new ventures

In the past 24 or so hours or so, I completed a draft of a short script tentatively called "Name That Tune" and half an outline for a web series for which I had a "brilliant" idea. I'd originally thought that I could have the series scripted, shot, edited and ready to submit before the IFC Web Series contest deadline, but that may not happen. There's no script, no actors and no video camera. That pretty much puts the kibbosh on any contest plans. Still, I do plan to eventually script and shoot the pilot. Next week, the Apple store is giving a class on using movie making software and I'll be there soaking up as much as I can.

As you can see, my newest interest is short film making. Why wait for somebody else to share my vision and be responsible for the finished product? Most of my shorts involve no more than three characters and one indoor location (convenient, as I can control the lighting). I found a video camera with a built-in USB port ($149) that I can use for starters.

Completely off topic- a film company in London is looking for ten minute dramas to shoot in October. Not one to let an opportunity slip away, I'm sending in my outline after I finish this blog. Yours truly happens to have penned a thirty minute drama about a woman who believes that she was the lead singer of a '60s girl group. I'm well aware that thirty and ten are two different sums, but I believe I can chop up the script and cobble together a logical ten minute piece out of it. This is low budget, though, so right away I've gotta get rid of the airplane crash and flashback elements. I'll focus on what happens at the psychiatrist's office. Wow! I've almost got my outline already! Who said blogging was a waste of time..?

not a word...

Yesterday, it was so freeing to not write that this morning, I thought, "why rock the boat"? Really. Except for this blog, I haven't written a thing all day. But the day was not wasted...I spent the afternoon downtown perusing the antique shops and eating flavored popcorn. I love antique shops- anything from the 1950s and early 60s gives me an imaginary chubby. Today I bought a book called "In Training" that was intended to be a coming-of-age, "this is what's happening to your body" manual for teenagers. It was from 1943 and spent about nine pages talking about the evils of self-abuse or what we now know as masturbation. Tee-hee. It would be totally laughable if it wasn't written by an M.D.

Big ups to my sister!! She made it past the first set of gatekeepers for a whiz-bang fashion school scholarship. Woo-hoo! Big thangs poppin, indeed. Speaking of big things, (usually I would segue into a comment about my thighs, but not tonight. See how far we've come??) I received a note today from the agent reading Mixtape. It was a nice note, just letting me know that they have received my screenplay. So professional and very appreciated.

The city paper never contacted me. Guess I wasn't on their short list of potential food writers. *sigh*

Enough of this vacation. I need to get back into the writing thing again. It just seems that whenever I sit down to the keyboard, I want to go to sleep or start crying uncontrollably. What the hell is wrong with me? Writer's block? Pshaw. I would kill for writer's block. I don't know what this is, but it's unproductive and silly. Resolved: I will write tomorrow. Even if I'm typing through tears, it must be done.

one down, two to go

This happens all the time! It's like a damned omen or something! So, earlier I wrote that I hadn't heard anything from any of the agents. Well, I got home today from a particularly stimulating trip to the North Texas Historical Museum (sidebar- it's politically correct now to call them "farm" as opposed to "plantations") and what did I have waiting for me but a rejection from one of the agents. Although Lucas Donovan was "very entertaining and well-written", they would have to pass on it. Oh well. One agent down, two more to go.

Still thinking about my rewrites. I took the day off writing to do some museum jaunting and wrap my mind around all the different ideas. Anyway, I was so taken with the community that surrounded the museum that I'm going back tomorrow (sans 3 inch heels, mind) to visit all the quaint antique shops and old fashioned ice cream parlors. Another sidebar- I love mid-century architecture and this town had a lot to offer.

My husband's idea of comedy is very basic. Sometime I wonder if he "gets" the funny in my scripts. Maybe he doesn't like it at all. Or maybe my funny isn't funny, but I'm telling myself that it is so forwardly funny that nobody gets it.

producer's notes

This morning, I received a notice in my inbox through infolist.com that some L.A. theatre company is looking for one-act plays. The theatre company boasts board members like Steven Spielberg and Neil Simon (famous playwright- not Paul's brother), so I'm uneasy about sending in my play about the amateur phone sex actresses, but whatever. Hopefully, Spielberg will just reject it and not sic animatronic dinosaurs on me.

So, last night I turned in my rewrite on the short. This morning, I had the notes in my inbox. The producer first off thanked me for all the hard work, and then proceeded to verbally ass rape the script. My feelings are hurt, but this business isn't about feelings; it's about product. Anyway, the script felt "rushed and one-note" and I was "telling, not showing". Ouch. The comments sting, but I've got no choice but to get stuck in. I keep telling myself that this is only a short and when I start receiving studio comments, the same thing is going to happen. Except it'll be in person and instead of one page, it'll be a novella of shit that doesn't work. It's kinda like giving birth to a big headed baby. It's over now, so swallow the Big Girl pill, massage your stretched asshole and get back to work.

Still no job. Still no word about my full manuscripts. I'm a little more than nervous about my scripts floating around out there. I mean, they're copyrighted and registered, but there's still the off chance that they could get ripped off, you know? Ahem...CAMERON CROWE and his "original" script for "Elizabethtown".

