Well, I made my deadline. Had at least a first draft ready on time for the reading but now have lots of changes to make. The reading was really helpful -- I received a lot of great feedback and suggestions for improving the script. I have a pretty good idea what direction I want to take it in, so I need to get to work. This is where the heavy lifting begins.
On to another topic: I'm thinking of (finally) leaving Texas. Austin is great, but I'm not sure I want to stay here. It's getting too crowded, and too expensive, and it's too hot in the summer time, which is most of the year. The only trouble is, well, actually, there's a few problems with this idea. Number 1, I like my job and my boss, and the pay is good and I'm treated fairly. Plus I'm sort of vested with the company, so each year my vacation hours increase, which is nice. It would be hard to let all of that go. I also have a few friends here whom I will miss. And I hate interviewing for a job, but . . .
I like the idea of starting over. I've made so many mistakes along the way, but I feel like I've learned a thing or two. The past few times I've moved, I didn't start over with a clean slate, I just brought all of my problems with me, and I don't know why I think this time will be any different, but I feel like it will be, and I have no idea why. Maybe it's because I often feel like Texas chose me, rather than me choosing it. How I ended up here was just sort of a whim. Well, it was my grandpa, filling my head with stories of Texas. He had been all around the world, but most of his stories were about Texas, so I had to see it for myself. Okay, have done that, now what? I'm ready to choose a place now that is for me -- not for anybody else or for any other reason. But where?
I have established a few criteria:
1. It must not be too, hot but it also shouldn't be too cold.
2. It needs to be very near an airport for all those flights home.
3. Near water and/or mountains.
4. It needs to have some culture and be near a university that also emphasizes the arts.
5. It should have a film festival, or be near a city with a film and book festival.
6. The people should be relatively friendly.
7. Should have lots of trees and nature all around.
8. Not too expensive.
9. Low crime.
10. Smallish town near a city but not a suburb (or a smallish city with a cultural center).
A few areas I'm considering are Raleigh/Durham or Chapel Hill, N.C. Somewhere in the Pacific NW, but I'm not sure where. I guess the next step is to start researching and querying people I know who live in any of those areas, then go scope it out myself. I wonder how long it will take? I wonder if I will really do it? I wonder if it will lead to love? :)
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Friday, April 01, 2011
Get to Work!
Okay, have taken the dog out, had a pancake breakfast, and now it's time to get to work. I've taken the day off so I could have a long weekend to finish my screenplay, which is due to be read in 2 weeks. Yikes! I'm only about 2/3 of the way done, and it needs a lot of polish. I hope I can make it in time.
Thursday, March 04, 2010
When Driving through Georgia with Jersey Plates, Know This . . .
You're going to be asked two questions. First, a total stranger walking past as you climb out of your (rental) car will look you right in the eye and ask, "how you doing today?" Upon answering, you will then be asked the second question, "you're a long way from home, aren't you?" A third question that may or may not follow, depending on the situation, is this: "are you married?", which I always find a bit forward. Why not let that topic just come up in conversation on its own? What's the rush? Anyway, this basically sums up my experience driving a rental car with Jersey plates through Georgia and Alabama, my home state. In just a three-day journey, I was approached by at least as many people. Having never been on the receiving end of southern hospitality as an outsider, I was warmed by the friendliness of my people. But, on second thought, I think they just wanted to hear the accent, and hear one they did, though sadly not the exotic, northeastern dialect they were probably hoping for. I think I revert to my native tongue the second my plane reaches the delta. However, as one who grew up on a military base surrounded by many varieties of accents and dialects, I pride myself on my ability to alter my accent such that it mimics those around me. I think it was a survival skill I picked up along the way, like a chameleon changing the color of its skin to blend in with its surroundings. But when I'm totally relaxed, or when I'm headed home, my true local color resounds from my mouth (my boyfriend says it's redneck-like, which is neither flattering nor true). It usually takes a few days for the accent to wear off when I get back to Austin. It usually takes a few days to stop feeling lost and homesick, too.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
The 'Burbs
So, the other day I'm driving back from a friend's house, crossing the highway over the greenbelt and back into the city. The friend lives in a suburb at the southernmost part of town, not far, as the crow flies, but culturally leagues away from the heart of downtown. Many of the people I work with live out there and make this daily trek in to work. These 'burbs have everything you could want, a Target, Gold's Gym. It even has some of the things you'd find in the heart of Austin, some of the things that give Austin it's unique flair -- a Torchy's Tacos tucked into the corner of a limestone strip mall, next to a Costco. There's even a walking trail that winds around a grove of cedars. But still, something is lacking, you get the feeling (or at least I do), that something just isn't quite right. For one thing, it's too clean. The limestone exteriors of the strip malls are too pristine: they aren't weathered or worn. For another, with the exception of a lone retiree shuffling along the park path, there are no pedestrians, no kamikaze cyclists fighting for their share of the road. There are no siren wails or clock tower gongs, no jolly canines with tongues lolling out the sides of their mouths as they trot alongside their jogging partners. These things are the lifeblood of a city - they are what create the unique flavor of a place.
