Portfolio

In order to find work/sell their product, the average (blank) writer needs:

For a TV writer:

2 specs of existing shows
2 pilots
1 manager
1 agent

For a screenwriter:

2 features
1 agent

For a novelist:

1-3 "trunked"/failed manuscripts
0-50 short story credits
1 sale-able manuscript
1 agent

For a playwright:

1 one-act/short play
1 play

Am I forgetting anything? Does anyone disagree? What does your To-Do list look like?

Foreign Soiled

My boyfriend was reading The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao last month, and he said it would have been nearly impenetrable if he didn't know Spanish. On the other hand, what are the odds that all those award committee jury members spoke Spanish?

How much foreign language is too much?

My most recent story is set in a French-speaking country, so there are a few French words here and there (ie, "mon petit" is said at one point). I either made sure the words were obvious in their context (such as the above endearment, spoken from an adult to a child she's babysitting) or I provided a translation right away--and I never used more than one foreign word in a scene.

The more sophisticated ways I got around using foreign languages in a foreign country while maintaining authenticity were:

1. My narrator was American, so sometimes she couldn't understand what was being said, either.

2. When people spoke English to her, they were usually translating from French--so I figured out how to say their line in French *first* and then wrote the direct English translation of it. For example, I would use French-English cognates, even if a native English speaker would be more likely to use the cognate's synonym. Sometimes I would also change the order of words, if another order would be *much* more natural in French. I tried to never use American idioms or word order that would be *supremely* unnatural in French.

3. Once, when the narrator is out of commission and two French-speakers have to talk to one another, they exchange one French phrase. I don't translate the phrase, but it's one character asking another to do something--and the second character immediately does what the first asks him to do. At that point, the narrator is in a really hazy, bad place, so I figured a little confusion would be fine. The context definitely required that the characters speak in French, but luckily they didn't have to speak much nor about anything abstract.

Of course, little to none of this would have been possible if I didn't have a relatively strong background in French; I can't imagine doing it in any other language. How much background knowledge IS necessary, though? Was *all* my knowledge of French coming into play, or does one only need to have a feel for the language?

Play Mate

I'm adapting the forty-page "short" story I wrote about yesterday into a play. In order to apply for the playwriting opportunity I'd like to, I've got to have the play done by Jan. 1.

The story is finished, so now I can start the adaptation process--but it's turning out not to be as tough as I thought. There have already been several pleasant surprises:

1. Structure. Though I didn't realize it, my story is already in perfect 5-Act structure. The relative act-lengths are even solid. That means that the story might be even stronger than I thought, AND that I've finally absorbed good story structuring!!!! I didn't outline this story, I didn't edit it with act structure in mind, BUT it came out well-laid-out anyway. That makes me unbelievably happy--because it means I'm learning, because it makes me more confident that the story is good, and because it will be relatively easy to adapt.

2. Scenes. My story is heavy on real-time scenes, as opposed to back-story and interior monologue. Not that it has no blathering or philosophizing, but it is mostly dialogue and action--which will translate well onto the stage. To me, constructing a plot using real-time scenes is a mark of professionalism--one I'm delighted to have! It also makes reading the story easier and more fun for the audience, and makes adaptation much easier, too.

So, turning this story into a play may be fun and rewarding--and DO-ABLE!--after all. Right now I'm most worried about the logistics of playwriting, ie, what *can* be done on a stage, what would look good on stage, the terms/shorthand people use, and play-script formatting.

Trompe d'Oeil

Last night I watched an episode of Sex Rehab with Dr. Drew. And I'm not going to lie: I watch Vh1 and MTV and Bravo and all those shows everyone makes fun of.

Well, not the Hills anymore. But all the others.

Anyway, this show is fascinating. And I was trying to figure out why.

Last time I couldn't understand why a story was compelling, it was because the main character was in an unsolvable dilemma with his/her humanity at stake. Maybe that's true for Sex Rehab, too.

