september 29.

Oh, head full of thoughts and unstoppable scrawls - come back. Don't love me and then leave me in a mundane headspace. Not. Cool.

In an effort to fight it... This album.

Sounds like this and this. And a little of this too. Oh. Plus these ones (holy flip and maybe this as well.)

I don't believe in stealing. At least, not gum. Or banks. (As in from the banks. Not trying to cart off the ugly brick building itself in the quiet of night. It's been far too long since regular exercise for that kind of scheming.) However, I'm beginning to think that if stealing thoughts and perspectives, 'borrowing' the way someone can take an image or experience or moment and change it into something so sweet, so thick and so enticingly vivid - yeah, I'd take a crack at robbing that. I'd even spring for the balaclava if it was going to give me a higher success rate.

(Ok, even if you're too lazy to work your way through the 'this'es, make sure you at least listen to 'City Girl'. It's not instantly beautiful but has incredible longevity and the more you listen to it, the harder it is to stop. There's a story buried in here that's intriguing, and a feisty power when the chorus quite literally seems to kick in. And the lyrics.... ugh. No words. No words of my own, unfortunately.)

((Changed my mind. 'Horsehead' is the necessity.))

(((Or make my life a heck of a lot easier and just listen through. Everyone's so slack these days.)))

So, I feel like I'm beginning again. Or at least like I should be. It's been a solid ten months now since some of these people's whims walked into my head, sat down and propped up their feet, watching me with expectant, waiting eyes. And today was one of those times (that have happened before and will happen again, and again, and again and again and again) where all I want to do is find the most dramatic way possible to delete and then escape into already created worlds, taking solitude in the fact that someone else did it, so I don't have to. All I wanted was to curl up on the couch with a family size chocolate slab and the best season of Grey's, forgetting about anything else.

But. The almighty 'and then'.

I'll censor it for civil purposes, but in the words of an unexpected source, '**** Greys.' And then he proceeded to tell me that nothing that comes to us easy is of any worth. Nothing that comes without a fight is held close. Nothing we value comes without challenges.

How can I forget that so easily? How can I learn it over and over again and then be so quick to just be ready to be done with it (at least temporarily) the minute it wasn't 'flowing' and it needs work and logic and consideration and time?

This isn't just this one script. This isn't the one story. This is life. This is one in a series of events and choices and opportunities and moments. We take them or we leave them. We choose to engage or we choose to remain apathetic. Everything comes down to choice and choice is in turn defined by attitude and attitude, then, is the result of what we're living for.

And it's that simple. That simple and at the same time, an idea that I'm sure will take my entire length of existence here to begin to understand.

And so. I sit here. Tired and doubtful and still trying to ignore that little whisper going 'no DON'T **** Grey's. It's much, much easier'. Yes, all of that.

But I'm present. And sometimes, I think that's all we're expected to be. (And then there's space for the 'and then', so incredibly beyond anything we could hope for ourselves.)

september 27.

Tonight - something new! I need to get into some script work soon, but first up is something that's still bringing a rush to me every time I think about it. After spending the weekend entrenched in planning mode, this week's one of the first times that this new team - our name still something I'm savouring and welcoming into my heart and headspace, excitedly and absolutely - has got some solid priorities down on paper, some 'to dos' down before we next meet. So tonight, I get the fun jobs. Playing with fonts, getting used to the feel of these words - this word with such force and focus and potential and ambition - on paper and letting them take on their own integral shape and form. Working on some website priorities, knocking out what we need to be thinking about and the kind of shape and format we want to work towards. Soaking up the words of others in preparation for taking on their story, and maybe, possibly even getting to spend some time dreaming in words and colours and images... there's so much coming up but this teaser concept, it's giving me goose bumps. So. Excited.

Update: Just got info for accessing the new email addresses sent through. Love knowing that as I'm working on one thing, the others are doing the same in another area. It's such a great feeling of productivity - one heart, so many hands! (So much to do, though, to keep those hands busy. Thankfully.)

