Somewhere I found a work habit. It seemed all I needed was a schedule. And Valerie. And once I had both those things, I was able to sit down and write. Everyday. I now sit down and write whenever I can. Any free moment.
I've always had my fingers in too many honey pots. Always trying to tackle more than I can. Poetry, plays, songs, film, essays, children's lit. I find myself always wanting the thing I'm not writing currently. When I'm writing poetry, I'm thinking of comedy. When I'm writing laughs, I'm dreaming of metaphor.
It's not an unhappy thing. It's just the way I'm wired. Comedy and poetry are a lot closer than you think. I'll explain sometime.
But now that I spend so much time writing, and filming, I have nothing else on my mind. I fixate on the ephemeral, on the unwritten, the undone. My mind is a constant problem solving machine for my current writing projects.
This is my head on any given day:
"How do I write the story of Kevin's accident without being oversentimental?"
"How are math and death the same?"
"If I want this character to sound more noir, how do I keep this modern joke?"
"Why do I hate topical humor so much?"
And somewhere along the way, I've lost the ability to speak. About normal things. About things that are not my projects.
People ask me how I'm doing and I tell them WHAT I'm doing. People ask me banal questions like, "How was your weekend?" (Like someone just did three minutes ago.) And I answer, "Good. I met with this friend to direct a project and had this other screening thing to go to." (Like I just did two and a half minutes ago.) Not: "It was a good weekend. Kind of busy." Like normal people.
It's become bad. Valerie and I have talked about it. I'm so far inside my head that I really have to consciously make myself step out. I practiced at a party this saturday. Not talking about anything I'm doing. Chatting up random people about anything besides my projects.
Now I'm going to go edit this new web series I'm working on. And I'm planning to finish my 30 days project. Or start anew. Because I've started it twice and never finished. (Here's the funny thing. Even as I started writing this paragraph I realized that I'm essentially doing the same thing. But I wrote it anyway. Because this is what I am.)
Maybe I'll just go home and watch a movie. Tell someone what I liked about it. Like normal sauce.
sometimes when people ask how your weekend was, they are making small talk and really don't care, BUT sometimes people really do want to know how your weekend was and what you did.
ReplyDeleteso i say, tell 'em. your life is super rad and exciting right now. if they truly weren't interested, it's their own damn fault for asking.
Isn't Annie the pluckiest?
ReplyDeleteI didn't really talk to you at that party, so, I wasn't aware of your goal. Congratulations the success of it.
On some level, though, Annie may be right. The story you told about your weekend is a lot more interesting than, "good. busy."
There is no normal. I'm the same way. I can't help it. I don't think anyone can. It's hard to stop thinking of something about which you're passionate, not to mention heavily involved. That's life.
ReplyDeleteI loved this post so much because I feel like it describes my mood right now perfectly! Best wishes to you in your endeavors and the return to "normalcy," whatever that is! :)
I say, tap it while you've got it and screw normal social nuances. But then, it's me talking...
ReplyDelete