No Pants Island

I'm Out! I'm Outta the Contest!

2010-11-09T22:28:00.000-08:00

That was FAST!

It wasn't a naked woman across the street who caused me to pack it in early, though - just too many projects on the plate, and now some with $$$'s attached. My brain isn't left with much to say at the end of the day, much less blog about.

Regardless, I do feel like I'll be blogging more regularly now. So that's something.

Godspeed, fellow NaBlo'ers. Hold that torch high! I've got a script to catch...

Late Night Drive-by

2010-11-08T23:21:00.000-08:00

It's late. It was a long day and I already paid my dues to the page count gods today, so this is all I have to offer you, dear reader:

It's called a sidewalk. It's not a sidestand - it's not a sidebike. It's not a siderun, or sidetext-your-friends-and-weave-back-and-forth-and-stumble-into-me-not-once-but-THREE-times!

It's a sideWALK.

That will be all.

What Happens In Vegas.

2010-11-07T23:39:00.000-08:00

Thanks to SB Edwards, and Ken Bartrum for providing the inspiration package for this week's Scripty Sunday.The result was a quirky, cliche little story about a young couple trying to follow their dream. It's not fancy; after suddenly remembering that I owed you Island dwellers a script for today's blog entry I scratched it out in about two hours. So be kind, gentle reader.

"What Happens in Vegas"

a Short, by Erin McGechaen

INSPIRATION PACKAGE
LOCATION: Top of the Eiffel Tower

NAME(s): George (and Kirsten)

RANDOM ITEM: A potato

PHOTO: http://ow.ly/i/57ah

FADE IN:

EXT. LAS VEGAS BLVD – NIGHT

“The Strip” is alive with nightlife. SEXY YOUNG PEOPLE strut and stagger down the street; cars, taxis and transit are bumper to bumper. GEORGE (23) a tall, skinny, nerdy fellow wearing a giant sock monkey costume is running down the street. He sees the Eiffel Tower, tears the head of his costume off, and heads towards it.

INT. EIFFEL TOWER RESTAURANT – NIGHT

KIRSTEN (21) an attractive brunette wearing a stunning Betsey Johnson is struggling over whether or not to pour herself the last glass of wine from a bottle of shiraz. Judging by the “moustache” she’s sporting, she’s been here awhile – and had a lot to drink. She’s sitting alone, in the corner by the window. It’s late – the restaurant is empty, and preparing to close.

A WAITER discretely slips her the bill. She glances at it, then forgoes the wine glass altogether and takes a final swig straight from the bottle. Fumbling through her purse, she pulls out a few bills and drops them on the table before standing to leave.

INT. EIFFEL TOWER, LOBBY – NIGHT

George furiously pounds the UP elevator button. He paces in front of the two elevator doors, sweat dripping down his face. A group of JAPANESE TOURISTS regard him strangely, pointing and whispering. He finally acknowledges them:

GEORGE

Take a fucking picture already –

it’ll last longer!

They oblige him, and start snapping. The elevator finally arrives and he steps inside.

INT. EIFFEL TOWER RESTAURANT – NIGHT

Kirsten leans against the wall, waiting for one of the two elevators to arrive; one is traveling UP, and one is traveling DOWN. The down elevator arrives first, and the doors open. The ELEVATOR OPERATOR, a kindly older gentleman greets her:

ELEVATOR OPERATOR

Good evening Miss. Up or down?

She stumbles inside, stifling a belch.

KIRSTEN

Down please.

ELEVATOR OPERATOR

Are you sure? The view

is lovely.

Kirsten ponders this a moment, then agrees:

KIRSTEN

Yeah, fine. I’m here! What

the hell. Let’s do it!

(shouts)

Woohoo Vegas!

Kirsten heaves, but swallows hard and recovers. The Elevator Operator raises an eyebrow.

ELEVATOR OPERATOR

Up we go. Hold on tight.

