OLSON: On the contrary, I toast stars that don't exist! I'd say there's a bit of good will there.
WILLOW: Your play is pessimistic.
OLSON: Neutral. Ironic but neutral.
WILLOW: Ironic how?
OLSON: We have the audacity to blow up a universe when we're the only pigeon-hole left who hasn't gotten word of the Grand Cosmic Finale. I told you, the stars are gone. Poof! Not a twinkle left in the sky — we're just very late getting the word. Ironic, yes? But a far greater irony would be to keep on living in the universe as if it still existed! That would give us the last laugh.
Favorite passages I We all have favorite passages from our body of work. Here are some of mine.
From my novel Emmett's Gift, about a dying old man who has an experience that changes what is left of his life:
Emmett was thinking about there being no children in his life. When Mary was alive, he’d never regretted their decision not to raise a family, nor had she as far as he knew, but more than once since her death, and especially after his own diagnosis, he became acutely aware of how alone he was, the termination of a branch of heredity, the end of the line. But his loss was more personal than this. There was so much of the experience of life he had missed by never being a father. Never had he watched a baby take its first step or utter its first miraculous word. He had read no bedtime stories, or been read to in return in the wondrous music of a child’s first mastery of language. There had been no school plays to see or sporting events at which to yell support. He never had the opportunity to show a young son or daughter how a sextant worked or how you could find your location by the stars. Emmett had walked no daughter down the aisle of matrimony and had rocked no grandchild on his knee. ... Ahead he saw the shadow of the dummy hanging in effigy. This wasn’t exactly the way Emmett wanted to do it – he was leaving, after all, a mess more visible than he would have preferred – but his options were limited. He walked under the dummy into the barn and turned on the light. A horse whinnied and paced in its stall.
Emmett picked up the stepladder and set it up under the dummy. He climbed up and rested the dummy on the flat top area of the ladder, so that the rope became slack. His eyes followed the path of the rope from the dummy over a horizontal beam and down to where it was secured at a vertical beam. The beams were large and sturdy, surely they would support the weight of a dying old man. Emmett slid the knot until he could slip the noose free of the dummy. He let the dummy fall to the ground. Then he dropped the noose over his own head, tightening it and adjusting it so the knot rested at the back of his neck.
He stood very still on the ladder with the rope around his neck. An observer might have assumed he was having second thoughts but he wasn’t. Emmett was reflecting on his good fortune, his good life. He had enjoyed both of his careers and had been able to share them with a good woman, a wife who had been his best friend. When all seemed lost and his life was slipping away, Shandy had appeared, giving him not only intense pleasure, the memory of which still energized him, but renewed courage as well, courage to take control of his life again and to die with dignity, just as he was momentarily prepared to do. Emmett felt lucky for his life. He had experienced Eros, Fidelia and Agape. He had no regrets. Well, one. But in a way he was settling the score now, making up for his failure to put a bullet in Mary’s brain.
A horse whinnied. High in the barn an owl hooted. Somewhere far in the distance a truck shifted down its gears.
Emmett kicked away the ladder, feeling like the happiest man under the stars.
From my novel Love At Ground Zero, about a love affair between a Muslim woman and an American student:
Carrying the Frisbee, Wes slowly walks toward her. Hayaam walks toward him. When they meet, they stop, standing close. Hayaam’s face is wet with perspiration. Without makeup, she has the face of a woman emerging from a shower.
Wes says, “You have beautiful hair.”
“I know.”
“I don’t know why you cover it up.”
“Because it’s my decision who gets to see it.”
“I’m glad I got to.”
“So am I.”
Perhaps you are too cynical to remember a moment like this: Wes can feel his heart pounding in his chest.
“Can I touch it?” he asks.
“If you like.”
Wes reaches out and gently touches her hair, letting his fingers rest lightly against the side of her head, just above an ear. Her hair is damp. Hayaam closes her eyes.
“I want to kiss you,” he says.
Without opening her eyes, Hayaam turns her head, offering him her cheek. He leans forward and gently kisses it.
No, he did not grab her breast. They did not suddenly collapse in a passionate embrace to make love on the grass. This is not a popular romance novel. This is not The Bridges of Madison County. This is not a Hollywood movie. This is the story of Wes and Hayaam.
Hayaam opens her eyes and looks at him.
“I have never kissed a man before,” she says.
As she bends forward toward him, Wes expects a kiss on the lips but at the last moment she swerves and her lips touch his cheek. Her kiss is as soft as the landing of an insect.
Thursday, December 29, 2005 Cycles It never fails, a certain letdown, a sadness, as a project nears completion. "Post coitum omne animal triste"--every creature is sad after sex, as the Latin proverb goes. There's an equivalent emotional cycle in writing, I think. I'm feeling it today with the novel after sending it off. As if, this begins its new life when it no longer belongs exclusively to me. I felt this strongly as a playwright, seeing a premier, or even in rehearsal for it, watching "my" play become "owned" by the actors right before my eyes. Usually they taught me a thing or two as well, showing me things I hadn't known were there. In fiction, the process is not so clear -- who the hell knows what a reader is doing or thinking? Playwrights get to see their audiences, with advantages and disadvantages in the experience. At any rate, two fat packages in the mail to readers today -- and suddenly I was overwhelmed with a certain sadness.
Didn't get much more than printing and the usual writerly chores done today (thinking again of the wonderful monologue that opens My Dinner With Andre about this part of a playwright's life. I need to get to the music tomorrow. I did read and accept a short play for the review today, the first for the new issue. Ends up the play was done in November in NYC.
