 |
 |
 |
|
 |
|
 |
|
 |
|
 |
|
 |
|
 |
|
|
Sunday, January 02, 2005 dec. 12th the last update? christ I can't believe how the weeks fly by. and I get nothing done, nothing happens, "nodoby comes, nobody goes." (s. beckett's "waiting for godot.") I realized, writing an e-mail today: I gotta shake things up in 2005. I'm getting bored, and although I could never be boring, I'm in danger of becoming...marginally less interesting. I need to be slammed up against the wall by cops, I need to be in a chase scene, bra-and-panty scene-- this comes from my conversation with a (real) screenwriter at a bar a few night sago. He said to me "If you want to be a screenwriter, you gotta be prepared to rewrite. For example, I wrote this script and I got some Disney money to develop, and they called and they had a laundry list of scenes they wanted: crash scene, bra-and-panty scene, I wish I could remember what their list was..." I wish he could have remembered, too. It was all scenes for the trailers. The trailers are key. But, I remember thinking: good, this business and I are gonna get along very well. My fucking script is chock-a-block with bra-and-panty scenes. I gotta shoehorn in a car crash (he's gotta win his wife back, he realizes it was her all along, he races to airport...) where was I? oh, yes, there's a great scene in "notes from underground," by f. dostoevsky, in which the protagonist-- a nasty, peevish, spiteful little minor clerk, one of literature's first "anti-heros"-- is walking down the street anmd someone gets tossed through a window of a bar in front of him. and as the guy lands on the sidewalk in a shower of broken glass dos's hero realizes he's jealous of him. "At least something's happening to him." That's how I am. With three kids and a fucking puppy, I live my whole life ina 300 yard radius of the house. Park across the street, coffee at "Juice for Life" on the corner, school around another corner. Community centre across the street, where I sometimes take the kids, in a daze of boredom, for swimming lessons or whatever, try to read a few grafs of the paper. any paper. And I'm not talking about going on carefully contrived vacation to Cuba or whatever. I wanna get mugged, rolled, stabbed in the ass, I want a cop to reach out and crumple my glasses in his huge, meaty fist, just as he's untethering his belt, obviously with sinister intentions, just before I grab him and ram him against the wall and he accidentally hits his head and dies CUT TO me sweating, eyes darting around, sauntering out of the cop station wearing his uniform...grab a cruiser...try to make it over the border to mexico... course Pam would be pissed...and I'd miss my kids... but I'd drink tequila in the sunshine, grow thin and tanned, and either write better than ever or not at all... anyway, sorry about the rambling post. basically: new year's res: shake it up in 2005.
|
LINKS
ARCHIVES
|
|
Home | Stuff about me | Books | Stuff I've written | My thoughts | Drop me a note |
|