The doors shut. Moments later, the doors of the second elevator open and George comes tearing out. He searches the restaurant with his eyes – no luck. Disappointed, he turns to leave – but sees the other elevator is heading UP. His face full of hope, he heads back into the second elevator – turning to the ELEVATOR OPERATOR:

GEORGE

Up! Hurry! Go! Step on it!

The doors shut.

INT. EIFFEL TOWER OBSERVATION DECK – NIGHT

Kirsten is leaning against a window as George steps out of the elevator behind her. Relieved, he dons the head of his sock monkey costume and dusts himself off before approaching her.

In the window, Kirsten catches George’s reflection:

KIRSTEN

I hate that fucking thing.

Why are you wearing that?

(beat)

You’re three hours late.

GEORGE

I know, I’m sorry.

KIRSTEN

Goodnight George – I’m going home.

GEORGE

Wait. It’s ten-thirty - we can

still go out. Let’s go do

something fun!

KIRSTEN

This isn’t fun! This isn’t

what I signed up for! This

is bullshit! What am I supposed

to tell my friends when they

show up next week?

GEORGE

You tell them that you’re

working! That you’re acting!

KIRSTEN

(shouting, crying)

As WHAT, George?! As what!

As a fucking fast food mascot?

Handing out flyers to tourists

all damn day? Wearing a stupid

monkey costume?

GEORGE

But you look so cute wearing it.

KIRSTEN

(pulls the head off George’s suit)

No George. No, I don’t.

And neither do you.

(managing to laugh through tears)

Were you actually planning on

coming to dinner dressed in this?

GEORGE

I had to work late – whoever

was scheduled tonight quit,

Or something. I dunno. Ricky

was pretty pissed.

KIRSTEN

That was me. I quit.

The Japanese Tourists have just stepped off one of the elevators. They see Kirsten arguing with the giant “sock monkey” and start discretely snapping photos of themselves making peace signs with the angry couple in the background.

GEORGE

Oh well thanks for telling me.

KIRSTEN

Well I would have told you

if you’d called!

GEORGE

So what are we supposed to do

now, huh? We need two incomes.

We can’t afford to have just

one of us working.

KIRSTEN

I’m going back to Idaho.

GEORGE

What? Are you kidding me?!

KIRSTEN

I bought a bus ticket. I’m

leaving tomorrow.

George is visibly crushed.

GEORGE

So you’re going to give all

this up and go back to work

on your parent’s potato farm?

Seriously? Well that’s great,

Kirsten. That’s just fucking great.

Way to stick with it. You

know Madonna worked at Dunkin’ Donuts…

KIRSTEN

(interrupting)

ENOUGH with the Madonna story

already! I don’t fucking care

if she had to stick donuts

up her cooter to make a living

– I’m not her!

In the background, the Japanese Tourists have overheard the name Madonna, and have started recreating the “Vogue” dance. George awkwardly slumps to the floor; the suit constricting his movement.

GEORGE

I just wanted to have an

adventure. With you. Because

I love you! Okay, so it’s sucked

so far. But it’s going to get

better. I promise it’s going

to get better.

He removes his “right paw”. Reaching inside his pocket, he pulls out the classic looking engagement ring. Kirsten is clearly surprised:

KIRSTEN

George, what are you doing?

GEORGE

Marry me?

She tentatively takes the ring. The Japanese tourists crowd together, watching, holding their breath.

GEORGE

(cont)

That’s why I was late.

I had it engraved.

She examines it more closely. It READS: FOR MY FAVORITE LITTLE MONKEY. She tears up.

KIRSTEN

I’m so sorry George…

The Japanese tourists gasp dramatically, poised with anticipation.

KIRSTEN

(cont)

I’m so sorry for being such

a jerk. Of course I’ll marry you!

JAPANESE TOURISTS

(shouting and clapping)

HOORAY!

FADE OUT

Closed Door Funny

2010-11-06T20:26:00.000-07:00

The oldest inside joke that I can remember was between me and my brother. It was the result of excessive hours of Monopoly, and - I suspect - had something to do with Mr. Monopoly himself. Can't recall who the instigator was, but it went like this: anytime a trade was initiated and completed, the initiator had to stand up - puffing out his or her chest while squinting at the other player - and declare "It's been a pleasure doing business with you" in a funny little voice that phonetically translated to something more like "Eeets been a pleshah doing bizznizz wizz yoo."