12/29/2005 04:24:00 PM |
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Milestone A big day! Printing two copies of the novel to send to readers for feedback. Almost a big step in the process.
After this chore, the rest of the week I'm bringing musical projects front burner. Next week, it's time to write my new syllabus and to finish the animation script. Classes start January 9th. It's been a productive term break.
12/29/2005 08:00:00 AM |
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Wednesday, December 28, 2005 Real progress Today I finished the 2nd rewrite of the novel draft. Tomorrow I'll print it and send it out to readers for feedback. A real accomplishment, leaving the rest of my "vacation" to other projects. Indeed, I don't have to think about the novel again until February. I should be able to get it to my agent by summer.
12/28/2005 07:42:00 PM |
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Tuesday, December 27, 2005 Hangin' in like Gunga Din One foot after the other, through book two of the novel rewrite, onward to three (of four). Reading a lot as well.
The review has attracted 534 unique visitors thus far, 58 of whom have returned for more than one look. Not bad for less than two weeks, I think.
White Bird, Idaho Making good progress through the second book of the novel. With luck, will have a new draft ready for readers by the weekend, early next week.
A dramatic event near story's end happens along the Salmon river outside of White Bird. The switchbacks on the old White Bird road, scene of a famous battle with the Nez Perce, were something to drive, especially after you'd been drinking (which almost always was the case). An improved highway makes the descent now but you still can take the old highway. At the top of this grade is where my buddy Dick's ashes were spread, and at the bottom, in the White Bird cemetery, is where we planted a marker provided by the Army.
12/27/2005 11:09:00 AM |
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Monday, December 26, 2005 Syriana Once again I went to a movie with high expectations and emerged disappointed. I expected an A, got a B at best. The problem for me was the story's predictability within the context of its grim world of "realpolitik." If you're in a room full of assholes and you make the premise, everybody here is an asshole, well, nobody after that really surprises you. That's the way the movie disappointed me. As opposed to a film like the recent Crash, also multi-layered and grim, but full of human surprises. The two movies I've seen in the past year or so that stand out are Crash and Paradise Now. But I haven't seen everything.
12/26/2005 10:15:00 PM |
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Progress I have book one of the novel ready for readers. On to book two.
Going to see Syriana tonight, Munich later in the week.
I've started reading an Xmas book, Dylan's Chronicles, and it's very good. The lad writes prose as well as he writes lyrics. Fascinating, candid memoir of his early years. More volumes to come.
12/26/2005 03:03:00 PM |
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Up and at ‘em! Awoke with new energy, Christmas over, back to a normal routine. Nothing ahead but New Year’s. We’re take a little holiday ourselves to take advantage of school starting late, after the rest of the world has started the new work year.
Focusing on the novel rewrite so I can get it into the hands of readers as soon as possible and forget it for awhile. Also projects on the periphery to address, the musical, the animation – would like to get caught up with both before school starts.
Then, with the new year, continue researching the history novel and epic opera while I start a new short novel and continue to work on pop/jazz songs.
This has been one of the better holiday periods for me lately because it’s been unusually quiet and mellow. This is not a universally held preference, however.
Sunday, December 25, 2005 Merry Christmas A perfect, quiet, mellow Christmas. Opened presents, loafed around, had an early dinner, went to a movie. Brokeback Mountain, which Harriet liked more than I did. I thought it dragged, a short story padded into a feature, which is exactly how it was made, and I thought too many dramatic issues happened off-screen or were under-developed. Harriet gave it an A, I would give it a B. Lots of gorgeous scenery. But it doesn't get the dramatic mileage the situation called for. At the same time, it avoided many cliches inherent in the material as well. A difficult story to tell without adding density to give it a feature's legs, and I don't believe they quite pulled it off.
I awoke this morning with song lyrics in by head, based on the title of a short story by Andre Dubus, and in about fifteen minutes I had them fully developed and am now looking for their melody. Getting close but don't have it right yet. I like the lyrics, tight with a clear story and theme. Doggerel elevated by melody ha ha -- but I need the melody.
12/25/2005 06:29:00 PM |
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Holidays This has been an unusually mellow holiday season, which frankly I prefer. We are taking a holiday day trip today. I think we'll go to a movie tomorrow, something light and entertaining. But I still haven't seen Syriana and Capote. And Munich coming up.
Work, too, has been mellow, moving forward at a crawl. I think I'll kick into a higher gear next week. I can't be mellow for too long without returning to my workaholic true self ha ha. Lately it's been all the new toy and the learning curve. If I can live as long as my father (knock on my wooden head), I still have a bit less than a decade to do my thing. Time enough. You take what you can get. Of course, I feel like I could live forever. That's how Dos Passos must have felt in his 90s, planning that sequence of 12 novels. God, I love that! I love the audacity of his mind.
Finishing up Love, Sex & Tragedy, a fascinating book. I'll include some excerpts here when I'm done. Next, some short novels lined up. And getting into the NYer DVDs in a systematic way.
I also have a book review due soon. Must get on that before school starts again.
Top priority, however, is getting through the novel again so I can pass it on to some readers for feedback. I hope I only have a polish to do then but we'll have to see what the reaction is. It's not whether they like it or not; it's whether or not they see a problem that had escaped me. I am getting some distance from the material finally.