But I think it's because of the honesty.

On drug rehab and on all the Desperate Housewives of (Insert City), the cast is all brain-fried, drunk, or unbearably self-conscious. Everything feels very fake. I thought this show would be the same, but the combination of smart people with enforced sobriety has made it what Big Brother always wished it could be.

And while watching it, I think I learned the actual meaning of authenticity and honesty. It's been my mission for a while in my writing to be as authentic and as "me" as possible. But that seemed like a vague and unreachable goal. Now, I wonder if all that requires is earnestness.

There are three people on the show that I'm fascinated by:

Duncan (film director) and Jennie (dominatrix). At first, I thought I enjoyed watching them so much because they were (are) quick witted and funny. But now I think it's because they seem so earnest about concentrating only on their mission (to connect to people in a healthy way) and to finally become themselves. That's it--whether they *are* being themselves or not, they seem to be *trying* to be themselves always. Watching both of these people come to realizations on the show is 1. a lesson in the inadequacies of acting (when these people look sad, they look sad in a way I've only before seen on documentaries on subjected women in China, for God's sake--they are sad with all of themselves). 2. the importance of being earnest.

James (surfer). He looks like he's ill, barely speaks, and his actions don't seem linked at all to common sense. But when I saw the episode last night, one thing really struck me. The producers finally decided to show some one-on-one time between him and the therapists/producers, and during that time, James talked about how nothing bad had ever really happened to him except that he slept with apparently every women who would have him (losing friends in the process) and that his mother punished him when he deserved it. Of course, this being TV in the era of Law and Order: SVU, the therapists immediately ask, "Punish you how?" and James talks about throwing things, etc, and about how he lost his virginity early (not to her, lol). Anyway, every time he says something weird, like about his mother throwing a knife at him or having lots of sex at age eleven, the therapists look weirded out and ask him how he feels about that in hindsight. The thing about James is it seems he has no hindsight at all.

When he says his mother threw a machete at him, for example, he *immediately* says that he probably deserved it. And looks embarrassed and sad while he admits it. The therapist says, "what could a kid do to deserve getting a knife thrown at him?" and James can't come up with anything. When they ask, "would you ever throw a knife at a little kid," of course, he says no. The whole time, he's constantly leaping to the defense of everyone else: the older kids and adults he had sex with in his early adolescence, his mother, whomever. Why?! He seems completely unself-aware.

How did he end up composing this completely chaotic narrative for himself--that people treated him badly or at least inappropriately because he looked like he could take it? How did he look back at his whole life and think of it as a million unconnected episodes in which he just happened to be around confused people?

I think of everything as a narrative, and it's obvious that most of the people on the show do, too. For instance, on the same episode, Duncan sees a therapist who says he's probably re-acting the same scene with men now that he began as a child...and Duncan seems to think that's perfectly plausible and even enlightening. But then, they show James, wholeheartedly leaping to the defense of anyone he's ever met, while finding himself in this horrible position (bizarre and alone)...how does this man think about time? How does he make goals for himself? How does he relate to others? How does he think about himself.

When he immediately said that he probably deserved getting a machete thrown at him, it was what would have been a "telling detail" if he were a character in a script or story. It's fascinating watching something so messy, like James's sense of self, and inserting it into the neat box of art: this was foreshadowing, that was a telling detail, the whole show is his climax, and soon we'll find a sort of resolution....

Putting someone who sees his life entirely outside the realm of narrative, and then editing it *into* a narrative arc....

Wow. So, is storytelling inherently dishonest? I've always thought the narrative of what could have or should have happened is, in its way, *more* truthful than a plain recitation of the facts. But maybe narrative *is* all fake.