I'm currently sharing my house with only a mouse. I just sat down at the table with a cup of tea and saw a shadow flit past in the window reflection. I don't mind it tonight. It can have a grace period. Tomorrow, when the house is once again filled with footsteps and voices and activity, it'll have to return back to furtive ventures out when there's no light and no excitement. This must be a little thrill for it. It probably rejoices in the quiet of home-aloneness just as much as I do - if so, I'm happy to oblige.

Mm, floating in music possibility. I always find it amazing to watch things play out. We're all given skill sets and abilities but we're also all quite deficient in other areas. When you trust in your worth for the area you ARE gifted in, it's incredible to watch the other areas fall together. People cross your paths or you're struck with ideas for fresh solutions and suddenly it's no longer an impossibility. That's how I feel when it comes to the musical side of these pieces - no matter how much music I consume, that'll never be an ability I possess. But others keep crossing our paths and options are arising, and I'm glad to be able to watch the pieces fall into place even just at this potential idea stage. It all begins with a seed of a thought, and we're being blessed with a few different seeds right now. Trusting for the right ones to take root.

Later. Mouse is loud. Back to predatory instincts. If I wasn't so afraid of them, I'd set up a trap. Knowing I'd just end up catching myself and I'm already sporting a band-aid (apparently being 18 doesn't mean you can automatically safely chop vegetables), I think I'll just put up with it.

I'm commenting on someone else's work at the moment and this is also such an interesting part of the process. Having some input and the freedom to comment on others' progress, as well as seeing how each of us respond to similar guidelines for layouts and structures and outlines, is a real eye opener. There's so many different styles out there and these are the kind of stories I would never in a lifetime have come up with, but it comes so naturally to someone else. I really love that about stories. Who would have thought two syllables, one word, could lead to countless lifetimes of thirsty pursuit of the ultimatum - holding the finished weight in your hands, feeling the words and the hours and the characters and seeing the simple black font on white paper as your outcome? Whatever the form - book, film, poem, song, campfire yarn - we're captivated and enthralled, unable to satiate our desire. I guess that classic childhood request of 'just one more story dad' right before bed isn't something you lose with your teeth or anything like that. We're never satisfied. It's like we're aware there's just so many to be told and so much to be learnt through their telling.

september 22.

I've missed a few, but that's ok. Time is precious and sometimes blogging just isn't the best use of it (case in point: right now. That's ok).

I've just watched this again, for who knows how what time it's up to by now.

The Green Book Materials.

Which has now led to listening to this.

34 Ghosts IV

Which, indirectly, has brought me to this place, a place I only just realised that I've been to before. The Sydney Opera House - smaller than I anticipated, but majestic nonetheless.

Listening to pieces like this help as well and for a moment, if you close your eyes, dream big and realise small - you can almost be in the moment. A moment, mind you, that exists more perfectly in my head than I'm sure reality could re-create, but I'd be willing to give it a try.

Later.

Oh, how I love these people. How I love picking up pages I know represent their story from beginning to end with all of the glorious and the ugly in between. The ugly is important because it's only when we have pain and loss and mourning and despair that Annie's wisdom is truly applicable. There can be no recognition of sun and light without the dark. When you're writing light, it needs to burst with its force and the same needs to be true of the flip side - when you're in those dark moments, if you can't catch on to what the cry of the character's heart is in that moment, then no word written will ever have any truth to it at all. And it's hard, because you feel it. You feel the ferocity and the sadness and the longing of those empty times, because you're creating them. But then. But then. The pay-off. The overwhelming reward. The joy you get to shape - it's expansive. It's incredible. It's addictive, that's for sure.


Ok. Just finished sequence 3 and clocked in at 89 pages. Ohhhh. This is not, in any way, shape or form, a good sign.

september 15.

Oh, goodness. In moods like these, all I want to do is crawl into a welcoming bed with the words of others, not try to pull out my own.

I searched for this song just for the music and was surprisingly drawn in by the images. Yes, it's nothing new, for music video fare, but there's something about the freedom and light and vibrancy that right now, I'd like to swim in for a little.  (Link here.)