Friday, December 23, 2005 Traffic Rewatched this gem about drug trafficking -- as powerful as ever. The source of its power is in understatement and visual storytelling. Many sequences where we don't hear dialogue because the context is clear, the particularization of the obvious would add nothing. Our imaginations are more powerful than any actual dialogue that could be written.
12/23/2005 07:33:00 PM |
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Thursday, December 22, 2005 Shopgirl, the film I was disappointed, as is usually the case when I see a film based on a novel I love. Even though Steve Martin also wrote the screenplay, I think a great error was made in his story strategy. The narration. It's forced and clearly expository, giving context to a story that doesn't get it dramatically. Far worse, he reads it himself, which means it's in the voice of the character he plays, even though he is reading passages in the novel told from an omniscient point of view. This throws the aesthetics completely askew and forces the focus too much on the male character. Wonderfully acted and produced -- but the novella is a gem, the film just okay.
12/22/2005 04:28:00 PM |
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OLR traffic The first seven days of traffic at the review: (unique vistors) 107, 20, 21, 48, 40, 51, 84 ... and 40 so far today. Half the folks are staying a while, which suggests they are reading or llstening to or watching something. Good show.
12/22/2005 02:05:00 PM |
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Homeowner blues A chaotic morning! Basement repairs underway, which includes jackhammer work. Not exactly peace and quiet ha ha. Hopefully they'll finish up today but maybe not. The dog hates the noise more than we do.
12/22/2005 01:53:00 PM |
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Wednesday, December 21, 2005 Cyber reading I continue reading from my novel-in-progress in new audio files posted at my archive.
12/21/2005 12:23:00 PM |
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Tokyo Story This 1953 Japanese movie is a gem about aging and the displacement of senior generations. Slow but precise. I'd missed it the first time but checked it out because I read it was Susan Sontag's favorite film.
12/21/2005 08:47:00 AM |
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Tuesday, December 20, 2005 Shopgirl Read the novella by Steve Martin. Touching story, first rate work. But it's the kind of internal story that gets much of its impact from the literary point of view, difficult to translate to film. Curious how I'll react to the movie.
Three pop/jazz songs nearly done, fiddling with the new toy. Am directly contacting jazz singers regarding submission of lead sheets. So far, have a taker. Always good to have someplace to send something.
Monday, December 19, 2005 Snowed in Our several inches of snow have shut down the city. Midwesterners must shake their heads at us. At any rate, a good day to stay home and work.
Traffic to the review picked up yesterday, 48 unique visitors and 18 thus far today. Maybe the 30 a day average is close. I don't know why I picked this figure. Sounds good, I guess.
Meanwhile I found some extraordinary photography and "experimental travel writing" on the web and have written to ask permission to reprint an article on Portland. Getting my issue two hat on.
At the moment I have too many projects going at once. This happens when I have a new toy. I need to step back and get things in order -- and front burner is the novel and the second rewrite.
I don't understand writer's block. Never had it. Far from it, I'm always way ahead of myself with ideas. Well, until recently. A while back I did think I saw my reflection at the bottom of the well. Then I got two more book ideas. Then I hooked up the keyboard to the computer -- and now, more typically, I know I don't have time to do everything I'd like to do.
Sunday, December 18, 2005 Chamber opera Britten's Rape of Lucretia at the new small studio space of the Portland Opera was magnificent! I think I prefer chamber opera to grand opera -- want to write more of the former and less of the latter. Hear that, John? Intimate, more a sense of characters, I just love the form. I could do without the PC epilogue but what the hell, you can't have anything.
Then we came out to find -- snow, ice! Portland stands still when this happens, so we crawled home at 10mph mainly but made it safe and sound. This is supposed to last for a few days, so we may just stay home and enjoy it.
Just about done with the two jazz/pop songs I've been working on. Incredibly enough, I found Stacey Kent's email address (one of my fav contemporary female jazz vocalists) and audaciously wrote asking if she accepts song submissions. If I write something worthy of her, IMHO, I'd send it in a flash if she said yes. She may just deep six it, must get dozens of these. I at least can send songs to our fine local singers.
But of course, I am now thinking of a chamber opera story. Never fails. See something, love something, and come out thinking, yeah, I can do that!
Calm after the storm After Thursday's 107 unique visitors on our launch day, the review has settled into normal traffic of 20 and 21 for Fri and Sat, which is appropriate for a new journal, I think. I'd like to get about 30 unique visitors a day, so we're within range. Initial response that I've heard has been very favorable, especially with regard to our multi-media content.
I've been working on new pop/jazz songs with my new toy, a melancholy piece and an uptempo joyous piece. This is difficult writing actually, let's one really appreciate the genius of someone like Cole Porter. But it's good "old age" writing, too, because it is within one's grasp from the start, short work (not less difficult, just shorter) compared to a novel. With a song, you are telling the gods, I need a week, with a novel, I need a year or more. I think I'll keep dabbling in songs for the short focus and learning experience of it, though of course I still have three books in me, one in first rewrite draft.
A few months ago I reflected that I might be near the bottom of the well. Obviously that didn't happen. Years ago, an actor friend of mine died backstage with his makeup on. A writer can do no better than that. Keep on truckin', as we used to day.
Really looking forward to the chamber opera this afternoon! Intimate, 127-seat house. However, forecast has a freezing rain storm coming tonight, surely want to be home before that happens, assuming the forecasters are right for a change.
Suffered through a Christmas party last night. I think that was the only one at which my presence is "required." Let's hope so.