A suburb, on the other hand, is a fake city. It has the accoutrements, the facades, but no heartbeat. It is simply a manequin, a portrait, a reproduction. Not quite the city, but no longer the country, it is a limbo between heaven and hell, and a place where I could never live. In city or country, I could be happy; in heaven or hell, I can find my place, but not out there, not in fakeland. If I did, I'd probably go back to drinking and then die an untimely death.
A suburb, on the other hand, is a fake city. It has the accoutrements, the facades, but no heartbeat. It is simply a manequin, a portrait, a reproduction. Not quite the city, but no longer the country, it is a limbo between heaven and hell, and a place where I could never live. In city or country, I could be happy; in heaven or hell, I can find my place, but not out there, not in fakeland. If I did, I'd probably go back to drinking and then die an untimely death.
Friday, November 27, 2009
My NaNoWriMo Experience
So, after years of refusing the opportunity, this time I finally decided to take on the challenge of NaNoWriMo. 50,000 words in a month - and this around a full time plus overtime work schedule, a high-energy dog, a relationship which, at the very least, requires that I cook a meal every once in awhile, and various other responsibilities. Suffice it to say, the NaNoWriMo challenge is a rather daunting task.
Well, it is now November 27, 2009, Black Friday, and I'm at less than 20,000 words. I admit, I do feel a tinge of disappointment at not making it to the winner's circle, but only a tinge and here's why. For one thing, one would need to write 1666+ words per day to make the 50,000 word count. At my composing speed, this would require an average of 2 writing hours per day. Unfortunately, many of the chores of my weekdays do not end until around midnight, and at my age, I need my beauty sleep. The other reason is the writing process itself. For the first time, I allowed the writing to come first. I put the internal editor, who hates everything, to bed, with the promise that she could get to work after I'd reached the word count goal. This was a most-liberating experience - I just put words on the page. I even skipped the boring parts, telling myself I could go back and fill in those details later. Then, an interesting thing happened - my story - the ideas and outline for which I'd been tossing around in my head for a few years now - completely jumped the track. It has gone in a direction I didn't intend it to, but it works. This has presented another challenge, however, in that I wasn't sure where it would go next and this uncertainty was really blocking me. I had two to three different directions I could take, and wasn't sure which one would have the best outcome. So, last night I stopped and, with pen and paper, sketched out the logical course of events that would follow each particular course of action. One result/ending was too cheezy, one hit a wall, and one ending doesn't have the resolution a reader might be looking for, but it is the one most true to the intention of the story and the authenticity of the central character. Oddly enough, this was also the natural direction the story was trying to take, but I kept stopping it thinking, "No, no, no, this isn't what I wanted!" But, it's what the story wants to do, and so it shall. If, when I sit down and get back to writing, the story wants to go in a different direction than what I have worked out on paper, I will let it. I'm not going to force the story to do anything it does not want to do, I'm going to trust that, as it develops, it will go where it is supposed to go. This trust in the process of story development requires a lot of faith, and I think that is where the writer's block comes from - from not having faith in the writing process, in my subconscious, in a higher power or whatever. My point is, when writing, just sitting down and letting the ideas come forth, the story begins to take on a life of its own and I have to get out of the way and let it grow.