Several fits of uncontrollable giggles later, I suspect that this small ritual was much more entertaining for us than the game actually ever was.

Then there was "Music Man in a Garbage Can" - sung in a twangy, country style, shared between my best friend and me in high school. This originated from a junket downtown, where we witnessed what we believed to be the first musical trash receptacle - only to discover there was a homeless man strumming his guitar from behind it. "Music Man in a Garbage Can" later evolved into a different inside joke, applied to Philsy when we were first dating and... well... his apartment was messy, let's just say. In case you aren't in the loop, Philsy is a composer. Dots connected.

Just a side note: I've managed to type for 20 minutes now with a fresh manicure and not shmuck it. Go me!

Back to the subject. Philsy and I have had more inside jokes than I can remember over the last eight years. "Hoodle" is a nickname for a breakfast sandwich; the origin of the word is Wheedle, courtesy of the brilliant documentary Spellbound. "Don't give him the part what you taste" - spoken in a Quebecois accent - came from one of Philsy's childhood friends.

On the subject of Quebecois accents: five years ago when I was visiting Philsy's cottage in QC for the first time I started working on a funny little character with a bad Quebecois accent - sort of a 'wild and a crazy guy', but with French Canadian flare. It's important to note, that I talk in my sleep - and it wasn't long before Frenchie made a late night appearance. Philsy made a point of writing down exactly what I said: "You can take one, if you want one. Or you can say yes, or no, or yes, or no, or crazy."

Inside jokes aren't necessarily limited to just two people, or even a small group. Internet meme's, like ICANHAZCHEEZEBURGER have brought together large groups. "Give him the stick" "Porkchop Sandwiches" and "Who wants a body massage?" came from a hilarious bunch of re-voiced GI Joe infomercials on YouTube. It's an amazing testament to the power of social networking when you're sitting on the bus, and over hear someone say:

Inside funny is the birthplace of all funny, in one way or another. Jokes and gags need to go through rigorous testing before they are presented to the world - and naturally, we start with those closest to us and then branch out. Venues like Twitter are a great challenge to hit hilarity in just 140 characters.

And remember, sometimes a good old fashioned fart joke is all you need.

Tweet Tweet

2010-11-05T19:34:00.000-07:00

For my four Follow Fridays this November, I'm going to highlight as many people as I can manage to write about on an otherwise busy Friday. Hopefully no-one will feel left out! Maybe I'll stay committed and keep going after November. That way I can introduce to you a whole mess of super interesting folks.

#1. Garner Haines - @garnerhaines

Garner and I met years ago, participants of the Final Draft Big Break competition. Neither of us won. But neither of us gave up, either, and it's resulted in some slowly kindled writer career success. Garner's success took off in a big way last year when he signed with the Hudson Agency in New York, and has been up to his ears in pitches and meetings ever since. Garner's biggest talent is his ability to crank out the pages - not just quantity pages, but quality pages. He was one of the first writers in Canada to produce a podcast webseries, titled "Hockey Strike". A multi-talented writer, he's written both features and television - more recently, he's been focused on children's programming. In 2008, Garner's Corner Gas spec "Violation" won the Wildsound competition in Toronto. More recently, Garner's original sci-fi TV pilot "The Time is Right" was selected and read by a room of professional actors at Lift Out Loud. Definitely a force to be reckoned with, you'll see his name in the credits soon!