Started reading Steve Martin's novella Shopgirl. Absolutely charming! I wasn't interested in the film but now I want to check it out, although this novella is so internal it's hard to imagine how a film could improve the story. Another good book-script to consider teaching if the script is available.
12/18/2005 05:05:00 AM |
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Saturday, December 17, 2005 Learning curve Having a ball exploring songwriting, with much to learn, but also this is great fun, "minimalist" writing at its most challenging. The MIDI setup is terrific, amazing. Now to figure out what I am doing ha ha. So much to do! So much to learn! So much to read! How do people get bored in this world?
12/17/2005 11:40:00 AM |
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Friday, December 16, 2005 Audio book I want to know what my new novel sounds like, so I'm recording it. I'm posting the chapters in a new audio section at my archive, called Audio books. First chapter is up.
12/16/2005 12:24:00 PM |
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A new world! Wonder of wonders, FedEx made a morning delivery here. And everything works!! I can't believe it. I play the keyboard, Finale writes the music, just like that. Had everything set up in a few minutes. Fantastic. A new adventure for me.
12/16/2005 12:22:00 PM |
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Big day My MIDI interface should arrive this afternoon and finally I can see if I can set my keyboard up. Be oh so nice if everything goes smoothly. Good chance it will, I think.
Our first launch day of the review attracted 107 unique visitors, 10 of whom came back for more than one visit. Over a third stayed long enough to actually read or listen to something. I’d say day one is a success. We’ll see how it goes in the long run now.
We may have snow on the way early next week. Of course, they’ve said that before and been wrong. If we’re going to get it, might as well get it when I don’t have to be anywhere.
Still no Christmas plans. We may go to a movie by default or something.
Thursday, December 15, 2005 MIDI hardware Tracking the shipment of my MIDI hardware, I see it made it to Portland. Should be on the delivery FedEx truck tomorrow. Unfortunately, all my deliveries seem to happen in the late afternoon, possibly because we are near the border's edge of the city limits. So tomorrow I have to be patient! I've been sitting on ready to get started on this new adventure.
One thing I can do tomorrow is get back to the animation script in progress and a screenplay in progress. And print out the novel for the 2nd rewrite.
And continue reading, reading, reading, including breaking open the NYer DVDs in a systematic way. There aren't enough hours in the day, even for an old fart like me.
12/15/2005 10:13:00 PM |
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Initial response Since announcing the launch of the review this morning, we've had over 70 unique visitors, which I consider a nice response. If we could settle in at 30 or so a day, I'd be delighted.
Had a great long visit with my former counsellor. My 2nd counsellor at the VA relapsed on heroine a few years ago and died recently. Many other folks from the VA I knew have passed away. My counsellor almost bit the bullet himself last year with a heart attack.
Brrrrr A cold brisk morning, too cold for this kid raised in Texas and SoCal. I've been complaining about the weather here for over a quarter of a century. Hmm. Must be something here I like ha ha.
Off to have coffee with Mel, my old counsellor from the VA, whom I haven't visited in quite a few years. Will stop by the university on the way home to use the T1 connection for a couple large downloads onto my flash drive, maybe fart around a tad, might even go Xmas shopping. My mellow break continues to be mellow. Did get the short short story off yesterday ... need to do some other writing but seem to be in no hurry to begin. Mainly impatient about getting my MIDI hardware to see if I can make it all work. If not ... help! But I remain optimistic. Seems to me it should work unless I have problems with a driver, but that comes with the hardware ... so ... we'll see.
Screenwright My electronic screenwriting tutorial has been on the market for 8 years now, and it still brings in glowing testimonials, like one received today:
Thank you so much for a wonderful screen writing tool. I have been perusing the Internet and bookstores on and off for several months now looking for a manual like screenwright. I bought a few books that seemed to be what I needed but after getting started with them they seemed so lacking in substance and well...heart or passion. I purchased your online ebook/course and I am so excited to begin. This is what I have been looking for. I have read through it and plan to do 1 section per week. This is something I have wanted to do for a long time.
What astounds me is that the hypertext book/course still has no competitors. The pedagogical advantages of hypertext still seem to elude mainstream publishers.
12/14/2005 03:53:00 PM |
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An exercise in craft I turned a chapter in my novel Kerouac's Scroll into a 5300-word short story called "Camp Thanatos," which I'm now marketing. Getting wind of a very short story competition I wanted to enter, I rewrote the story above to 1900 words, with the new title "Last Rights." An interesting exercise all the way around! Most challenging was getting rid of the echoes of back story that became irrelevant in the new conceptions of the story, each with a different focus, a focus increasingly tighter. Rather like turning a screenplay into a logline ha ha. At any rate, I'll enter the shorter version in the competition and continue to market the longer story -- and keep rewriting the novel until it's ready. The next rewrite, however, is the last "private" version. After that, it goes out to two readers I'm lining up. Then we'll see where we are.
Today I need to spend a lot of time tying together loose ends at the review. Almost ready to release it. Tomorrow, I think. Friday at the latest. This is exciting. Then I'll make an announcement to the world etc. And put it on some CD-Rs.
Already beginning to get submissions for the second issue (this summer), which is great. If you're a writer ready to publish, or already have published, consider sending us something. Details at Oregon Literary Review. We publish music, art and hypermedia as well as writing in all its forms, including scripts.
By the way, the first issue does not include any poetry. Our poetry editor promises a large special section in the next issue. He may be restricting it to Oregon poets this time.