Ok, utterly confused now. Which is honesty: James's episodic and chaotic thoughts on the world, or Duncan's self-aware narrative arc?

beginnings are beautiful, but all i want is a fucking end

So, now I'm back and the deadline for my two MUST BE PERFECT short stories is fast approaching (as well as my MUST BE PERFECT play) and I'm--what?!--writing a proposal for a non-fiction book.

Why can't I finish anything?

Every time I get near the end of a third draft, every time the finish line even SEEMS to glimmer in the distance BOOM "inspiration" strikes.

Would it be any less procrastination if I were bathing my cat or making a three-hour dinner or chatting on the telephone? I'm starting to suspect that I won't ever finish a goddamn thing.

What's wrong with me? Why can I get 80% there with each of these projects, and why is it so hard for me to complete the final steps? Why can't I say THIS is the ABSOLUTE BEST I can do?

Now that the semi-finalist notification process must be winding down, I'm realizing I probably didn't get a T.V. fellowship this year...which is OK--I was a first-time T.V. scriptwriter, and a first-time applicant. Still, losing burns. And I keep looking back at that script and thinking: I could still make it better.

No matter that it's the most complete thing I've got. And that applying was so important to me because I hadn't finished any of my projects in so long before that. And that my TV scripts are not my priority right now.

There are so many things I want to write--too many things. On the one hand, they all weigh (so heavily!) on me, begging to be made beautiful. But on the other hand, I feel so great when I'm only beginning a project, when it feels so magical that I keep going back to get that rush...and then I end up feeling even more burdened by before!

Ok, so what I'm saying is: I've got to be strong minded. I've got to keep my priorities in check. I've made a six-month schedule, and I'm sticking to it GODDAMN IT because I can't stand this horrible newly-clothed-emperor feeling of working so hard for years and having nearly nothing but "draft zeroes."

Guess this is a pep-talk? Against procrastination disguised as productivity? For sticking to a life plan?

How did I become someone with a rock fucking solid LIFE PLAN?!

just another brick in the adobe

The last couple days have been packed with procrastination, and I'm sick of how that feels. Today is NaNo catch-up day.

I'm fine in terms of the official word count, but I'd planned to write 2.5K each day for the month, in order to get an entire draft done. Since my drafts seem to be better when composed in condensed time-frames, I figured NaNo would be the perfect opportunity to get a long-held and long-loved idea (finally) down on paper.

NaNo's upsides:

--It's easy to explain a group project like this even to people not especially into writing. And since lots of lay-people are doing it, it doesn't seem impossible or silly for me to try, too--even to people who otherwise forget I write.

--Lots of support. I never thought the forums would help me as much as they have. Hearing about other "nobodies" working to stack up high word-counts and struggling with the day to day drafting process has been great. And the counter at the top of my page--even joining the site at all--has given me a sense of accountability.

NaNo's downsides:

--Because the support and fellowship of NaNo are what brought me to it in the first place, I feel tied to the NaNo timetable; meaning, this is a November project, and it doesn't matter that this November is an incredibly stressful time for me.

--I don't know if such a speedy draft is best for this particular project. On the one hand, speed seems to work well for my writing in general--or at least, it has in the past. On the other, this level of speed doesn't allow for a "perfect" first draft..which, in a project like this, that I've already outlined and thought about, seems a shame. I wonder if a slower first-go might result in a better finished project? Maybe I've outgrown the need to silence my inner-editor by burying her under a mountain of words? Maybe I'd be better off letting her speak a bit during my drafting?

I'm not sure if keeping to my old NaNo inspired style of speed drafting is a way of refining my process or of crippling it....

The Gastault of SHUT UP

I haven't looked at my one finished and semi-polished manuscript in months.

It's not that I haven't been writing; in the meantime, I've "finished" a T.V. script, am going through the first draft of a feature script, "finished" a number of short stories (I was going for fifteen of them, but didn't quite make it), started shooting my clay-mation, and am a third through another manuscript's rough draft.

