Winter Wondering

It snowed yesterday. In North San Bernardino. Real snow. About half a foot.

It was stunningly beautiful. I took a deep breath and watched the flakes fall. I twirled.

It was unheard of. This has never happened since we moved in more than a decade ago. I don't remember it ever snowing as a kid either. The snow fell all across the North face of the Inland Empire. North Fontana and Rialto, Redlands and Upland too. 

It reminded me of my own journey. I've been a lot of things but never reached that high point I've always yearned for. That's not to say I haven't achieved a lot, because I have. But I'm talking about my biggest dream. To be a screenwriter and a movie maker. 

Since I was a kid, I loved movies. I mean I really loved movies just like my dad. Most weekends, we would go to the drive-in in Montclair to see a double feature and on the ride home, I would daydream. When I got home, I would snuggle into my twin bed like falling into a cloud and in my slumber, I imagined myself into the narratives. Then when dad bought a laser disc player, me and my sisters devoured movies along with popcorn at home. 

It might seem impossible. To go Hollywood. To try and reach the stars seems like pure folly. But I know that nothing is out of reach if you really work hard and believe.

If snow can carpet the ground in San Bernardino, and a high school dropout can go to USC Law and then write two books, then maybe, just maybe, miracles can happen. And my books can fly into the Hollywood universe by my own hand throwing them into the air like snowballs as hard and high as I can.

 

Band of misfits

So I've told you all about my next project. I'm adapting my two books into a show. I knew I wanted this before I ever finished my books. I naturally think in scene and dialogue. And secretly, I would love to bring my father back to life on the stage or screen.

What I didn't realize is how cool screenwriters are. I've been meeting some in a seminar one evening a week. It's fascinating. I've always been a bit "much", even in a group of writers. I can sometimes take over a room and have to pull back. That's because writers are not all extroverts like me. I get my energy and am inspired while in the presence of creative people. It's why I love doing my podcast. I shine best when around others shining. The positive energy polishes me like a gleaming teapot ready to heat up. 

In the screenwriters room, I am not too much at all. Screenwriters are group orientated. They work together in rooms. In teams. It's interactive. They brainstorm and bounce ideas off each other and practice together. It's collegial and fun. Colloquial. They are hyper verbal people and many are natural performers. And they're deep. Literary. Highly motivated. Super outgoing. It's not what I expected at all. 

I think I had stereotypes in my head of the superficiality in Hollywood, but this is not that. This is a bunch of artists striving to make their art sing. They want to sell it of course, because otherwise no one will ever really see it so they're pragmatic. But surprisingly, it's not about the product as much as I thought it would be. It's about the page. 

I've never felt so much at home. I see pieces of myself in everyone. And I'm really happy I found my people. My group. My band of misfits. 

Okay okay okay

Yesterday was a holiday. I could not relax. I tried. I meditated. Drank tea. Got a massage. Lit a candle. Tried to read a book I'm blurbing. But I could not concentrate.

So when I'm anxious I get on task. That usually helps me feel like I have a semblance of control. I did my homework for school. I'm two weeks ahead in my workshop MFA class because this is Carnival Week in New Orleans and we're on hiatus. I planned my AWP writers conference trip and looked at must see things in Seattle. But completing these tasks did not help. I was still anxious.

Then I realized that I was anxious because I was avoiding the task which actually made me anxious, my screenwriting project. 

Truth is, screenwriting is challenging for me and terrifying. I feel like I am a novice writer all over again, learning new structure and terminology. I am off kilter. Like Dorothy in the cyclone, I'm spinning round and round in my house that's set to land in a new world. A technicolor one to boot. So early this morning, before I started my day job, I reviewed some screenwriting materials I'd been avoiding. It wasn't hard. It only took an hour or so and all of a sudden I could breathe again.

I've had an epiphany that uncertainty is scary. And my adventure that I'm embarking on is a frightening one, but that also, I will be okay. I will be okay. I will be okay. 

Clearing out

I'm working on my podcast studio and office. It's also my closet. Anyone who knows me, knows I'm a clotheshorse and a t shirt hoarder. I have so many clothes and tees. It's becoming cumbersome because half of my stuff doesn't fit. 

There's something to tidiness. To organization. When I'm at my most creative, I'm my least organized. Yet, the chaos distracts me. 

Right now, I'm super busy. My calendar is impacted. I work full time and I'm taking a MFA workshop. And I have my podcast and I'm working on an adaptation of my books. It's a lot for my brain. The last thing I need is working in a messy studio office.

I'm best when I'm busy. But this is a bit much. I've had to cut down on a lot of social events. I've learned to say no. Even to opportunities because my husband deserves time too and we love concerts and Vegas. 

