| Eternal Writers Block |
[Jan. 30th, 2009|01:38 am] |
I made a short list of resolutions for the new year. I won't bother lamenting on the ridiculousness of the so-called resolution in the first place-- a day where we success-seekers get to start over-- as there is little point to be made. To call into question the validity of this holiday-- when I spend the year looking forward to an eve of horrid costumes and one-too-many cocktails-- would be a rather hypocritical judgment, wouldn't it?
To get to the point, here they are:
Resolution #1: Personal
Resolution #2: I shall begin and continue work on my screenplay, titled 500 Miles For Gabriel Gera, and shall further develop new projects, related to comedy training at the Groundlings or short projects related to my Cinema II class.
Resolution #3: I shall continue training--and thus, building my comedic abilities-- at The Groundlings and enroll in at least one WOW class a week, dependent upon my schedule.
Resolution #4: I shall force myself to attend open-mics with the objective of getting up and performing stand-up.
Resolution #5: I shall attend all academic class sessions and remain in good academic standing.
Tonight, I'm focusing on #2... I started this project-- which I suppose one could call a screenplay-- a little more than a year ago. It originally began as an idea for a class and took on a life of it's own. Once the class was over, my momentum for it eventually died, as have so many other 'projects' in my life. One month into January and I'm nowhere if I'm anywhere. I do have an amazing excuse-- being bedridden for the last 10 days and direly sick with a throat infection before that, but it still pulls on my innards and makes me feel like a failure.
I'm so easily distracted. Look at me now, writing on this bloody journal. Still, better than buggering away on facebook, which has amazingly enough surpassed Myspace in sucking away my life. It's gotten so bad, this online dependency and lust for social networks, that I'm contemplating deleting them all. Good riddance, part of me says. Another part jumps in, 'But No! Think of all the history you've jotted it there!?!', like I'm some royal hag who will one day have a museum in my honor. 'Better to save it for the East Wing Of Online Sociality', says the museum curator inside.
Doesn't really matter, anyways. The moment I find the power to sit myself down with the purpose of writing, I'm faced with the white screen. I stare at it for a matter of minutes and eventually fancy that I've once again concluded a false reality: I haven't lived enough life to write a screenplay. I ponder my message and then realize that I haven't even figured that out for myself... What is my message? Hell, what is your message? Then, upon heating up like a pop-tart, I ponder this idiocy of Hollywood in general: Most screenplays out of this wretched city don't have a god-damned message in the first place. It's so apparent that I need not list the any examples. Though, last I checked, the Hotty And The Notty were still best friends.
Christ, it kills me. If I examine the barricade and turn it into one of the pie-graphs like the marketers do, it might be a better method to tackling the issue of my writers block. Perhaps I see myself with the Oscar before I do the pen. I hate myself for writing it but it's a horribly honest statement. I used to defend it by stating little quips like, 'Does not the runner see the medal before the ribbon?' or, 'Does not the baker taste the pie before the flour' ...LOL. Right... Does not the procrastinator see the shit before the bull?
I want to act, I want to write, I want to direct... It all adds up to one factoid of my life: I want to create. A casting director, and I can't believe I'm about to quote this asshole, once said, 'Don't stretch yourself too thin... Don't write and act at the same time or you'll get nowhere!' I suppose he had a point. Mind you, this was the same casting director that once told me that the wearing of more than one necklace at a time automatically labeled you a homosexual. Watch out, Pete Wentz. By his definition, your gayer than a sequined rainbow blouse, fitted 32 Mens.
If nothing else, I hope the year brings about a plethora of opportunities... whether they be of my own creation or not. It's horribly frustrating to know that if you put your mind to it, you could be driving a Lexus instead of a Hyundai. Almost as irritating as that inherent lust for the Lexus in the first place. Down you materialistic bastard, down!
I think I'm on to something. Until I'm secure in the knowledge that my creative drive comes not from my desire for the $ but from my passion to change the world in a positive way, I'll continue to face the facade.
But... Step aside and view this from a completely different angle. The wall is to my side, not directly in front. It labels all the ideas in my bright little head. It has arrows that point me forward, forward, forward! All I have to do is believe... All I have to do is take off the tinted sunglasses! All I have to do is believe in the law of attraction and the secret, the secret, the secret! I mean, really, does not the attraction come before the law? Does not the secret come before the cloaked whispering one who has the secret written on a scroll?
Does not the B come before the S?
Blast you all!!!!!!!
Christopher
Person Of The Day: Monica, for the entire ABFAB collection at my disposal.
Runner Up: Brother Daniel, for visiting me on this blessed day of recovery.
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