Well, it is now November 27, 2009, Black Friday, and I'm at less than 20,000 words. I admit, I do feel a tinge of disappointment at not making it to the winner's circle, but only a tinge and here's why. For one thing, one would need to write 1666+ words per day to make the 50,000 word count. At my composing speed, this would require an average of 2 writing hours per day. Unfortunately, many of the chores of my weekdays do not end until around midnight, and at my age, I need my beauty sleep. The other reason is the writing process itself. For the first time, I allowed the writing to come first. I put the internal editor, who hates everything, to bed, with the promise that she could get to work after I'd reached the word count goal. This was a most-liberating experience - I just put words on the page. I even skipped the boring parts, telling myself I could go back and fill in those details later. Then, an interesting thing happened - my story - the ideas and outline for which I'd been tossing around in my head for a few years now - completely jumped the track. It has gone in a direction I didn't intend it to, but it works. This has presented another challenge, however, in that I wasn't sure where it would go next and this uncertainty was really blocking me. I had two to three different directions I could take, and wasn't sure which one would have the best outcome. So, last night I stopped and, with pen and paper, sketched out the logical course of events that would follow each particular course of action. One result/ending was too cheezy, one hit a wall, and one ending doesn't have the resolution a reader might be looking for, but it is the one most true to the intention of the story and the authenticity of the central character. Oddly enough, this was also the natural direction the story was trying to take, but I kept stopping it thinking, "No, no, no, this isn't what I wanted!" But, it's what the story wants to do, and so it shall. If, when I sit down and get back to writing, the story wants to go in a different direction than what I have worked out on paper, I will let it. I'm not going to force the story to do anything it does not want to do, I'm going to trust that, as it develops, it will go where it is supposed to go. This trust in the process of story development requires a lot of faith, and I think that is where the writer's block comes from - from not having faith in the writing process, in my subconscious, in a higher power or whatever. My point is, when writing, just sitting down and letting the ideas come forth, the story begins to take on a life of its own and I have to get out of the way and let it grow.
Friday, July 04, 2008
Looking Both Ways
One of my boyfriend's greatest annoyances is people who jaywalk across busy streets whilst dragging a child along by the hand. I hadn't really noticed before the frequency with which parents taught their children these bad habits, but after my boyfriend started pointing them out (often by violently honking his horn at these "scofflaws"), I began to see them everywhere. I'm a bit of an armchair anthropologist, so when I become aware of a certain behavior, I want to know why it is performed. From probably pre-school onward, the following guidelines were grilled into me:
1. Look both ways before crossing the street.
2. Never run across the street.
3. Use the crosswalk and observe the stop/walk signals.
I would like to speak with the children of these dodge-and-dash runs to find out if they have been taught these same guidelines. I do recall that nearly all of my crosswalk safety training came from school, by teachers who were much more law-abiding, apparently, than my own parents. So perhaps these children are being drug across streets against their will - their cries of protest and admonitions on traffic safety falling on the deaf ears of their parents.
Most of the parents I see darting across the street with child in tow are older than me, so I am left to wonder: Was there an entire generation that missed out on traffic and crosswalk safety training? Was this training a concept not developed until the 1970's, as an offshoot of Sesame Street? Furthermore, I can't say that I have observed this behavior pattern anywhere else, so is this lackadaisical attitude toward the dangers of being hit by a car something unique to Austin?
I was pondering these very issues when I caught myself walking into the pathway through a parking lot, without stopping to check for traffic first. "Wait! What am I doing?" I thought to myself. Granted, this was a parking lot and not a busy street with a 40mph speed limit, but nevertheless traffic did flow through here and often rapidly enough to warrant at least a semi-cautious approach. So I stopped, glanced to my left, then to my right, and proceeded towards my destination. "When had I become so lackadaisical?" I thought. This thought was quickly followed by the contrarian in my head, who always jumps to my defense when under the assault of that ever-present Self-criticism. "I didn't hear anything," it said defensively, "if a car had been coming, I would've heard it."
"What if it had been a quiet car, like one of those super-quiet electric cars?" Self-criticism countered.
"Then I would've seen it with my peripheral vision." The contrarian retorted.
"In time to avoid collision?" Self-criticism asked, eyebrow raised.