We're going to AWP in mid March in Seattle which is a big writing conference that I'm reading at and then seeing Depeche Mode in Vegas in late March. I had to turn down a rock festival that I had an opportunity to read at as we had already planned Vegas. I figure my performances in April, one in San Bernardino and one in Venice, make up for it. Then there's the cool world festival in May where I get to see Siouxsie and Iggy Pop perform. 

I think it's all balance and clearing out to allow ourselves to breathe. It's about finding the time to center yourself and focus. That's when good writing happens. When there's clarity. That and a couple of espressos always helps me. 

So back to the grind. I've already put aside three pretty cool bags for the goodwill. And I'll keep on this project tomorrow. I think I can said the girl. And I will. 

Do You Believe In Magic?

There's a recent "This American Life" discussing whether life is math or magic. I definitely think life is magic. 

Yes, life is full of drudgery. Full of tasks. Things to do. 

But then, you walk outside and notice the sky. You wake up early and write a story. You attend a writing event and you can feel the magical spark in the community. You wake up at 4 am and hug your husband as he sleeps. And it feels like something special. 

There are just times you wake up and it feels like a day that something will happen. You get a coffee, sip it slowly and feel something profound and important. Like life is going to open up like a tulip. 

Of course, the older one gets, the harder it is to look at life this way. But I'm trying. I'm really trying to face the day with eagerness and anticipation. Like this morning, I have court all morning and a motion to write in the afternoon, and I still haven't unpacked my office (I moved to a new office on a new floor then moved back to my old office) and there's books and boxes everywhere. But I tell myself, it will get done. You always get it done. 

And what's really important and key is to grab the magical moments. When fairy dust is in the air, try to catch it. Try to breathe that air in. Deeply.

I Will Possess Your Heart

There's a lyric by Death Cab for Cutie that says, "You gotta spend some time love, you gotta spend some time with me..." 

That's how I feel about writing. It's a possession at times. It is love. I have an obsession with the written word. 

For me, it's not just the writing. It's the translation of thoughts to words. Taking what's in my head and transferring it to the page is part transcription, but more than that. For me, it's a journey. 

In another song called "Soul Meets Body",  Death Cab sings, 

Cause in my head there's a greyhound station
Where I send my thoughts to far off destinations

It's as if I'm traveling. Sometimes I lose myself, not all the time because I have to be in the right space. I put on my music, make my coffee, and I disappear. It's the most sublime thing. It's like dreaming while awake. Conscious but fully absorbed. I don't think when I write. Or I try not to. 

Now editing is different. When I'm revising, I'm thinking,  what word is best? Does this flow? Am I getting my point across?

They are two very different processes. But you need to be able to do both to be a good writer. 

I guess what I'm trying to say, maybe not so eloquently as I'd like, is that there's really no explaining how this all works. When it works, it just does. Like magic.

Place and space

I've been thinking a lot about my creative writing places and spaces. I write this blog. I write essays and articles for literary journals, newspapers and magazines. I write for school and post on Moodle in my MFA class. I write out everything for my podcast. It's not a strict script, but more of a roadmap.

I've written two books that appear in various places. My favorite place to imagine my book is in someone's hands. I imagine people squinting into them while reading in bed or in the bathtub the way I do. 

But my favorite place, writing wise, is in my head. My best essays or stories start out with me just thinking about them, for days at times. I've always been a daydreamer, but sometimes, I'll be at lunch eating a sandwich and an idea or a phrase will flit through my mind. I sometimes text these things to myself. Like a grocery list of literary musings.

When I can find some free time, I'll sit and think for five minutes about how to structure a piece. What I need most to write is just space. Space literally and figuratively. I don't always get it. I'm a bit anxious and its hard to turn off my brain. And it's been hectic at work. Yesterday, I really didn't take a breath all day. So many clients on in the morning and I worked through lunch and stayed late to finish my notes and got home at 7 pm spent. Fell into bed. Those kind of days don't lead to much. But my weekends. That's another story. I still wake up early as usual but I don't feel that anxiety of a work day. I sip my coffee. Relax. Then I let the words come.

As I said, many of my best pieces start out in my head and come out almost fully formed. I'd been thinking about what to write for a week for my first piece for the current nonfiction workshop I'm in. After a couple false starts, I just kept ruminating on it. 

Then Saturday, it all came out. Like water from a tap. I sat and wrote 14 pages in an hour or two. My fingers could barely keep pace with my mind. I never edit when I'm flowing and glowing like this. It feels special so I just go with it. I don't even fix spelling (although I'm a naturally good speller having read so many books as a kid that I just know a lot of words). I don't want anything to block me. After, I feel spent. But so happy. And free. 

That's what I want to stress here. Writing for me is a joy. It's my bliss. My purpose. And that's where I am right now friends. Night. Or actually good morning world, it's 435 am. I'm going to go watch the sun rise.