#2. Rachel Langer - @rachlanger @FutureXWaitress

I met social media maven Rachel on Twitter - where else! - about a year ago. Another budding television writer, we had an instant connection. Rachel's focus is one-hour format, and writes delicious dramas with sci-fi/fantasy flavour. She co-hosts Scriptchat, a weekly Twitter event where novice and experienced screenwriters come together to share experiences and cheer each other on. Rachel also runs a weekly competition called the "Double Shift Logline Challenge" or #DLSC - Tweeters submit their film and television loglines to her in the hopes of winning everything from script notes, to biographies and more. Throw in a talented editor/director husband (@dereklanger) and you have a dynamic duo ready to rock the world of indy production! Rachel recently rebooted her on-line personality as @futureXwaitress - a "writer for hire" by donation, as a step towards omitting the "day job" and making writing her full-time career. Go Rachel!

#3. Clara - @torturedpotato

Clara is awesome. She is also some sort of Linux function, according to Google. We met years ago, thanks to Philsy. Someone quipped that Clara is the Stuart McLean of bloggers, and I couldn't agree more. Her writing seems effortless - the muse strikes, the keyboard is poked, and voila: six-layer chocolate cake, gooey with inspiration and emotion. When she's not busy writing up a storm, Clara is chasing after her adorable boys - affectionately nicknamed Trombone and Fresco. Clara has guest blogged on a few sites I believe, including TenthtotheFraser.ca. She likes potato chips very much. Go follow her. Do it. Now.

Three. That's a good number to start with. Over and out.

Driving, Miss Erin.

2010-11-04T22:53:00.000-07:00

Tofino is my somewhere over the rainbow. Bliss, surrounded by waves and beaches and trees - I spent the best childhood vacations ever there. I haven't been back for nearly ten years, because I can't drive. And it's killing me.

Various mitigating factors kept me from this teenage rite of passage. A bad relationship with my mother. Then, a bad relationship. No car. No access to a car. No money for lessons, or a car. However, as I tweeted earlier today: Going for my "first" "driving lesson" today. This is sort of like my "first beer" at 19 - only I wasn't drinking when I was 7.

Dad taught me to drive when I was 23. We followed the same ritual he did with my brother: several summer evenings spent ripping around the parking lots of Park Royal Mall. After I had a handle on the basics, I graduated to the relatively safe streets of West Vancouver while Mum would walk the dog at Ambleside. Unfortunately though, after summer was over life got busy again and we never continued. Not long after, I left home again and the distance made organizing lessons unworkable. So I resigned myself once more to a lifetime sentence of the loser cruiser.

Ambiguous disclosure: I've driven since, here and there. When I turned 30, that sinking feeling returned that I was missing out on vehicular freedom. So after discussion with my Mum and Dad, they offered to help out for proper lessons with an accredited school - thereby reducing the Graduated Licensing sentence by six months. More procrastinating, and then I finally signed up for the course last month.

Today, I had my "first" driving lesson. The instructor was positive, accepting that I already had experience and open to building on that. Despite his being engaging and interesting, throughout the entire hour and a half I couldn't stop thinking about driving around West Van with Dad. By the end of it, I was tearing across Burrard Street bridge, trying to hold my composure long enough to not put a total stranger in the awkward position of dealing with a very sad and broken me. Haven't cried that hard since the night I realized Dad was going to die.

I'm looking forward to driving to Tofino next summer. I plan on spending several weeks there, if I can afford it. Hiking, surfing, swimming, beach combing, camping.

Thanks Dad, for teaching me how to get there.

One Up

2010-11-03T23:13:00.000-07:00

Writing for a new medium can be a challenge. Ten years ago, I wrote my first screenplay - woke up at around 1:30am on a Saturday, suddenly inspired to "write a movie." At that point in my life, I'd written countless short stories, half a novel, a couple of plays, and various other bits and bites. But no film scripts.

When inspiration strikes, it's important to chase that white rabbit as far down the hole as you can go. So almost 48 hours later - broken only by a three and a half-hour nap - I found myself with approximately 275 pages of totally miss-formatted newbie breakthrough success. For the first time in my young adult life, I had an idea of what I might want to do with the rest of it.