12/14/2005 07:03:00 AM |
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Project Gutenberg Long before Google and Yahoo! decided to create an online library, there was Project Gutenberg, which put the classics and other public domain books online years ago. Read about it in the Wall Street Journal.
12/14/2005 06:59:00 AM |
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A new office It was easier to redesign my office to bring the keyboard and computer together than I thought it would be. I didn't have to move a large bookcase like I thought I would. So I'm now set up! This is a better setup even if I have problems with MIDI. I can more easily do what I did before, which is write music by hand, a rather hit and miss, trial and error, activity for me. But this is cool. With the keyboard in my lap, it's easier to mess around ... and good tunes come from messing around. Onward!
12/13/2005 12:12:00 PM |
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Progress Finished the first rewrite of Kerouac's Scroll. Now to print it once again and start the process over again.
Surprise email from my counsellor a dozen years ago when I spent most of a year in the VA hospital getting my life turned around after years of alcohol abuse. He probably saved my life. No, I'm sure of it -- without him or someone like him, I'd have been dead for a decade by now. I was pretty close to the edge. He had a hard-nosed no bullshit style that didn't let me rationalize one tad about anything. He was a put up or shut up kind of guy, rather an existentialist of the old school, and in the end I loved him for it. Was great to hear from him and I hope we can visit before the new term begins.
12/13/2005 09:36:00 AM |
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James Jones Here is a curious writer who came to mind because last night I rewatched the film based on his novel, Some Came Running. Jones wrote sprawling novels with great stories – hence they often made good movies, including his best, From Here To Eternity. Jones is one of those rare novelists whose novels are a disappointment to me after I admire the movie.
Some Came Running was greatly admired by myself and fellow wannabe writers when I was young because of its romantic portrayal of the talented, misunderstood, hard-drinking writer whom we all wanted to emulate. This was the trickle-down macho image from the Hemingway era. All our heroes – Hemingway, Agee, Faulkner, Steinbeck, Fitzgerald – drank like fish, went through women like liquor and raised general hell. This was what writers did. So we wanted to do it, too. Some of us succeeded.
Looking back at this movie, I still enjoy it although I no longer buy into its tragic myth. Shirley MacLaine’s portrayal of Jenny, the not-too-bright loose woman with a heart of gold, is still impressive despite its lack of being politically correct today. Sinatra is, well, Sinatra. Dean Martin the same. After the 1950s, the mainstream artist-myth transferred from writers to rock musicians but it was the same myth, and it’s still with us today (Russell Crowe comes to mind). There’s also some truth in it, that is, if you live a wild and crazy life, and can survive it, you have a lifetime of experience to write about.
Snooping around the net, I see that the hardcover edition of Jones’ novel above is a rare book, selling for hundreds of dollars! Interesting.
12/13/2005 08:04:45 AM |
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Monday, December 12, 2005 Loose ends Have three students getting Incompletes, so I need to make one last trip to the university today to see if late work is waiting in my mail box. Deadline for grades is tomorrow -- mine are in but I can make changes and additions till then.
Sunday, December 11, 2005 Mellow Back to rewriting the novel draft but in a low pressure, slow, mellow sort of way. I’ve arranged for a “critical reading” when it’s ready – maybe even in January. Then I’ll go from there.
My MIDI hardware has been shipped and should arrive around Tuesday, so I can see if my new configuration will be easy or difficult to install. Come on easy! After that, I have to do a major redesign of my office, including getting rid of some more books. For all my office cleaning last summer, I still have things to get rid of.
Going to hear some Christmas music this morning. We’re having a very low key holiday, however.
I’m not going to worry about the new term till after the first of the year. With the longer break, I’ll then have an entire week to get together my new syllabus and such. So it’s nice to have all this unburdened time at the moment. I am very close to finishing the rewrite – then I’ll print it all out again and do the same thing one more time. Then I may be ready to make it available to other eyes.
I continue to read for the historic novel upcoming. I need to look at the other short novel I have in mind, too. And the animation script I’m doing. And reading for the epic libretto. And now still another libretto idea, an adaptation of an American classic that, for some reason, has not been turned into an opera yet – probably because it looks impossible to do ha ha. I’ll reread it and see if I can figure out a way. It has that great sprawling subject matter that opera can do so well.
Next week we go to a small chamber opera presentation of Britten’s “Rape of Lucretia,” which has gotten rave reviews here. I’m looking forward to hearing it in an intimate space, less than a 200-seat house, a new facility the Portland Opera is inaugurating.
12/11/2005 08:01:00 AM |
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Saturday, December 10, 2005 Robert Sheckley dies SF giant writer Robert Sheckley died yesterday (see NY Times obit at his official homepage). He was a hero of my teen years when I was reading a lot of SF, my favorite four writers being Sheckley, Asimov, Frederick Brown and Theodore Sturgeon. Sheckley was rare in that, like Brown, he wrote a lot of SF humor.
Sheckley lived in Portland in the 80s and 90s, and I got to meet my hero. My last meeting with him a few years ago was depressing, however. He sent me an email, asking if I had time for coffee. We weren't that close so I wondered what was up. He was trying everyone he knew, it turns out, to see if I could direct him to an inexpensive room to rent. I gave him a few leads but he ended up leaving town (I read in the obit). It was depressing that a man of such stature, a giant in the Golden Age of SF, had such a hard time making ends meet. He was still a hero in Europe and the world but pretty much forgotten in the US, at least when it came to paychecks. We toss away our artists like yesterday's garbage.