But this summer, sometime between falling in love (with a person, not book) and taking a beat-down at workshop, I've stopped toying with it, and started avoiding it. Not because I've lost faith in the manuscript, but because it suddenly feels too daunting. The notes for "fixing it" (Draft 1,000,000) are sitting on my desk, and the actual work is buried someplace on my hard-drive.

Yesterday, though, while I was at jury selection (sadly for my research, I didn't actually hear a case) I picked up a short story I'd written a couple months ago. It'd gotten on the page without plotting and without me stopping. When I'd finished the draft, something about it had felt right...

But I decided to put the story away for a bit and forget about it. I've been re-considering my editorial process, and I didn't want this potentially good story to get ripped apart. Yesterday I finally read it, for the first time. Though there were major problems (mostly, the plot is herky jerky), it was a great read! I loved the first half especially. And it had been long enough that I actually didn't remember the story at all, which was fantastic.

I think in editing my manuscript, I cut all the life. I tried so hard to follow the "rules" and only show the "interesting bits" and strengthen the plot, that I edited out the *story.* So with this piece ("Cherub") I'm going to be much gentler.

My process with it now is:
1. Figure out all the characters' arcs.
2. Edit the plot using five-act structure (make sure, mostly, that all the pieces are there, so that the ending is comprehensible).
3. Clarify the most awkward/confusing bits of writing
4. Show it (off?) to a trusted professor
5. Done!

I'm an analytical person, so I like to know why everything works the way it does. But the conscious mind only understands so much--a person can know much more than they can articulate. I've got to start trusting my experience, training, and taste, and forget about justifying everything in the courthouse of my frontal lobe. This story doesn't need to prove itself to anyone--it doesn't have a chance at "perfection," but it does have a chance at being itself.

Beyond this particular story, the hope is: once I've got new editorial confidence and method in place, maybe I won't feel so daunted by the task of infusing life back into my complicated plot-piece of a manuscript. Maybe, in fact, it'll feel natural. And this manuscript will still be something that can connect.

Farty Arty

I was in a high school art room all day, making the BIG BUCKS, and trying to throw together five new scenes for my stop animation.

The process with this movie has been long and convoluted and fascinating, but the most unexpected thing about it is how conventional the whole route to production has been.

1. Premise
2. Brainstorm the plot and character arcs
3. Sketch out the characters (literally in this case, since I had to build them)
4. Build the characters (again, literally)
5. Build the backdrops
6. Test shots
7. Change lighting/location to work better, tweak the characters
8. Write the entire script
9. More test shots
10. Storyboard (20 pictures/3 minute movie!)
11. Revamp the storyboard to add scenes that actually show the characters' inner lives
12. Revamp the script
13. Build new sets/add props

Still need to:
14. Finish all props (ie, make rain. Claymation rain)
15. Finalize lighting and equipment (ie, wires for all the dangly things)
16. SHOOT!
17. Edit the visuals
18. Record sound effects
19. Write soundtrack
20. Record soundtrack
21. Final edit
22. Production icon.

Have I left anything out?!

Now, albeit, I haven't done everything in conventional order...which has cost me a lot of time and effort, but which is unavoidable in a learning experience like this. The point is: I've since learned the conventional process is probably the fastest way a newbie can get from point A to point B still all in one piece

I'd figured that because this was a three minute short, it could be throw together--in other words, that it wasn't a real movie. Figured, this was a week, two-week process. It's been months! My only "excuse"? Hubris...

But, on the other hand, I LOVE IT! Making things with my hands again, thinking in visuals, being on the path to a *finished* product, as opposed to a draft (even a "final" draft! Everyone knows those are never final...). This is right. It's for me. And even after going through this long, convoluted process, I love my vision, and believe I can do it justice. I still know: this is worth it.

Novel Revelation

I've tried to read manuscripts before--whole ones, from people who have been working on them for loooong periods. And I've been burned.