For the last ten years, I've worked on writing better scripts than that first epic monster. Recently, I was working on a treatment for a feature when I realized it would really lend itself better to a video game. In particular, a puzzle game. I've always loved story-focused puzzle games - the Monkey Island series, and my favourite of all-time: Grim Fandango. So I've started researching video game pitches... and frankly, am not turning up a whole hell of a lot of information, except that in order to make a successful pitch you almost absolutely completely MUST have a playable demo (even if the graphics suck ass). Even brother No Pants, who IS a video game designer wasn't able to give me much to go on. Here are a couple of links I've found that are useful...

http://www.writing-world.com/freelance/games.shtml

http://creatinginteractivenarrative.wordpress.com/

So that's another project on the plate. It's interesting, and fresh, and new - and tough. Finding an out-of-work designer to collaborate with is proving to be more difficult than expected, but like with everything else: if it's meant to be, it'll be. It's forcing me to think more visually, and it's also opening up my brain to more of the potential that newly trendy "transmedia" content has to offer.

I could blog more, but there's a rabbit hole calling my name...

My Many Lovers

2010-11-02T21:56:00.000-07:00

Making a commitment to watch a television series isn't something to be taken lightly. It's just like any other relationship - there is a set expectation that it will deliver, leave you satisfied, and occasionally bring you breakfast in bed.

Part of the reason I never fully understood the Reality TV craze, is I'm a relationship kind of gal - I need the comfort of knowing that wherever we end up together it will be right. Reality TV is like a one night stand gone wrong - you mistakenly fall in love, and then get slapped in the face with a European ending (the hero both fails and achieves, though in this case the later really isn't applicable). That kind of romance is too rocky for my liking, and for that reason I'm out. My last reality fling was with this funny fellow ==>

Comedies and dramas are not exempt from breaking hearts, though. Sex and the City slumped in it's mid-seasons; Weeds lost it's footing in season four and five. One of my favourite new Canadian series, Being Erica sadly came down with a bad case of "people don't really act that way" syndrome this year. Faced with a commitment dilemma, the viewer must decide whether to ride it out, or cut and run.

Personally, I am willing to give a series multiple second chances - usually half a season's worth - before declaring a moratorium. Even then, it's a tough call to make. You were there for a reason. You loved the characters - the premise. The story. What happened? What changed? The answers are often locked inside the writer's room, never to be revealed. Disagreements? Network meddling? Bad showrunners? There are shows like United States of Tara that have flipped entire staffs faster than a Denny's flips pancakes, and have still managed to come up consistently smelling like roses. So what's the magic equation to keeping a series on air and alive?

Hopefully I'll have that answer for you someday. Meanwhile, I'm going to disappear into The Walking Dead premiere again. Yes, again - sometimes one slice of cake just isn't enough.

PS: Philsy, over at... somewhere... uhh... anyway - Philsy is participating in a little event called Mo'vember. It's a facial hair extravaganza aimed at expediting a cure for prostate cancer. Philsy's brother is a survivor. He's also honouring my Dad, who actually died from Lymphoma but sported a fine moustache for most of his adult life. I don't like to harp on donations, but if you're moved to, here's the link: http://ca.movember.com/mospace/978162/

NaBloPoMo Machine GO!

2010-11-01T11:45:00.000-07:00

Last year, I participated in NaBloPoMo to get into the habit of regular blogging. Looking back over last year's entries, it was clearly a roaring success!

So, let's try this again. Because if something doesn't work the first time, you're obviously doing it wrong.

This round, I'm going to set some parameters for myself:

MANIC MONDAY - Crazy Contemplations
TV TUESDAY - Shows that Inspire (and I wish would hire) Me
WRITER WEDNESDAY - Writer on Writing
THANKFUL THURSDAY - Thoughtful Thanks for Super Things
FOLLOW FRIDAY - Winning Endorsements for Terrific Tweeters
SILLY SATURDAY - Hilarity (hopefully) Ensues
SCENE SUNDAY - Donated Elements form Fabulous Fiction, Size Small*

*Sunday's exercise will be aided through the donation of a virtual inspiration package VIA Twitter. I'll be looking for a location, a random item, a name, and a photograph from four separate Tweeters - either Tweeted at me, or replied here.