I'm glad I got to know him even a little bit. I still love his sense of humor. He'll be buried back east near his roots.
Chicken and egg Eager to redesign my office for MIDI -- but there's no point if the setup doesn't work. So I'm trying to be patient while waiting for the hardware I need to arrive. Next week I hope. Lots of reading, writing and rewriting to do at any rate, including getting into the New Yorker dvds in earnest. Onward.
12/10/2005 08:10:00 AM |
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Friday, December 09, 2005
Portland soccer champs The University of Portland women's soccer team, NCAA division one champions, had their day of celebration in the city today. They arrived on a fire truck. Lots of speeches and praise, then they signed autographs for a very, very long line of fans. Then Harriet and I went to see The Ice Harvest, which neither of us liked much, though I a tad more. And then home for the day.
12/09/2005 03:57:00 PM |
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End of term Turned in my grades. Out of classroom till Jan. 9th, an entire month, a longer break than usual. Will catch up on a lot of projects. Today, though, taking it easy. See the soccer team celebration, maybe see a movie, wander with my camera, try to stay warm.
12/09/2005 09:09:00 AM |
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Thursday, December 08, 2005 Crawling at the end I feel like one of those marathon runners who has to crawl across the finish line. The last few scripts are taking much longer than many that came before. A loss of energy perhaps. At any rate, still a few to go, which I may put off till tomorrow. I am ahead of the curve, grades not officially due till next week, but I surely would like to finish up before the weekend.
12/08/2005 01:11:00 PM |
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What's wrong with this picture? Got an email from a screenwriter who has sold six scripts, four of which have been made into movies. He's in IMDb. Yet he can't get an agent! I don't get it. Only thing that makes sense is if he's in such a small market that 15% isn't worth an agent's while.
12/08/2005 11:03:00 AM |
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Oregon Literary Review
The inaugural issue of Oregon Literary Review should be up at the end of next week. It contains:
Fiction -- 2 novel excerpts, 4 short stories, 7 full-length plays, 5 short plays, 5 feature screenplays, 2 short screenplays.
Creative Nonfiction -- 2 essays, 2 works of experimental writing.
Music -- work from 7 composers (scores & audio), 1 musical drama, 2 critical essays.
Art -- work from 4 painters, 3 photographers, 1 printmaker.
Hypermedia -- work from 3 animators, plus code poetry and haiga.
MIDI Hooking my keyboard to my computer is going to be really easy -- or really hard. Depends on whether or not everything works the first time. If not, the troubleshooting may take a while. So I'll hope for the best ha ha. A piece of hardware I need should arrive the middle of next week, and I can begin. Also trying to decide on the best office changes with the least labor for the new configuration. Feel like I'm about to enter an exciting new world! Maybe you can teach an old dog new tricks.
Wind still blowing. Still to damn cold. Of course, I could be where it's really cold with snow and ice. The grass is always browner on the other side of the street.
12/08/2005 07:21:00 AM |
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Wednesday, December 07, 2005 Office design If I get my keyboard hooked to my computer and all the midi stuff goes well, I think I'll have to redesign my office so the interface is more practical. This isn't a major job but not a particularly small one either. The break is the perfect time to do it.
There must be something better sitting here in this orange naugahyde bubbling bar juke box playing Fats Waller. Astronauts winking from the glossy pin-ball glass; reflections drifting in bourbon memories. There must be something better than seven shots blowing up the night ripping bone and flesh smashing life's tender body thrown against the cold stairs curling, like a broken guitar string. The beat goes on. If I could just imagine something better than this savage anger eating so much light so suddenly. A finger on a trigger is so very easy. Love is so very difficult frail as a rock and roll falsetto soaring from a car radio on a summer night.
12/07/2005 06:38:00 PM |
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Almost done 7 more things to read from continuing students, which I'll do tomorrow morning when I'm more fresh. Tired and cranky, I'm a meaner grader ha ha.
Wind blowing and it's far too cold for me outside. The wonder is that I've lived here for over 25 years! I'm a SoCal boy at heart. If it's this cold for the soccer ladies celebration, which is outside, I may skip it. Once a weather wimp, always...
Finals Started reading finals this morning. So far most of them are pretty good. May finish later today if I keep at it ... or tomorrow if I don't.
December 7th, Pearl Harbor day, was a very big memorial when I was growing up in a Navy family. I don't recall the day itself but do remember how scared I was of blackouts on the east coast during the war. Until 9/11, I belonged to the last generation with experiential memory of being attacked by a foreign enemy. My parents' generation has been called "the great generation" and I wonder if any of the generations behind me will match them -- or if, since all cultures rise and fall, America's greatness is in the past.
Why do cultures rise and fall? I have a theory about this. Because the more evolved we get, the less we like war, and the less we like war, the less we can defend ourselves against those who still haven't evolved to dislike it. That is, more "primitive" warriors defeat the "rulers grown lazy" because, in the terms of sports competition, they want victory more.
Tuesday, December 06, 2005 Holiday adventure? Been thinking of hooking up my keyboard to my computer -- if a dinosaur like me can figure out how to do it. Snooping around the web, seems easy enough if I get a USB-MIDI interface. Might try this during the break. Goal, to play the keyboard and have Finale write the sheet music. Then I can bug John with snippets of music ha ha! hoping he can do something with them. Write some more jazz/pop tunes for the wonderful Sussanah Mars (that is, if she likes any of them).