The ones I've read have been by people who have never written anything before, and who don't think of themselves as writers. Not to say they weren't dedicated; after all, they'd drafted AND revised a novel-length manuscript, and gone to the trouble of taking a local class/joining a writing group/finding a critique partner.

BUT their manuscripts have generally not read like books. Reading one and commenting on it could become a huge chore, because they weren't novels, they were fictionalized reports. Usually, they'd come from a very smart person in an interesting field, who wanted to write an account of their work without breaking confidentiality or ruining their security clearance. So while the facts were often fascinating, there was little word play, few actual scenes, and tons of barely integrated facts.

What these people *really* wanted was to process their experience, and used fiction to do it.

Which, I suppose, is what all writers do to a degree; they work through things using their fictional characters and fictional situations. The difference isn't whether writing CAN be therapeutic, because it always CAN be--it's whether therapy or understanding is the aim, or if storytelling is.

And though therapeutic writing *can* be powerful and interesting, it's not especially suited for novel-length stories. At best, it lacks momentum, and at worst, it's inaccessible to anyone outside the writer's head.

Which is why reading the manuscript I'm "critiquing" now is such a revelation. I can only hope this is how my own manuscript reads: like a story. Sure, it's a draft, and there are flaws. But it's got the *flavor* of a book; this is the story of the most important and defining period of a fascinating man's life, and he's living in his own world, telling his own story, as opposed to operating in a pale shadow the writer's. This feels like it has its focus on the *audience* as opposed to the writer.

I started reading it yesterday, and I'm finished now--because it was *fun* to read. The story exists in its own world, with its own characters, and I love both the place and the people; when I'm gone from them for too long, I start longing to go back. That's artistry, as well as craftsmanship, and that's why this feels like the beginnings of a professional effort, and not an amateur one.

So, in a nutshell: is the difference between professional and amateur storytelling the difference between a story existing for the audience's pleasure and benefit as opposed to, for the author's?

Cosmic Dissonance

As a reader, I love:

STRUCTURE
Momentum
Emphasis on cause and effect
Beginning-Middle-End
Intricate

LANGUAGE
Informal
Fast-paced
Colorful

SETTING
A slice of (emotionally foreign) life
Exotic in any way-- that could as well mean American suburban as ancient Egyptian

CHARACTER
Morally hazy

Is that what I write? Should it be?

Bluestocking Bluebook

I take back most, if not all, of what I said about the class I'm taking. Since the first session, the instructor *has* seemed engaged, and though we mostly use texts I've already read, she's putting their ideas into a revision system that 1. makes revision seem digestible 2. will probably work.

Part of my problem was that I've been revising my current manuscript for so long that I've stumbled into each of her revision steps, albeit not in her order.

But during a panic attack over this story I realized: this is a good roadmap! *This* is why I took that class.

So here are the steps:

1. Re-read the piece, hardcopy, with no pen and no criticism.
2. Write a logline
3. Write a one paragraph (catchy) summary
4. Write a step-sheet
5. Go through each chapter (in the story's case, each act/section), and create a have/need map.
6. Section by section, turn all the "needs" into "haves."
7. Repeat steps 5-6 as necessary
8. Line edits-- make it pretty!

Analytical little me is going to have a field day with this one!

The Control Continuum

How important is being true to one's own vision? How faithful can one even be?

Being true to oneself is the only way to create truthful work
V.
The writer understands the subtexts and themes and intricacies the *least*, because she is too close to the work to see it clearly.

I've worked over the past six months or so to be totally myself in my writing, readers be damned. Not that I threw all structure, grammar, or pragmatism to the wind... I've just tried to become more comfortable with the unknowable, even when the unknowable is my own mind. I've tried to stop trying to control *everything*, and let myself (as a writer, and my work as art) loosen up, be free, shelter from judgment-- relish instinct.

But now that I've found a novel writing groove, and a short story writing groove (finally!), I've got to make this claymation.

