Wednesday, October 28, 2009

Wish I had the time to write

I bet this must be the number one mantra of every (unpaid-unproduced-unwanted) screenwriter. Or any other writer, for that matter.

People like me, who have been stuck with a flat day time job, while working on writing projects on the side, hoping to get an extra day off, counting the minutes until the long awaited weekend, just to concentrate, relax and finally write the script that's going to change your life.

People like me, who used their lunch break (1 hour tops) to write one scene per day.

The importance of having a routine.

I was normally taking my lunch break along the Thames, in Old London. The forementioned one hour was reduced by the time it took to walk there, so we're probably talking about 45 minutes, but I never failed to write down one tiny little scene. Every day, little by little, the scripts were coming out on paper.

Now I have all the time in the world, since I'm starting a new life in a different country and I don't have a job (yet) and what do I do instead of writing?

Bullshit.

The TV pilot I'm working on is still on page 7.
None of the scripts I have completed seems to be in good shape to be considered by anybody.

In the last desperate attempt to break the creative stasis, I entered a "one-scene" competition, that run along a main screenwriting contest. This is the comment I received on my effort:

Scene opens with solid pop and good character business. We know who these people are from the get-go. Would've loved to know what Eric's deception actually was. It's never made clear. It sounds like it leads somewhere cool, but we never find out. Breezy style is a plus. Nice work!

Mmm, maybe I can still write after all.

Nope.

There was also a numeric score associated with the feedback, in my case 88. The minimum to pass was 94, so in a nutshell to quote Kenny Powers, I was fucking out.

No worries, who needs $3.000 and a little gratification, right?

I had some more time to think and rethink this whole new scenario of my life, with lots of time, and zero writing and suddenly I had a revelation.

What if a writer to write needs a challenge? An incentive?

My challenge was: complete the scene before the lunch break is over. I was under pressure, because I know that moment in time during the day was perfect. After work, with all the stupidity I had to go through the entire day, writing anything good was going to be much more difficult, almost virtually impossible.

The incentive: any paid writer should be able to get all the incentive to write from the check in the mail.

So after proper consideration, I guess I'm going to find another day time job here in Texas, see if something changes in the equation. See if this is the push I need.

I had my chance to play the writer 24/7 (thanks to my husband generosity) and I blew it.

Discipline.
And a little challenge.
A new job.
A new life.

Whichever works, I don't care.

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

Rain

"I can't stand the rain 'gainst my window..."
I'm thinking about the version by Graham Central Station.

When I moved from London, UK to Texas, I was expecting (hoping) to leave the rain behind. Not that I pretend not to see the rain again but...

Must be the weather spell (la macumba meteo) following me around the globe.

Like the hurricane in Amsterdam, while we were trying to walk around with a free tour. (Caitlin, if you're reading this, you now what I'm talking about)

Like Xmas in Egypt, back in 2006, the coldest in the last 20 years. The local tour guide told me in disbelief: "It's actually snowing in Jerusalem right now, can you believe it?"

Like the million times I went back to Sardinia, bringing all the rain with me, didn't matter if I was flying over from Bologna or London, same effect.

My mom suggested I should try to go to central Africa, to bring water to the people that need it the most. My brother said something like: hey, I mean, I'm happy to see you again but everytime you come back, it rains-don't come back often :)

Whenever a trip was around the corner

BANG!

The weather spell was striking.

A small black cloud, pretty much similar to the Fantozzi's cloud that followed our hero everywhere.

Now, the question is: who put the spell on me? And the question after that is: should I be so paranoid to think my presence on the planet in a specific location is controlling the weather?