The contrarian stuck out her bottom lip, sulking. Self-criticism wins again.
Once all of that was over with, I was free to wonder how my sense of self-preservation had become so, well, slack. I started to tally it up. Used-to-be, I wore my seat belt with an almost religious devotion. I couldn't even drive down the block without feeling naked if it weren't strapped across my chest. Nowadays, however, I find myself making short runs to the corner store and the supermarket and the video store without buckling in. So, what gives? Overconfidence? Laziness? I don't think that's it. For one thing, I've never been overconfident about anything in my life, and also, how much energy does it take to reach over your shoulder, across your body, and snap in a simple device? Not much. No, I think the answer lies in the nature of these trips, these "short runs" to complete errands. The answer, then, is time or, rather, a lack thereof. It seems that we have become so busy in our daily routines, trying to get everything done in one day, that we are willing to risk our lives just so we can check off all of the action items on our lists. I can really only speak for myself, but I know my own life seems to acquire more responsibilities with each passing day, and I don't even have children - it's just me (and my cat) that I am responsible for. I can't imagine also tacking on the responsibilities of parenthood to my chore list. So these parents I see, dashing across the middle of busy streets, not even in a crosswalk, dragging their children along behind them, are probably also in a mad rush to get to the store before it closes or pick the dry cleaning or whatever. But is all this risk worth it? No, it is not. We need to slow down. The dry cleaning can wait till tomorrow, or the next day if need be. Who cares? Isn't it better to make it home, in one piece, than to return the video on time? We should really look at it this way: how much time are we saving if we have to make a trip to the emergency room and spend a long stay in a hospital recovering from an accident? In the long run, you wayward parents out there, it's much faster to just walk a little further down the street to the crosswalk, and wait for the walk signal. As for me, rather than getting in such a hurry that I skip the seat belt, I'm going to take my time and take my bike on any short errands. It may not be any safer in Austin traffic than driving without my seatbelt, but at least I'm getting some exercise and reducing my carbon footprint while I'm at it!
1. Look both ways before crossing the street.
2. Never run across the street.
3. Use the crosswalk and observe the stop/walk signals.
I would like to speak with the children of these dodge-and-dash runs to find out if they have been taught these same guidelines. I do recall that nearly all of my crosswalk safety training came from school, by teachers who were much more law-abiding, apparently, than my own parents. So perhaps these children are being drug across streets against their will - their cries of protest and admonitions on traffic safety falling on the deaf ears of their parents.
Most of the parents I see darting across the street with child in tow are older than me, so I am left to wonder: Was there an entire generation that missed out on traffic and crosswalk safety training? Was this training a concept not developed until the 1970's, as an offshoot of Sesame Street? Furthermore, I can't say that I have observed this behavior pattern anywhere else, so is this lackadaisical attitude toward the dangers of being hit by a car something unique to Austin?
I was pondering these very issues when I caught myself walking into the pathway through a parking lot, without stopping to check for traffic first. "Wait! What am I doing?" I thought to myself. Granted, this was a parking lot and not a busy street with a 40mph speed limit, but nevertheless traffic did flow through here and often rapidly enough to warrant at least a semi-cautious approach. So I stopped, glanced to my left, then to my right, and proceeded towards my destination. "When had I become so lackadaisical?" I thought. This thought was quickly followed by the contrarian in my head, who always jumps to my defense when under the assault of that ever-present Self-criticism. "I didn't hear anything," it said defensively, "if a car had been coming, I would've heard it."
"What if it had been a quiet car, like one of those super-quiet electric cars?" Self-criticism countered.
"Then I would've seen it with my peripheral vision." The contrarian retorted.
"In time to avoid collision?" Self-criticism asked, eyebrow raised.
The contrarian stuck out her bottom lip, sulking. Self-criticism wins again.