The claymation's been sitting in my head for months and months, and now that I've got people who want to see it, I've finally got to finish the damn thing. And it's bizarre to have full control over an entire production like this.

1. Find the idea
2. Write the script
3. Create the clay creatures
4. Build the set
5. Film
6. Edit
7. Soundtrack
8. Get it out there

I'm on the tail-end of #4 right now, and it's suddenly hitting me that even if I *don't* like it, I'm in total control of this project-- even down to the production values. The (lazy) demon on my shoulder says, "cut a few corners-- who cares?" The (masochistic) angel on my shoulder says, "You'll care, if you're going to show this to anybody, knowing it's not your best possible work."

The control issue is bizarre in writing, I think, because each media needs such different levels of it. On the one hand, there are short stories that are limited enough in scope that they can flourish on an absolute minimum of plot, and a maximum of whimsy. Novels require a bit more in terms of logistics, simply because they're so big-- but their logistics are all writerly. No extra lay-out of money required to help those logistics along. I think the medium that requires the MOST writing control is television.

Television writing is *incredibly* constrained; you've got a certain set of characters, a certain location, a certain basic set-up, thematic limitations, and everything's got to be done to a strict time/page/action formula (approx. 8-pg pulses), and all in about 55 script format pages.

And yes, with television writing there are certain physical concerns-- please don't expect the sets or the CGI to be fancy. Please don't require athletic feats that will take weeks to prepare. But no way you've got to stage the thing.

That's where the play/movie continuum takes over; not only have you got to write the thing with at least a novelistic level of writerly control, you've (at least as an unknown) got to actually make it *happen* in a physical way.

So on the one hand, I've taken great pains to give up control and give more say to instinct for my short story writing-- which has taken a turn for the much better. And on the other, I'm making a movie-- in which I've got to build the "actors" no less.

Why am I making myself schizophrenic? Well, because it's fun. And fascinating, to stretch those control/instinct muscles in all kinds of new ways.

Truth and Consequences, nm

What I've learned this year so far:

Plot is inseparable from structure.

Structure gives a story momentum.

Momentum and plot allow/create an interesting, inevitable, satisfying resolution.

But concentrating too much on structure, plot, and pre-planning can suck out a piece's life.

So: Structure/Plot/Outlining is necessary, but dangerous.

I've decided lately to put novel writing on the back-burner and concentrate on short stories-- they were most of my focus in college, but I haven't written any since.

Short stories had: verve, energy, voice, playfulness.  

They did not have: structure, momentum, satisfying resolutions.

My current work is the opposite.  

I think my problem is authenticity.  In an effort to write "correctly" I haven't trusted my instincts enough... so I've been on a sort of hiatus, and using a private diary to open myself back up.  I felt that a public blog was only helping my emotional crippling/cramping.  I feel more in touch with myself and my needs and my views now, than I have for two years-- I feel free.

But I haven't only opened up to myself-- I've had a close confidant over the last few months.  As I said to him (for me, for now) writing requires a certain amount of loneliness.  If I can communicate all I want to by hanging out and talking to my friends, why put myself through the financially inconvenient and ego-bruising ringer?  What if I can either feel connected to the people in my life, or connected to my writing?  But as I've unclenched, I've realized that even though he's always willing to *listen*, I can't always say what I mean without fiction.  

Turns out, I've been training myself to be a hack, and 1. I'm not technically proficient enough to be one 2. what's the point of that?  

My ultimate goal right now is to put myself and my truth into my work as bravely and completely as possible.   I'm still trying to strengthen my work by using what I now know about structure and planning and the mechanics of a strong story.  I'm still trying to use my analytical abilities in my writing.  But mostly, I'm trying to find authenticity-- the place between what happens and how it feels.  

Fast Pitch

The Bethesda Literary Festival was this week, and I competed in "Bethesda Idol," a kind of American Idol for writing samples. It was a disaster.