Last lap Except for a couple of online continuing students, I'm caught up. Return their scripts this afternoon and pick up their final exam essays, which I'll start reading tomorrow. The end is in sight. Overall, their scripts were quite good.
Managed to have some time this morning to read the first book of the novel draft, first rewrite, and while I am still fixing a few things, for the most part it moved right along and I'm happy with it. Managing to get different voices in the dialogue of my two old guys. I'll move on to book two as soon as I have my grades in. I think I'll print it soon so I can stare at it. I like staring a thick manuscripts that need my attention.
Opera students are giving a free concert this evening. Going to check it out after picking up the finals.
A western writer Yesterday's Oregonian featured a story on Rick Steber, a "western writer" from Prineville, Oregon, who has been publishing books large and small about the west for a good long time. His first novel Buy the Chief a Cadillac won the recent Spur Award, best western novel. Bonanza Publishing is Steber's signature home, and his career illustrates how a writer can carve out a niche for his work without dealing with the new corporate takeover of publishing. Check him out. He's won a ton of awards for what he does but it's nice to see the corporate newspaper recognize him as well.
12/06/2005 05:53:00 AM |
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Monday, December 05, 2005 Hanging in A long day ... three more scripts to go. Maybe I'll do them tomorrow morning when I'm seeing fewer spots ha ha.
12/05/2005 05:38:00 PM |
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Reading, reading Making progress, only a few hours to go on the student scripts. Some surprises (more improvement than I expected) and disappointments (less).
12/05/2005 02:16:00 PM |
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Deal There's a producer in LA who's believed in my screenplay Earthly Desires for a good long time. Last summer I gave him a free option extension because he's the only one who seems interested in it -- and now he wanted to direct it himself. Well, he called this morning. He may have backing to begin shooting in May, 2006. We'll see what happens.
12/05/2005 11:08:00 AM |
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Celebration The soccer ladies get a downtown celebration on Friday, and I plan to be there with my camera. Today is a leisurely day with student scripts and the coffee pot.
12/05/2005 07:27:00 AM |
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Sunday, December 04, 2005 Univ of Portland 4, UCLA 0! The city should give the ladies a parade. We don't get all that many sports championships in this neck of the woods.
12/04/2005 12:12:00 PM |
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The joy of writing I love rewriting. I love the slow, careful pace of it. In a draft, putting something where nothing was before, I sometimes feel pressure from the fleeting nature of ideas as they form. A sudden ringing of the phone can erase a fragile notion about to be written. In rewriting, the text, a text, already exists, and this provides great security to the process. Ringing phones and sudden interruptions don't matter. The act of writing becomes less fragile and temperamental and more rational and thoughtful. I like taking my time, reading aloud to hear the rhythm of the language, fiddling with the order of words. I do my rewrites in stages: first, I focus on the story itself, getting the action, the events, down in the right order. Then I focus on the language.
After the rewriting process, I have what I call my first "presentable draft," which I present to willing colleagues for feedback. I take some and dismiss some when I go back to rewrite again, nearing completion now. Finally I turn it loose, which now means sending it to my agent. And taking my own advice, I'm already working on something else, so the fickle nature of author-work relationships can invest my heart in something else, a shield against rejection. For all the "successes" in my career, I imagine rejections must outnumber them ten to one. It's part of the writing life.
My recent literary judging has again reminded me both how much good work is out there -- and how much poor work as well. But it's the good work that's impressive. There is more good work being written than paying, notable outlets for it. Hence all the various literary magazines and Internet spaces that open up for the work, Oregon Literary Review being one. There are some very fine things in our first issue! I am especially pleased and impressed with the new music we are publishing. Composers really haven't had a home like this before that I know of. This is the first "good deed" of the review. Next, I am pleased with the scripts, scriptwriters (especially screenwriters) being second class citizens in the literary world (this is what makes their support by the Illinois Arts Council so extraordinary).
I also was pleased with my own work in comparison to the best work I judged. One can't help but compare. I'm a better craftsman than most but my stories are more, well, quirky with not as broad an appeal as some I read. I've known I'm not a mainstream writer for a long time now. And we're definitely in a mainstream age (as we weren't in the sixties and seventies so much).
This morning I'm watching the Univ of Portland -- UCLA women's soccer match, then devoting the rest of the day and days ahead to my students until I get my grades in, probably at the end of next week. Then my holiday break begins, and one of the first things I'm doing is getting into those New Yorker DVDs, which I haven't had time to do much with so far. I'll see if I can fit a regular reading time into my schedule.
I'm even beginning to get a little Christmas spirit. We have no plans. Maybe we'll go out of town, maybe not. Same with New Year's, though we may do something with our new friends from Michigan, as we did last year.
Saturday, December 03, 2005 Fixing I found what was bugging me in the opening chapters of the novel -- and eliminated chapter ten, saving only one exchange which I put into chapter nine. Much better pacing, I think. We'll see how it rides.