Once all of that was over with, I was free to wonder how my sense of self-preservation had become so, well, slack. I started to tally it up. Used-to-be, I wore my seat belt with an almost religious devotion. I couldn't even drive down the block without feeling naked if it weren't strapped across my chest. Nowadays, however, I find myself making short runs to the corner store and the supermarket and the video store without buckling in. So, what gives? Overconfidence? Laziness? I don't think that's it. For one thing, I've never been overconfident about anything in my life, and also, how much energy does it take to reach over your shoulder, across your body, and snap in a simple device? Not much. No, I think the answer lies in the nature of these trips, these "short runs" to complete errands. The answer, then, is time or, rather, a lack thereof. It seems that we have become so busy in our daily routines, trying to get everything done in one day, that we are willing to risk our lives just so we can check off all of the action items on our lists. I can really only speak for myself, but I know my own life seems to acquire more responsibilities with each passing day, and I don't even have children - it's just me (and my cat) that I am responsible for. I can't imagine also tacking on the responsibilities of parenthood to my chore list. So these parents I see, dashing across the middle of busy streets, not even in a crosswalk, dragging their children along behind them, are probably also in a mad rush to get to the store before it closes or pick the dry cleaning or whatever. But is all this risk worth it? No, it is not. We need to slow down. The dry cleaning can wait till tomorrow, or the next day if need be. Who cares? Isn't it better to make it home, in one piece, than to return the video on time? We should really look at it this way: how much time are we saving if we have to make a trip to the emergency room and spend a long stay in a hospital recovering from an accident? In the long run, you wayward parents out there, it's much faster to just walk a little further down the street to the crosswalk, and wait for the walk signal. As for me, rather than getting in such a hurry that I skip the seat belt, I'm going to take my time and take my bike on any short errands. It may not be any safer in Austin traffic than driving without my seatbelt, but at least I'm getting some exercise and reducing my carbon footprint while I'm at it!
Sunday, May 04, 2008
Death Tolls and Tiaras
I had a dream about you. You were being hunted by a wolf. I followed its tracks in the snow and found you hiding out in the top of a sycamore tree, the wolf loping about the base beneath your feet. I climbed the tree and tried to comfort you, helped you down. We ran hand in hand to a cabin, locking the door behind us, just in time.
The cabin was completely empty - just one long, barren hallway. My bare feet were cold against the wooden planks of the floor. Through the window, we could see the wolf pacing back and forth across a snow bank. We knew we couldn't stay there for long. We knew that, eventually, we would have to make a run for it.
Carefully, you lifted the bar from across the door, slowly pushed it open. I could see a patch of snow on the ground - pristine, blinding, white. A million sparkling diamonds.
Then I woke up.
You were gone. You had already left for work. The empty space in the bed still held the indentation of your body next to me. I reached out from beneath the covers with my pale hand and pressed into the empty space to see if it still held the warmth of your body, but the sheets where had had lain were cold as a desert, a vast empty space, a fresh bank of snow.
I withdrew my hand and retreated beneath the covers. I had not yet opened my eyes when a bubble of static burst from the alarm clock radio. Forty more killed in Iraq. On a lighter note, the White House was holding a state dinner for the Queen of England. Formal attire is optional, but those wearing medals and tiaras won't be considered overdressed. At her last event, Her Majesty was unable to reach the microphone; therefore, a miniature lectern has been specially created to accomodate the petite monarch.
This is how my day began, with death tolls and tiaras.
The cabin was completely empty - just one long, barren hallway. My bare feet were cold against the wooden planks of the floor. Through the window, we could see the wolf pacing back and forth across a snow bank. We knew we couldn't stay there for long. We knew that, eventually, we would have to make a run for it.
Carefully, you lifted the bar from across the door, slowly pushed it open. I could see a patch of snow on the ground - pristine, blinding, white. A million sparkling diamonds.
Then I woke up.
You were gone. You had already left for work. The empty space in the bed still held the indentation of your body next to me. I reached out from beneath the covers with my pale hand and pressed into the empty space to see if it still held the warmth of your body, but the sheets where had had lain were cold as a desert, a vast empty space, a fresh bank of snow.
I withdrew my hand and retreated beneath the covers. I had not yet opened my eyes when a bubble of static burst from the alarm clock radio. Forty more killed in Iraq. On a lighter note, the White House was holding a state dinner for the Queen of England. Formal attire is optional, but those wearing medals and tiaras won't be considered overdressed. At her last event, Her Majesty was unable to reach the microphone; therefore, a miniature lectern has been specially created to accomodate the petite monarch.
This is how my day began, with death tolls and tiaras.
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