How To Write Scripts

• Get bored in a boring class (might I recommend Economics?)
• Have an idea involving German fairytales
• Try writing idea
• Try writing idea
• Talk about alternate universe where script writing is meaningless and so is life
• Plan what your ideal cult would be like, decide to take on separate project besides script -> performance art dance party parade
• Talk to others about how much you hate script
• Avoid script
• Try writing idea
• Try to be an adult
• Avoid Script
• Decide to change plot so that it's much shorter
• Try writing idea
• Completely change plot
• Try writing idea
• Find out that people are more invested in performance art than actual script
• Cry a l'il
• Avoid script
• Work on different idea altogether from writing either script
• Dance break!
• Regress to plot of script you started six months ago based on themes you've used before
• Write idea so that it's much closer to everything else you've written 
• Write
• Write
• Have breakthrough
• Hate breakthrough
• Make all friends leave general vicinity 
• Finish script
• Start to edit
• Realize you've made a ton of mistakes emotionally
• Change of heart
• Stick to guns
• Have long talk with script about how much it means to you
• And if that doesn't work out
• Blame the fact your Nana died in November for all of your shortcomings
• SUCCESS.

An Evolution

I never did well in French class. I can edit the grammar and spelling of an English piece to the ends of the earth, but my pick-up of basic phrases in other languages has always been poor. However, the most penetrating piece of advice I've ever gotten, I got from my French teacher. 

"Never be the smartest person in the room."

This nugget really changed my perspective as a 15 year old on how I was approaching the world and the people around me. Every teenager Everyone at some point or another has wanted to prove that they're somehow better than others, when in reality, if you're the smartest person in the room - you're in the wrong room. You should be constantly trying to better yourself, against all odds.

After years of turning this over and over in my head, however, I've decided I need to improve upon this.

"Never think you're the smartest person in the room."

Don't be cocky. Don't be self-righteous. You are, in no way, better than me as a whole because of one aspect of yourself. 99% of the time, I am the most knowledgeable person on serial murderers in a room. Despite this, I know that any other person knows something that I don't, and I constantly want to learn from them. I do my best not to put people down who know less than me on one mere subject, because they probably know more about a ton of other things. I am not the sum of my parts - I am my parts, and I'm proud of that.

Learning to Love the Same Thing

I have grown up in the same town my entire life. My mom grew up two blocks away from my house in one direction, my dad two blocks in the other. My house has never been anything but my home, and it is hard to imagine that change - the one slowly encroaching.

So, my 365 will be a picture a day around my house, learning to love the same things I've always known, and hoping to "inspire" others to do the same. Love where you are. Don't be afraid.

My 365.

On Beginnings

I spend a lot of time thinking before I write something down. I need the perfect words, the most precise snippet of language in order to begin anything. And that is a flaw.

You see, I view my writing as a reflection of myself - my "talent", my personality, my worth... It's all I am. So to begin something on an uncalculated step seems relatively pitiable to me. Like I'm giving up. For me, long-winded sentences with grandiose language and grating wannabe-opulence is beauty. It's light. It provides me with a reason to think and try harder.

I don't claim to need "inspiration". I need to feel like I won't fail at "correctly" (whatever that means) representing myself. That's why I write too many poems that mean nothing on the side. That's why I cherish those poems - because they're something made from nothing. Something that takes more character than I have. 

Someone who is told they are constantly "wrong" (whatever that means) will not have as much courage to carry on and write and rewrite the same thing, even when they're told to do so, as someone favored by the masses. I'm not complaining, I'm stating a fact. As someone in a perpetual state of fear at the prospect of being wrong, I suppose anything but the attempts to be true to oneself is in my peripheral view. 

Fear?

My favorite poet, Richard Siken, is one of the primary examples I follow when dealing with fear. His poems deal with it head on, calling it out, using it as a tool instead of an excuse. For example, the poem of his I've been contemplating most recently, Detail of the Woods (link), opens with "I looked at all the trees and didn't know what to do." He takes the anxiety he feels and puts it in every move he makes. Maybe this matters, maybe it doesn't, but that's how I approach my fear in terms of writing.

I say it.

Whether it's audible, a line that flat out says it, or anxiety in the styling I want the reader to have the opportunity to invest as well as I can. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. Moving on.

