I'm back from a writers' retreat which was absolutely perfect with the exception of a ton of sluggish flies that haunted my room every day. I had a chance to hear other writers read their work which was amazing. I loved that. I read my own work too which was an adrenaline rush, because I chose a piece that was about as embarrassing as it could be. I figure if I've got one chance to read something it might as well be the most intense scene I've got. I imagine I blushed quite a bit. It was good for me, because my writing has all been critiqued via online class. I didn't quite realize how impersonal they would be. I never really connected with anyone except the professors.
I also realized how far I've come from a literary style of writing. My style has evolved (or one might say devolved) into very plain offerings. I'm mostly happy with it. It is what it needs to be for screenwriting. The only screenwriting rule that I absolutely insist upon breaking is subtext. I've got to write subtext, and hearing that Kerry Ehrin feels she must do the same is good enough for me.
I'm too old to follow any kind of rule or formula that doesn't serve my writing just because it is a trend or because the "authorities" say I should. It's the same way I felt about academic writing which is often dense just for the sake of being dense. I learned to write in that style when I took philosophy classes, but I don't much respect it as more than a writing exercise akin to doing scales on a piano.
I'm just certain that those flies were symbolic. I actually planned the trip to Vermont to help me heal some in this difficult year (that means the school year 2017 - 2018). It was healing, no doubt, but it wasn't heaven. I fought flies half of the time and a headache the other half. Maybe that's why I love the character of Norma so much. She tries so hard to have a happy, peaceful life and it just eludes her.
Today, I get a sense that the vacation is over and I'm back to the old grind, but it's a family grind rather than a work grind since I am still on a leave. I'm glad I'm on this leave, but I can't get myself out from under this heavy energy that insists upon descending every few days. That's why I can't quite yet rise up out of this purgatory even though physically I'm much better. I'm impatient. What if this takes years rather than weeks? I can't bear the thought of that.
Something has got to move, to change, to happen. And it needs to be something BIG. Does any of this make sense? When I was thirteen and fourteen I was stuck in misery. Now I'm substantially older, but I think I'm going through it again. I am asking for some divine intervention to get me permanently out of this muck. (And I thank the divine in advance). It's so like a recurring dream I had when I was young. I would dive off the dock, so deep into the lake that I'd hit the muck at the bottom and be sucked down into it. It was a terrifying dream. No wonder I'm claustrophobic.
I also realized how far I've come from a literary style of writing. My style has evolved (or one might say devolved) into very plain offerings. I'm mostly happy with it. It is what it needs to be for screenwriting. The only screenwriting rule that I absolutely insist upon breaking is subtext. I've got to write subtext, and hearing that Kerry Ehrin feels she must do the same is good enough for me.
I'm too old to follow any kind of rule or formula that doesn't serve my writing just because it is a trend or because the "authorities" say I should. It's the same way I felt about academic writing which is often dense just for the sake of being dense. I learned to write in that style when I took philosophy classes, but I don't much respect it as more than a writing exercise akin to doing scales on a piano.
I'm just certain that those flies were symbolic. I actually planned the trip to Vermont to help me heal some in this difficult year (that means the school year 2017 - 2018). It was healing, no doubt, but it wasn't heaven. I fought flies half of the time and a headache the other half. Maybe that's why I love the character of Norma so much. She tries so hard to have a happy, peaceful life and it just eludes her.
Today, I get a sense that the vacation is over and I'm back to the old grind, but it's a family grind rather than a work grind since I am still on a leave. I'm glad I'm on this leave, but I can't get myself out from under this heavy energy that insists upon descending every few days. That's why I can't quite yet rise up out of this purgatory even though physically I'm much better. I'm impatient. What if this takes years rather than weeks? I can't bear the thought of that.
Something has got to move, to change, to happen. And it needs to be something BIG. Does any of this make sense? When I was thirteen and fourteen I was stuck in misery. Now I'm substantially older, but I think I'm going through it again. I am asking for some divine intervention to get me permanently out of this muck. (And I thank the divine in advance). It's so like a recurring dream I had when I was young. I would dive off the dock, so deep into the lake that I'd hit the muck at the bottom and be sucked down into it. It was a terrifying dream. No wonder I'm claustrophobic.
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