Later, again. I just checked how many pages this thing has so far and it's by far more than it should for the stage it's at. There's a difference between writing lots and writing substance, and I have a feeling it's going to be a long journey towards the latter. If anything, most of it needs to be done again. And will be. Numerous times. I'm beginning to see how this is the process it is - the first seed of a thought rarely ends up mirrored in its end creation. Still, the ones that survive - the tiny, haphazardly fragile moments of possibility in which people and places come together and it's placed in your head, so full of substance it's inarguable - they're the ones I'm beginning to love the most, because they just 'were'. Almost like gifts, encouraging you through the pieces that aren't quite so easy to see the end of, goading you on to the next 'is', the part that's already written for you.

Time for the weekend, for refuelling, refreshing and more pages... or, hopefully, less.

september 7.

So far.

Googled 'eight year old drawings'. Decided eight year olds have immeasurable skill anyway, so I'll make up what I like.

Then got taken aback - I didn't give said eight year olds enough credit.

Who knew they were capable of trees that weren't green? My perspective has been re-adjusted. I'll doubt no longer. Wherever 'Chloe Age 8' is right now, I'm indebted to her.

Next - my goodness. Did anyone else know this existed? There's something that happens when a song comes on you've been gifted with and you didn't know to expect. Your heart contracts and expands all in those first few chords with the knowledge that the person on the other end of the exchange knows you and this moment well enough to know that that song would be the perfect melody for it. These are the kind of friends - family - I'm blessed with. If this script ever gets finished, it will be hugely due to them. So much love. (Van Morrison AND The Beatles? In one song?!)

It's later. It's peaceful. Mazzy Star is easing me onwards and one long scene has come to a close. Time for warm, welcoming bed and novels sent from authors whose words fuel your own. (Two days ago I received a package from my favourite author, who'd sent her new book. It's so hard not to get so caught up in the intricate people she creates that you're unable to focus on your own. I can't help myself, though. They're too decadent. It's people like those that we each need to find, those individuals whose talent and voice resonates in a way that your own is encouraged.)

Oh, Mazzy. Too many beautiful moments in one night. You're the perfect 'after'.

september 4.

It's an unusual time for me to be working, since generally by this point of the day I've already spent half the day working on this and have moved on. The light feels wrong, but that's ok. There's something to learn in being able to work regardless of environment, and I'm much too fussy already with the 'mood' - this is good for me.

My driving factor right now is, strangely enough, the next story. I have images attaching themself to my thoughts like a cluttered pin board, moments and scenes - the girl in a dusty cathedral & a boy with clammy palms, one person's loss another's gain, dingy happy music and sterile silence - interrupting the moments and scenes I really should be focusing on NOW. It's great motivation, though, to tell this story to the best of my ability with the anticipation of the next.

Mind food right now...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sEVa3jAaweE - infectious music does powerful things. Actually, loving it in its entirety:

When stuck at desk, always move to floor. One principle I've learnt this year that's stuck, and though these are ugly, they're mighty effective for messy scrawls while avoiding a demanding computer screen.

An hour and a half later and one problematic scene, the thorn in my side when tone and intended meaning collide and cause a fall-out, has been beaten (for now. Until tomorrow, when it needs beating again). There's a certain satisfaction in achieving something you thought impossible, and I need to learn that there's ALWAYS going to be those moments, those times of wanting to give up, give in, let go and go have a long indignant bath instead of trying (and yes, this won't be the first afternoon you consider quitting the course. You'll probably have the same brilliant idea next week. And the week after.)

The key for around 98% of people who put themselves through this exact same process, I'm beginning to learn, is not the posession of genius IQ points or some freak-of-nature knack for the elements of story (although that's definitely the case for some). It's persistence. Persisting through those moments of self-loathing despair, when all you're wishing is that these pages were in hard copy instead of digital format so the destruction process could be much more ferocious and send shreds of paper in every which direction. And more than that, it's persisting for the purpose. The love. The rush. The exhilaration of taking fragments of one mind and breaking them down and teasing them out into these people, who have their own voices, their own stories, their own struggles and their own joys. It's the love of the limitless possibility, the joy of taking one floating thought from a single moment in your day and expanding it into something that previously didn't exist. THAT'S what pushes you through when you're writing the same piece of dialogue for the fifteenth time, or when you delete three hours worth of work.

Now, just to remember that.