I like talking about fear. Most of my pieces come from that place. Whether it be a conversation or a knife, the cut is what spurs my opening of a word document or a celtx project or a notepad.

My Nana has just passed away. This godly woman practically raised me. I've been writing about her a lot. As a critically anxious person, I've found even if I write something terrible in the moment, I'll feel better in the long run. I'll have proof. I'm not afraid of death, though, so I'm not writing about that. I'm writing about loss, and if I'll ever see her again.

I think I give off the impression that I'm afraid of breaking what I touch. Changing what's already been done. Truthfully, that used to be my agenda. I'd ask over and over again what needed to be changed before I could possibly hit the delete key. That's not how I feel anymore. I like ripping myself open, but I need a good reason first.

A few weeks ago, before my Nana passed, I started a script with a girl talking to her grandmother. Telling her a story. It was one of my ideas of how to start the three page plays. I ended up going with another prompt, but I digress. I haven't been able to touch it. I can't think about it for too long because I don't know what I'd say. I don't like people to read what I write about them. I've written scripts about my sister that I'd never dare show her. I guess that's fear. I hide things from the people I love. But I can't write this script because I believe in the spirit, I believe that she is with me - I believe that she knows what I'm saying. And I cannot disappoint her. I simply cannot.

I'm not someone who enjoys conflict. That's an integral flaw in my writing, but it's true. I don't want to be interpreted at a face value inappropriate in comparison to who I am. I hide in my writing. There. I said it.

So? What have I gotten out of this gab session?

I'm an anxious person. I have coping mechanisms, but I don't have true fixes. I'm trying my best. I'm grieving. That's it.

Bonnard Script

Marthe appears in the doorway of their parisian home, ​​wearing large sunglasses and a yellow raincoat, shrinking herself even more from her lithe frame.

MARTHE

(piercing)

Pierre? Pierre!

Pierre appears through an upstairs window, leaning his head out dangerously to look at her. He looks sickly, only in a white tank top cruelly illuminating his thin skin.

PIERRE

Yes?

She leans against the doorway, annoyed.

MARTHE

I thought you said we were going out?

PIERRE

We are! I'm just getting ready.

He closes the shutters. She shrinks.

MARTHE

(still to him)

You know, I didn't even want to go on this walk. You told me you wanted to walk with me, begged to walk with me, and you don't walk with me!

He comes up from behind her, fully dressed, glasses set precariously on his nose. He grabs her by the waist pulling her in. Surprised, she curls into herself in a fit of violent coughs.

Pierre!

He kisses her cheek and leans back, pulling her with him.

PIERRE

What is it, Marthe? Come, enjoy the day with me.

She looks out the door, looks anxious, then extracts herself from his grasp and runs back in the door.

Marthe! Don't quit on me now.

She reappears with a parasol. She smiles, pained.

MARTHE

I'm ready.

As he walks out of the doorway, going in front of his house, Marthe freezes.

Wait, I forgot to ask. Where are we going?

PIERRE

Down to the river, of course!

MARTHE

(nervous)

Well, we should have packed a basket, then! Why don't we go back and pack a basket. It won't take terribly long.

He goes back and grabs her arm, looking into her eyes.

PIERRE

(soothing)

Marthe.

MARTHE

No, no. This seems best!

She runs into the house. He looks at his watch, impatient.

PIERRE

Marthe, if you don't want to go, just say so! I'll find someone else. 

MARTHE

(offstage)

And who would that be?

PIERRE

I don't know, colleagues. Henri, Harry, Lucienne, Chaty...

A slamming noise.

MARTHE

(offstage)

Why Chaty?

PIERRE

She's good company, even better against scenery.

She appears in the doorway.

MARTHE

But what about me? 

She looks at her feet.

We can go? Right now?

He sighs affectionately and motions to her.

MARTHE

Well come along then.

She comes forward, grabbing his arm and holding her parasol in the opposite hand. They exit.

Independent - Day Three

Today, we're doing even more revisions to the script. I think we're all in a really good place with it, so hopefully it won't be much longer until we can get it onto its feet. Right now, it really has the potential to be spectacular. We aren't about to lose that.

A Rash Post on Taste

CAUTION: This post was written in a rushed 10-minute window at the closing of my free period. Therefore, there is bare-to-none editing and ideas as well thought-through and explained as I could manage through my hysteria. Read at your own discretion.