Writing samples consisted of:
1. Cover page with word count, genre, title, and a 1-3 sentence "log line"
2. Query letter
3. Manuscript's first three pages

Three agents were the "judges"-- but did they read the manuscript pages? No. Did they read the query letters? No. Did they even *look* at the samples? No.

A reader stood at a lecturn and read off each cover page. Sometimes, the reader wouldn't even get through the genre before the agents said, "next!" About fifty people entered-- the agents said they'd read seven of the samples past the cover page.

So of course, there were forty-five pissed people in that room-- though not for long. People were streaming out as the agents passed or panned based on reasoning like: the logline mentions Africa-- I love Africa! Yes!

One of the agents called people out as they left, begging them to stay. But honestly, why would they?

Even going through the cover pages took about an hour... during which the audience slowly dwindled and after which all but a quarter of the audience left. Then, the reader read a couple manuscript pages out loud and the audience voted on their favorite.

Everyone seemed disgruntled. The log-lines were all *remarkably* similar. Fully half were about vaguely dissatisfied married women during their mid-life crisis. If anything was the *least* bit unique, the audience responded-- with nervous laughter, gasping, whatever-- and the agents read that as derision and would through the sample in the "no" pile.

The manuscript pages were *remarkably* mediocre, and all had obvious flaws in their craftsmanship (ie, the story would open with a dialogue, but between every line the author would interject a paragraph of discription, so the conversation was impossible to follow). I guess it's to be expected that the writing samples were random and ordinary since they were picked so randomly-- without even the query letters giving a glimpse of the author's writing.

I was shocked, and left with a bad taste-- something the rest of the audience seemed to share. Jeez, even the agents looked bewildered and unhappy when it ended.

The way the agents approached their "judging" was disheartening, but I did learn some things: I'd discribed my story as a "medical thriller" but hearing peoples' responses, I think it's actually "action/adventure." My query letter/log-line language was dramatic and vivid-- but it came off as overblown to the agents. Ok, maybe I should try and turn it down... ironically, the writing in my manuscript is spare, so crisper writing in the query is a better match.

But I learned some things that were more disheartening: everytime I show up someplace, I think my stuff is going to be like everyone else's, that we're all responding to the same things, that our stuff will be comparable. But every freaking time, my stuff is *COMPLETELY* different from everyone else's.

Different as in: no one else even had an action story. No one else had any obvious fighting in their story at all! No one else had anything to do with infection. No one even had anything zombie-esque, which I'd worried was too *trendy*. The basic building blocks of my story weren't echoed in *anybody* else's, let alone the specifics.

I know who I am: in grade school, we watched this movie about an Indian (India- Indian) American girl celebrating Thanksgiving with her class. For homework, all the kids have to make little Pilgram and Indian dolls. But before she can finish hers, the little Indian girl falls asleep and lets her mother finish hers for her. When she gets to school, she sees all the other kids with their Native American and Pilgram assignments, and she pulls out hers-- which is dressed in a sari. I'm always that f*cking girl with the sari-dressed doll.

Which my friends assure me just means I'm creative. Great. So creative, I've creative-d myself out of the f*cking market. Not that anything has changed: what can I do? I have the taste and sensibility I've got, and my stories reflect that. But, I'll have to be very careful in the agents I chose to query. AND, I've officially lost my delusion that the writing is what counts-- that good writing will get you read.

Oh well. But i have decided to change a couple things in light of my new pessimism.

1. I've got to do some short pieces and get some readership, aka validation. One of my friends is helping with this, by publishing my essays on his (awesome) magazine/blog/website.

2. I've got to press further on my manuscript. I've been working on the same (begining) portion for *much* too long, and been much too complacent about how I structure it. I've been breaking "rules" in the order I present characters (less important characters are introduced early, much more important characters introduced late), etc. It's a tougher, rougher world than I thought, and I'm going to follow the rules that might serve the story.