Ah, but bitterness is a dish to be enjoyed alone, so I'll sign off. Gotta go find the comedic timing in this movie. Comedic timing? Come out, come out, wherever you are...

exhausted options

I shouldn't say this because I'm sure you're tired of listening, but I don't care. I maintain this space to unload things that are- for the most part- socially unacceptable to voice. For those of you who know me, you are well aware that my moods can be rapid cycling, to say the least. Today is a down day. Well, that's a little misleading. The past three months have been a down day, with slight spots of happiness. We're now in August and nothing has changed. I'm still unemployed. I'm still fat. I'm still without agent. I have friends, but they're stay at home moms who wouldn't understand my almost physical need to work every day. I spent the entire day laying in front of the television watching Bargain Hunt and eating nachos. That's not entirely true; I did edit the short script that's due on Wednesday. Nine pages. Big whoop.

The day started off terribly. I got a call from one of my good friends who is a recruiter for a Fortune 500 company for which I'd worked for years. I asked her to research a couple of positions for me that were advertising in Dallas. As it turns out, they aren't hiring for those positions until October and the positions are in SAN ANTONIO! Why the hell did the notice say "DALLAS", then?!?? So, I'm back at square one trying to find a job. It's depressing, especially when I'm sitting in my home office staring at my B.S. and my M.A. sitting side by side. Lots of flipping good they're doing me now.

I haven't received any word back from agents, managers or anything in weeks. This, too, is depressing. Ya'll, it's a quarter to seven and I'm ready to throw in the towel. Not just taking a shower, either. I mean, I'm ready to just lay down and die. I think I'm ready now. I've been a good human being for a long time now and I'm pretty confident that I will go to heaven (so long as I don't off myself on purpose). My husband and my son don't need me, the literary community doesn't know who I am and my Mastercard has protection on it so my balance will be forgiven in the event of my death. See? I'm all prepped and ready to go.

My husband just came in and told me that he loves me, which made me cry even harder. He thinks I'm a basket case. Maybe I am. But if I was, then I'd be revered as the next Hunter S. Thompson, right? Except that I'm just a chubby nobody sitting in Nowhere, TX.

When I was an impressionable little Catholic, I used to believe that God had chosen me for something special. Maybe it was all those hours I spent cooped up in a prayer closet that was messing with my mind, but I did. I believed that I was a "chosen" one. I believed that I could hear him speaking to me and that my steps were literally ordered by him. As I've gotten older, I find myself wondering why He allows me to feel so badly. Yeah, I know that my sadness is nowhere near, say, Jesus, but for a mortal, I'm feeling a little worse for wear. Times like this is when I lean so heavily on Him, that I'm just glad He's not as fickle or impatient as me.

I'm tired. I'm going to brush my teeth (I'm not gonna bleach tonight. What's the point?) and then go to bed. This is gonna be my last blog for awhile.

updates

While reading through old blogs, I realized there were quite a few loose ends that needed tying up. So here goes:

1. Raytheon. I didn't get the job, but a higher position was posted two weeks later. A position that was more in line with my experience as a manager/executive. I applied for that one, but haven't heard anything. I also applied for twelve other various jobs in and around this burg. I plan to take the first one that comes along (and ditch it when Raytheon calls me) simply for a little positive cash flow.

2. Disney Fellowship. I finally finished something resembling a coherent Statement of Intent, packed it all up and sent it off just under deadline. Finalists for the fellowship will be notified in December of this year.

3. Nickelodeon Fellowship. Semi-finalists will be notified this month. Once upon a time, I was excited about it. Alas, that was before I a) knew that "Cavemen" was on CBS' sitcom chopping block and b) realized that my spec script for "Cavemen" was garbage.

4. Newspaper writing gigs. The human period panties from our local ghetto rag never wrote me back, but I'm not bitter. Mainly because the city paper was looking for a restaurant reviewer (full time, paid in real money). I did, in fact, mail off my resume, clips and cover letter. The package was mailed a whole twelve miles into the city, so I should hear something by the end of next week. Mind you, this is my deadline. They may end up being just as shady as the locals busters.

laurels

Here's the deal with laurels and laps- where the hell are they??? Just like your lap disappears when you stand up, where the hell are your laurels? Or is "laurels" another word for butt cheeks? That's the only thing I can think of that one would rest upon that is plural. Well, maybe pillows...anyway, I'm working like a one legged slave on this rewrite. It's going a lot better than I thought it would. The hardest part was the first cut. Kinda like performing open heart surgery on your own child. You know they would be better for the surgery and you possess the skills, but damn if it's not hard to make that first cut.

I received a disturbing myspace message the other day from a friend. I told him that I want to move out to L.A., but I don't have a reason to because I don't know anyone out there. He wrote me back and said that, just by virtue of me being a writer, I need to have my chocolate self out there schmoozing and making contacts and getting my face out there. It was a difficult thing to hear because, well, it's the truth, damn it. I am doing okay from where I currently sit, but I know in my heart of hearts that if I were out in Los Angeles, I could get twice as much done. The truth hurts, ladies and gentlemen. The only thing that worries me about moving to Los Angeles is money. I don't have any and it takes a lot more than what I have to live day to day out there. Just my luck, I'd end up turning tricks for a spot in the "According to Jim" writer's room. Have you ever seen "According to Jim"? Ugh. Hardly worth a blow job.

Last month, I was a querying fool and send out over 100 queries and submissions. This month, I don't anticipate quite so many; I'm shooting for forty. That's only because I want to do the best job I possibly can on this rewrite. I really want this relationship with the producer to bear full-length feature fruit. And on that note, it's time for me to get back to the script.