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.

Caution: Puppets (causes lowered boundaries and inhibitions)

I like my puppet. There's no real rhyme or reason to it, but there's something about it I really like. However, people keep telling me they like it as well, and I've been thinking about that more so.

I think everyone has a more personal connection to their own puppet than someone else's. They see a bit of themself in their own puppet, so it isn't nearly as crazed. The way I played my own puppet was radically different than how I played with others.

I also think the less realistic and "human" a puppet looks, the more psychotic and erotic they act. The less you can relate or find yourself in this physical substitute, the lower the boundaries lie. With my faceless puppet, I think people played it marginally more neurotic than I did, being someone who connected to it. Someone said that my puppet had been played sexualized with them, and that seems strange to me because it's my puppet, and when I got around to using it, that was definitely how I went about with it.

I like thinking about this stuff. How people relate to even inanimate objects and how quickly they can lose themselves in something they don't quite understand. Human nature and the like. It all matters, to a writer at least.

Eureka or a Passing Whimsy?

On Monday of last week, I realized something I found quite humorous. I have been focusing most of my attention on two plays I've been writing: Bravery and Loyalty. Loyalty is older (I started it in the midst of second quarter) and is definitely the stronger of the two. But Bravery is a nice companion piece to it, I think. I think Loyalty could stand on it's own for the time being, but I want to bring Bravery up to that level as well before I make any final decisions of which I'd rather put up, or, god dare me say this, put both up? If they complement each other, why not? I mean, it's not like my mental health is that important anyway, right?

But that is not the point, or should I say, the funny part. I realized on Monday that Bravery is more about the concept of loyalty, and Loyalty more about bravery. This startled me a bit, but in a good way? Even if it confounds me, I like that my head did this subconsciously. And I'm glad I caught it, if only because it's given me reason to laugh.

Since then I've just switched the names in my documents, even though in my head they'll still have their original names, irritatingly. Hopefully that'll change with time.


I'm going to include a description for each piece below, so if anyone wants to comment on just the ideas, they're more than welcome to. They're both unfinished.

Bravery (Previously titled "Loyalty") - the older one - currently 13 pages

It's late at night when the girl, Hannah, meets Dustin after running away from a fight with her mother. He won't let her keep secrets, but she wants to forget. Obviously, they're both very stubborn, which makes their tête-à-têtes quite amusing - at least to me.

 He's based on this boy I once knew who at times I enjoyed and others I wanted to strangle (in all honesty it was mostly the latter). She's based on two very strong female characters I greatly admire from YA fiction novels I've read (Alaska Young from "Looking for Alaska" and Sam from "The Perks of Being a Wallflower").
In one word each, Dustin is irritating and Hannah is erratic.

Loyalty - I started this 2-3 weeks ago - currently 5 pages

Lucas and Lila are twins. They're very different personalities, which makes Lila easily offend Lucas. He keeps going to leave every time she says something rude, but every time Lila asks, he stays. She tries to hold her tongue, but ultimately she's not very good at it. She needs him, but it's not mutual. He stays anyway. The characters are a bit younger than anyone in STAC, but not drastically so it wouldn't be hard.


Cumulatively, if neither of these work out, I have an unorthodox/experimental play about the end of the world that wouldn't be too hard. So there's that.

Queen of Bitter Seas

Writing is like living. I say "like" because it's a simile and not definitively true. Writing is not living because writing is how you wish it had gone, how you pictured it going, never the way the world plays things out because in the end, perspective would change any situation.

I don't like school because it's not about being alive. I realized that about five minutes ago. School is about how well you can memorize things and follow exact orders and follow societal norms. I find progressive schools fascinating because they believe in passion, like I do. School is still school though.

I suppose I'm intelligent. I've been told it before, and I think I believe it, but it always sounds pretentious to describe yourself as such. I read in a book recently that knowledge and intelligence are different things, and I believe it. You're born with intelligence and knowledge is something acquired. Something worked towards. I've always wanted to be knowledgable, and I think I am on some things, but I have trouble putting some of the things I know into action.

I'm not good at school. I understand it, or I should say I understand what I'm supposed to do. But I let passion be my excuse. "I don't want to do things I'm not passionate about." Once you let yourself think this way, it feels impossible to extract yourself from it. I like to think I'm trying. I like to.

I read four books last week. That isn't nearly as many as I wish I had, but I hadn't read a book in the longest time beforehand either so I shouldn't really discourage myself for it. I'm a fast reader. I blazed through them, soaking them up, and now they're about all I've really been thinking about. That happens to me a lot. I hop from one obsessive concept to another.

They force me to write. I haven't gone through the packet on inspiration yet, but lately I've been noticing myself being influenced constantly. Through books, through tv, through music. Before I read the four books, everything I'd been writing had been metaphysically covered in grease, denim, leather, and cigarette smoke. That was all coming from the latest Arctic Monkeys album, which I'm still not sick of after months of listening to one song or another daily. Yesterday I listened through the entire album in one sitting, making the latest mark on an innumerable timeline.

I've been writing again. After reading those four books, instead of smoke I've been more influenced by water. Two favorite quotes of mine that have been looping through my stream of consciousness lately are "Love me or leave me" (when I think of it, it's the translated line in the French-Canadian film, Les Amours Imaginaires, although I obviously know it's an incredibly famous line in general) and "The ocean is six miles deep" (honestly, when am I not thinking about this quote). Everything in my head is about water. Last night I went for a walk in the rain. I love the rain. I needed to get out of my house and just let myself believe I was being re-baptized. Since it's raining now, I feel clearer. Cleansed. It makes the air I breathe feel cleaner.