3. I've *GOT* to buckle down with my television spec, which I've been avoiding like a fish avoiding prarie. The problem is: every time I watch the show, I'm so impressed by the writing I get psyched out! But I'm halfway through this spec, and I'm going to muscle through to the end. THEN, I'm going to write a whole new spec for the same show. That's what I did for my manuscripts, and the second (I think) is awesome-- especially compared to the first.

4. MAKE WRITING FUN AGAIN. It's supposed to be freeing, a pleasure, and since I've started editing, I've lost the joy.
(RELAX
-- Frankie)

So, for my self-esteem and maybe for yours:

ANYBODY ELSE WRITING ANYTHING THAT'S TOTALLY OUT THERE?

deep throat tells all

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B: some men tried to get into the house. S: well, are they still there? B: I'm not sure. We've shut the curtains.

ZOMBIE RULE OF THUMB: in the end, the zombies always win.

The fun/scary part is seeing how close the heroes come, and what trips them up in the end.

FUNNY EXAMPLE:

Shaun of the Dead is fun and funny, because the band of loser "heroes" seems so destined to fail- they're distracted by pettiness!  they just want to hang out at the bar!  and maybe hook up!  and PHILIP IS NOT MY DAD!- yet, they squeak by using their silly, average, commonplace tools and common sense.

SCARY EXAMPLE:

The heroes in Dawn of the Dead (another great movie, btw, but not my absolute fav in the entire world) seem so much more competent.  Every interaction with the zombies seems like a tiny slip down the slope of ZOMBIES WIN!, so the movie is scary but not too funny- or as fun.

My story is definitely more like Shaun of the Dead than Dawn of the Dead...  though a little different from both, because the zombies aren't actually dead.  They're just sick, a la 28 Days Later.

The problem I'm having now is, if the ZOMBIES ALWAYS WIN!, and the hero and villain are pretty recognizable, and the character stories are all kind of heavy (hey, I'm the girl who went ON and ON and ON about Anakin Skywalker's angst- of course the character stories are all kind of heavy).... where's the suspense?

Does suspense come from not knowing what's going to happen (hope not), or not knowing *how* it's going to happen (hope so).  I'm worried that I'm telegraphing who is going die.  But then again- maybe I'm just WAY too familiar with my own story to judge.

Ok, ZOMBIE TROPES:

1.  The zombies always win (check)

2.  They always do it in the most violent way possible (check)

3.  They always look funky doing it (check)

4.  It's ok to hurt them (I switch this up, but acknowledge it, so check)

5.  They go for the brain.  (WHY?  Mine go for the neck or the belly.  They're really really hungry and the neck (full of blood) and the belly (full of fat) seem like good places to feed.  Also good: thighs).

6.  They roam in packs (WHY?  Why don't they eat each other, by the way?)

7.  They NEVER FILL UP (Why do they stay perpetually hungry?  Mine have a physiological reason why they constantly feel hungry but... you can only eat so much before your stomach explodes)

8.  They only go after humans (WHY?  Because eating pets is too gross, and eating farm animals too commonplace?)

9.  They walk funny (check)

10.  They are stupid/unfeeling (WHY?  Especially if they're alive, like in 28 Days Later?  I'm thinking about changing this up a little)

11. They moan, but don't speak (WHY?)

12.  They turn VERY QUICKLY (as opposed to vampires, etc.) (sort of check- mine have a certain physiological trigger).

Any tropes I'm forgetting?  Which of these "rules" are the most/least important?

My particular story is more techno-thriller than horror-fest, so there's a lot of science, etc, and the zombies are sort of a sub-plot.  I know, I know, no fun.  But since zombies are dumb, unfeeling, mute, and not bit on individuality, how much time do I want to spend on them anyway?

THOUGH- I'd love to see a sweet, loving movie a la The Red Balloon about a zombie's journey.  Maybe sniffing out fresh meat or something.  But, you know, existential-like.