The prelude to the conversation we're going to
be having this year, emotional attachment versus quality, that we had last week has been weighing on my mind. After some deliberation, I think I know what's irking me.

Taste.

When I think back, I don't think this aspect of the arts was discussed, or even brought up. The way I see it, both someone's emotional attachment to something and the quality of the thing are not all that different, because they both involve taste.

With emotional attachment, you like, let's say, a certain musician because they got you through a rough time. Irregardless, you probably started listening to them because they were in some way affiliated with your taste in music. Or maybe they changed your taste. But emotional attachment is easy.

With quality, we talked a lot about how you can have an emotional attachment to something without it being a quality product. We talked a lot about the fact of quality, that something either has it or doesn't. I disagree. I think quality can be subjective. Not all of the time, sure. Some things are just not to your taste, and that shouldn't take away from your perception of its "genius". I can appreciate that the art exists without appreciating it aesthetically.

And I know many people feel the same as me. So. I'm writing this post to soothe, I suppose. I know that while other people probably view my affinity for One Direction as purely emotionally-related, I know it's more than that. These boys are talented.

Earlier this week, they dropped a free download for a song from their upcoming album. While I've been buzzing about it, when I express my excitement to others its often seen as superficial. What other people don't realize is that they have evolved since "What Makes You Beautiful" and the rest of their first album. Their voices have matured, and all for the better. Their songwriting has improved, and from their last album, the majority of the songs were at the very least co-written by members. I hear their music and I hear the craft, not just my little maternally-proud heart.

So to everyone, as long as you can back it up, I respect your opinions on quality. You do you.

Day One of "Independence"

Today has been a very strange day, in terms of work. I went into class with a very limited idea of what I wanted to do which spitballed into a whole lot more.

After talking for what felt like way too long (with way too many silences in between), we finally solidified our ideas between horror and dramedy; very different things. After jumping back and forth between the two, coming up with ideas for both, we all came to a bit of a tangential conclusion: we all liked Louis CK. Now, he might seem off-topic, but we brought him into the brand of our idea. He's someone we all admire, whether it be his humor, his style, his talent. We wanted to emulate him in some way, even if it was just as a jumping off point. We watched a few clips from his various specials, told secondhand stories from our favorite anecdotes of his, and I grabbed the computer.

I ended writing something that could have been way too long if I didn't stop. I suppose because I've been trying to get myself into a gear where I can write longer pieces, I didn't realize that wasn't the time nor the place. Nevertheless, while that document still has a place in my heart (and my online celtx account, which I recommend every writer get), it does not have a place in this project.

So, I regrouped my thoughts. I spoke again with Michelle and Emily (because Brian was singing somewhere with his beautiful little singing voice - I assume) and took their criticism of what they thought it should be, including but not limited to the word short.

Fast forward to this moment. In the past hour or so, I have written a one page script (with an appropriate amount started from scratch) and have sent it out to my groupmates. Now, I await their criticism and/or approval. I think it has what they were asking for, and what we agreed upon.

And hey, if it doesn't work, there's always rewrites.

Where I Want to Go

Over the summer, I wrote my first adequate film script. It's 22-pages long, and it deals with queer issues, grief, and mortality. It's the first film script that has ever left me feeling accomplished, and I'm proud of that.

So.

I want to try to write more film scripts. Tomorrow I'll get to collaborate on one with Michelle, Brian, and Emily, but I'm hungrier than that. I have two other scripts in mind that are fairly fleshed out, one on the mother/daughter relationship and the other a coming-of-age film with which I have the Fresh Girls in mind, which Anika has said she'd love to direct if I actually wrote it. I also have one on teen suicide and hero worship that I started after Robin Williams's passing.

I need to get these things done. Therefore, I'm going to get these things done.

"Independent" Work

For this project, I'll be working on a short film with Michelle, Brian, and Emily. Tomorrow, I hope to flesh out to the best of our abilities what we all want out of this film, and see if it'll be possible for us all to reach individual goals (ie. what we want to learn, feel validated in, show progress in). I would also like to start the script, and get a framework of it done so that if I feel like continuing on it out of class, I know the direction we're planning on going in. Right now, we don't have a plot, we don't have a mood, we don't have a theme. We have each other. And I trust these people in that.