I hope the juxtaposition of water and fire in my head right now might help me balance out, and ultimately guide me into a level-headed playing field.

These Words Came from My Brain - Birthday Post

Tomorrow is my birthday. I'm turning seventeen. Those are facts.

tw: I wasn't going to post this. It's in my normal writing fashion. It's for me more than for anyone else.
I also took this down a few hours ago but now it's back up, so take that as you will.

Submarine

My blog title, "The Ocean is Six Miles Deep", is a quote from my favorite coming-of-age film, which is also in my top five favorite films of all time list. Submarine. It's a British/Welsh film directed by Richard Ayoade in his directorial debut. In an interview he did on the film, he talked about how there hasn't really been that many British coming-of-age films in the past decade or so, and what films he ended up using as inspiration in lieu of that.

Submarine, which is an adaption of the novel by Joe Dunthorne, can easily come off as indubitably pretentious and flouncy. In reality, or at least, in my opinion, what can make the film seem pretentious is that it takes a lot from classic French films, and relies heavily on imagery and an air of nostalgia. It's also quite expressionistic, so I suppose the fact that it isn't so literal could turn people off. The soundtrack, which is mellow beyond belief, was done by Alex Turner of the Arctic Monkeys and could get me through hell and high water.

The film is about Oliver Tate, a fifteen-year-old boy who can't find his place, has become infatuated with a girl in his class, and who takes it upon himself to fix his parent's marriage. It's witty, it's visually stunning, it's hilarious, and it's on Netflix.

Here's the trailer:

Scenes from the Film:

And "The Anatomy of a Scene" narrated by Richard Ayoade

Casimir Pulaski Day

Today, March 3rd, is Casimir Pulaski Day. Casimir Pulaski was a Revolutionary War Veteran and Hero, and is known as "the father of the American Calvary."

In Illinois today, they got out of school because it's a state recognized holiday in honor of his birthday.

The reason I know about this holiday is because of one of my favorite songs is "Casimir Pulaski Day" by Sufjan Stevens. I've talked about Stevens before, and this was the first song I ever heard by him.

I found this article about the song on The Weeklings in a segment called "Song Beneath the Song". It explains the song section by section, explaining that it's a song told through the perspective of an adolescent boy and the girl he likes, who has been diagnosed and dies of Bone Cancer.

Now, I've known and loved this song since 2011, and the article actually pointed out symbolic things I hadn't previously realized. I always just let the song exist with me, and I see how wrong that was now.
Lex was telling me the other day that before she listened to the new Panic! at the Disco album, "Too Weird to Live, Too Rare to Die!", she did extensive research on it. I can't remember the last time I got that knee-deep in a song. It was probably another Sufjan tune actually, "The Mistress Witch of McClure (or, The Mind that Knows Itself)". I think that's just a testament how great Sufjan Stevens is, though, because music that makes you both think and feel is the kind of music I want to experience. And he really is an experience.

A Descent into Madness

This is the first of hopefully many vlogs. I went over the unspoken time limit, as per usual, and I apologize accordingly.
I decided to talk about fanfiction because it doesn't get enough credit in the media. Hopefully, I'll find something more people will be interested in to talk about by next week.

Personal Post: Coffee Break

After having written this, I've realized this is more of a "diary" type post than a school post. But when have I ever really written the most school-centric/appropriate posts? Anyways, I've decided to post this mostly for personal value. Proceed with caution, if at all.

A Catch-Up of Sorts

It's been a long time since I've blogged, due mostly to my own insecurities and a fear of the future. But today is different. Today I'm going to get over it.

(And I just sat for five minutes thinking again. Do you see my problem?)

Since I've last posted, I've submitted to OPUS, signed up to volunteer with the North Shore Animal League, attempted to write the next Great American Novel (I wrote one line and suddenly thought I was a genius that had the ability to write 100+ pages of beauty), wrote 13 pages of a play, tried to teach myself how to DJ/make mashups, started three televisions series and finished two others, saw a foreign film, and, after taking Ganes's art project home, have put about 20+ hours into it (yet it doesn't look like I have). In class, I've worked on Zines and for awhile the Circle Play (although, in complete honesty, I've probably given up on it. Not that it's hard, I'm just not invested in it. And it kinda stinks).

That is a ridiculous amount of things. Most likely, it sounds like I'm temporarily in the state of a 7 and can't stick to one thing or don't have the attention span (which, granted), but honestly every time I started something I thought it was the one. I have a lot to say about each little inquiry/adventure, so I plan on making quite a few blog post about them.

And yet, I haven't been able to. One of my apprehensions is that colleges might see this. Thinking about colleges is terrifying to begin with, and now I'm starting to worry about how what I've done will affect my future. I've found a beautiful college, one that actually reminds me of a STAC-North-North. It's a multi-disciplinary Liberal Arts school in Vermont with time set away between semesters for students to intern, volunteer and work with companies and organizations, giving them opportunities to gain references for post-college. And it's gorgeous.
Bennington. Big Ben. It's my dream school, and I'm ever so worried about it.

I'm thinking about putting some of my more whiny posts on private, because I can't bear to part with them per-say because I don't want to forget about how I felt in those moments, and ultimately learn from the experiences. In the end, they're still my history, where I came from, how I felt- for a time they were my diary and I'm not ready to lose that faith in the past.