12/03/2005 12:38:00 PM |
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Saturday morning quarterback Looking at our selections for fellowships, I see that: If I had been the only judge, 5 of the 7 full awards would have been the same. The other 2 would have been upgraded among the 4 finalists ... so my top 7 did get some money. My most satisfying contribution was getting the 16th ranked script elevated to 10th so it could win finalist money -- this was a Hollywood screenplay a bit like, but in my opinion better than, Finding Forrester. My passionate argument in its behalf swayed the other 2 judges. At the same time, their passion swayed me on 2 scripts I would not have given any money to, which got the full fellowship. There were more scripts worthy of funding than available money -- even though the seven $7000 and four $700 awards are mind-boggling for scriptwriters (and they do this every other year!). I really have only one disappointment, a play about men and the military that I really liked but which neither of the other judges responded to at all. I decided to save my passionate argument for two others not on the top list for funding but better graded by the other two judges, figuring I had less upgrade territory to face. I got one full funding and the other finalist money. Each judge picked special favorites in this way, and we listened to one another's passions. All of us were very experienced, which is why it went so well. Younger writers and judges tend to be more certain of their own wisdom. We learned long ago that "there's no accounting for taste." So there was a bit of political maneuvering going on, though no one called it that, where I gave in to your passion if you gave in to mine. So there were only 3 scripts to which I would have given money that didn't get any at all. All of my top scripts got full fellowships. So I'm pleased overall with the results.
The moral for writers is to feel lucky when you win and not be devastated when you lose. It's a crap shoot. If each of us had been the sole judge, there would have been different winners in about a third of the slots, I believe.
All 7 full fellowships were stage plays. (Both the other judges admitted that they hated reading screenplays.) 2 screenplays were finalists. I probably would have had it 5-2 full or maybe even 4-3.
Now it's interesting that these theater folks hate to read screenplays. I believe it's because most writers overwrite screenplays -- a crisp screenplay actually is easier to read than a stage play but overwriting is pandemic in this form. The overwriting bogs the reader down. Most screenwriters shoot themselves in the foot in these competitions.
At any rate, it's a relief to have this done with. Now to student scripts -- but first a break for the Army-Navy game. This was the major sporting event when I was growing up, being in a Navy family, and I still root for Navy even though I myself served in the Army (to my mother's horror). Childhood experience counts.
12/03/2005 08:18:00 AM |
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Friday, December 02, 2005 Portland women to finals Univ of Portland women's soccer team goes to the finals. Just beat Penn State 4-3 in penalty kicks after 0-0 through regulation and two overtimes. Terrific game to watch. Likely will face UCLA in the final, my alma mater v my residency. I can't lose.
12/02/2005 04:29:00 PM |
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Illinois Arts Commission The conference call was a delight. We three judges respected one another's passions, no one had a temper tantrum, and we got our business done in an hour. We gave seven $7000 fellowships and four $700 finalists awards -- I know of no agency that supports script writers this much. They do this every other year. Both my top ranking scripts got the full fellowship, and I successfully argued a Hollywood screenplay into a finalist award although it ranked on the bottom of the sixteen. I also gave in on two scripts I wasn't wild about but the other two judges both were. Give and take the whole way, it was a good experience.
Note to starving playwrights and screenwriters: if you are looking for institutional support, move to Chicago! I am totally impressed with this arts agency.
12/02/2005 01:20:00 PM |
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"There's no accounting for taste." Conference call in a few hrs for the scriptwriting awards. Meanwhile just rec'd the tally on the 28 scripts still in the running. Here is a telling statistic ... seven scripts, or 25%, received one 5 vote and two 2's, which is to say, one of us, the three judges, voted for slam dunk funding, rating it outstanding and professional, while two of us gave it a marginal rating, recommending no funding at all. Also, I appear to have been the toughest "grader." I gave two 5's. One judge gave 10 and the other 12. How we sort through all this on the phone may be fascinating.
12/02/2005 09:34:00 AM |
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Scripts and more scripts Awash in scripts ... a pile of 28 for the conference call to Illinois today ... a pile of 20 from my students to look at and grade over the weekend. Some minor prep to do for the conf call. I hope all of us are flexible -- if we're not, with only six scripts that more than one judge initially recommended, it can be a long, frustrating call. We'll all have our favorites to present, I suppose, hoping to change minds. Mine is a wonderful "Hollywood screenplay," which may turns others off for this very reason -- it has all the elements, including the happy ending, of the Hollywood blockbuster. I like it because it's so well done. And I accept this, the Hollywood script, as a legitimate genre, no less worthy, but just as specialized, as "children's drama." The only kiddie play in the bunch is one of the six with one than one initial backer. It's very well done. Yet one doesn't judge it as one judges "an adult drama." I'll argue that "the Hollywood screenplay" deserves the same consideration, a special genre with a special aesthetics. We'll see if I can convince anyone. Four of my nine personal recommendations found additional support ... two did not. It's okay with me if we automatically put the six in, even though I didn't initially vote for two of them. One was damn close. The other, while not my cup of tea, is something I can live with (as I couldn't with a few others in this final round). One thing I noticed, unlike in some states, these fellowships can be repeated (in Oregon, for example, they can't be in the same genre ... in Oregon, I have past fellowships from the Oregon Arts Commission both in fiction and drama). One writer already has two script fellowships. Since there's no rule against it, I recommend him for a third but if it's between him and a newcomer, I'd go with the newcomer to spread the wealth. At any rate, the conf call should be "an interesting experience."
12/02/2005 12:42:00 AM |
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Thursday, December 01, 2005 Revised revisions The opening of the novel draft has been bugging me -- so I'm going back to page one, determined to tighten up the first part of the story.
12/01/2005 11:25:00 AM |
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False alarm This town gets crazy over snow, even a little snow. Last night some forecasters were predicting 3-6" on the valley floor today -- but it looks like it's going to be too warm. Good. Projects are due and with that much snow, every school in town would have closed down! No snow is good.
12/01/2005 07:17:00 AM |
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_The Writing Life