The Importance of Dramedy and all things Earnest

With the 66th Primetime Emmy's having come and gone, and critics being as predispositionally critical as always, I think I've found the right time to express my thoughts on the condition of modern television. Also, gerrymandering in award shows. Also, humanity.

This year's Primetime Emmy's and channels responsible for their shows were unapologetic in their entering of programs in categories that did not fit. American Horror Story: Coven was entered in mini-series, which was arguable, Modern Family was allowed to compete after too many wins, The Big Bang Theory was allowed to compete because somehow, people still like it, and Breaking Bad was still entered because of the thought-out splitting of the final season so that it could claim its rightful place as Best Drama - twice. But for me, the comedy entries were the most outraging. Orange is the New Black - Comedy? Sure, this season was more comedic than the last, but only because of the amount of comic relief necessary from such emotionally draining storylines.

But let's get to what I'm really here to talk about - Shameless. Shameless (US). The rawest, most unapologetic, most heartfelt, (dare I say) best show on Television. Everything about and that happens in the show embodies the title.
And it was entered as a COMEDY.
This is where the Emmy's run into problems. Shameless can be described as a thoroughbred dramedy, making categorizing it difficult. This past season was indisputably the most dramatic one so far. Our leading lady hit rock-bottom (and some of her best work was this season), and our leading man became a supporting character for most of the season (in my opinion, yet he was still the only one to grab a nom besides Joan Cusack as a guest-actress). Our ensemble cast was the most shameless they've ever been, especially our supporting actors. Jeremy Allen White, who deserved a nom more than I can say, more than anyone, changed the entire mood of the show. Cameron Monaghan's character now struggles with bipolar disorder, and his boyfriend, the roughest, toughest punk on the Southside (the show is set in Southside Chicago) finally came to terms with his own sexuality - his coming out scene being another highlight of this season and further solidified Noel Fisher's now irrefutable acting skills. This is the show to be watching if you want to see a fresh, new perspective in television on breaking old stereotypes and instead replacing them with the idea that sexuality is no longer a defining characteristic of a character - sexuality is simply a part of being human.

I think that's why dramedy is so important. Every year, since the birth of television, we have claimed to be in "The Golden Age" of it. The thing is, it's a growing process. The Twilight Zone set the precedent of fantastic television. NBC's Thursday night lineup in 2012 was a nugget of gold. Youtube is setting itself up as a Golden Age of Digital Entertainment as a whole. What dramedy is giving us on television is the most human, least cheesy or overdone presentation we've ever seen. We need these programs made because they teach us more than how to repeat a lazy laugh-track or how to watch a dramatic portrayal which without doubt is talented, but for me, it needs more. Dramedies give us humor along with the hard stuff, which is genuinely the way things roll in real life. I'm more than proud of my favorite show, because it is a real representation, trying to imitate life to the best of its abilities. I'm not saying it's perfect, far from it, but it's honest. And that's all I ask for, all I need.

The Accidental Masterpiece

"To live intensely is one of the basic human desires and an artistic necessity." (Kimmelman 2-3)

I think what's so energizing and refreshing about the Introduction to The Accidental Masterpiece: the Art of Life and Vice Versa by Michael Kimmelman is his praise of passion. Every so often in STAC, I think we all get into these ruts of having to trudge through and at times forget why we love what we do, which can become viral- even to others. I think what's most integral to our program, dare I say even more than the structure and discipline,  is that we learn to appreciate each other's passions.

Now, regarding the reading, I think the most powerful and hard-hitting anecdote was the one about Edgar Degas. While I found Bonnard's muse interesting and Hicks's collection magnificent, Degas's physical admiration and dedication to his hero's work was more than heart-warming or heart-breaking. It was out of this realm, it brought things out of me that only stories of life-long worship can. This man needed to feel the presence of his idols, and in a tragic way, I'd hope to be able show that brand of devout affection someday as well. 

For me, Kimmelman's descriptions of amateurs and professionals put into words how I've been trying to live my life for the past few months. I no longer ironically enjoy things, I enjoy them genuinely and I love genuinely and I hope to influence others in that way. I laugh full-bellied. I write what I want to read. I've learned to "dance like no one's watching", which believe me, the people who are watching wish they weren't. I've try my best to stop pretending. The point is, to me, the love of the thing is more important than the art of it. To me, we all need a bit more love.