Who am I on Twitter? Well... isn't it obvious? No Pants Island

I'll randomly choose and use one of each collected element as the creative backbone for a complete scene. Given that this task is a bit more involved than the rest of the week, I'll be asking for these elements on Monday so that I can start brainstorming early - don't want to spend my entire Sunday pounding the keys.

There it be. Write on.

Tall Horse

2010-08-26T15:35:00.000-07:00

My Dad died.

It was unexpected, and tragic. I'm not really prepared to write about it yet - however, it bears mention as I try to get back on the horse here.

Finding comedy while living tragedy is tough. I'm not always a funny writer when blogging, but when I write script, comedy is my focus. When life as I knew it came to a crashing halt on July 8th - so did my writing.

Every day, I sit down - I stare at the page. Every writer experiences this, but this time it's more than just a dry spell. It's a subconscious creative revolt. It's my brain refusing to process what's happened. It terrifies me to think, "What if I was staffed right now? What if people were counting on me? Or paying me? What if it was my OWN show?"

I'm not an irresponsible person by any means. I've had tragedy in my life before, and managed to keep the plates spinning regardless.

This is different. My Dad was a writer. He inspired me to write. He was the best damn story editor I had.

One small blog post. One word in front of the other. One small step in what will likely prove to be a long creative rehabilitation.

It's a tall horse to climb back up on.

/end Hibernation

2010-04-15T22:21:00.000-07:00

It's been a few months. During my hiatus, No Pants Island had a population surge of 40 followers. Clearly, you're all under the ~~misguided~~ impression that I have something interesting to say. So I'll attempt to pony up and deliver.

It's been an interesting, and frustrating few months. Unfortunately, the frustrating part I'm not particularly at liberty to discuss, however, I'm hoping that the situation will resolve more fairly in my favour as I've busted my chops for little return. Ah, television. Your sweet, sweet siren call will always keep me coming back for more, even after you've punched me in the face and stolen my lunch money.

The positive has been the realization that despite the incredible lack of commitment I've shown to almost everything in my life so far, writing - and in particular, screenwriting - is not one of those things. That's the only thing I can confidently say that I am supposed to do with my life.

Aside from eating chocolate cake.

So, I've been puttering away on a few new projects, and a few new spec scripts, and I've been waffling on whether or not to apply for the CFC Prime Time Program. Waffling because I'm not feeling that the material I'd be submitting is up to par, as far as what I'm capable of. It's a great program, and it's launched many a television writing career. Last year, my application was rushed because I decided at the last minute to apply. Unfortunately, I'm in the same boat this year. I really want to put my best foot forward, so if it's not, then I probably won't. Besides, other options have presented themselves in the last few weeks, so it may be in my best interest to wait it out, spend time preparing in advance, and reapply next year instead.

*Slap hand* for placing all my eggs in a small basket. One of these days, I'll learn.

On to the positive. On Tuesday, I got to see one of my favorite comedy writers, Conan O'Brien, on his "Legally Prohibited From Being Funny On Television" tour. Holyfuckingshitawesomepandacakes would be an understatement. Came away from the show pumped up, and ready to knuckle down for some serious keyboard poking.

Today, while I was struggling to put words on the page, the phone rang. Philsy.

Him: "Hey, I've got someone here who wants to say hello!"

Me: "Uh, okay."

Conan Fucking O'Brien: "Hi Erin, this is Conan O'Brien!"

o.O

I was speechless. I was also a babbling idiot. I couldn't dig up a joke fast enough, and after two minutes we'd said our goodbyes. He told me to keep writing specs. Lots, and lots of specs. As many specs of existing shows as my brain could squeeze out. Stunt specs, safe specs. Big specs, small specs. Plaid specs, and specs with wings.

Honestly, I'm still in shock. But it's the good kind of shock. Potential energy for greatness that is sitting in reserve, that I can draw from on days when the little black raincloud just won't GTFO.

Thanks, Mr. O'Brien. I'll never wash that ear again.

For The Scripty Folks:

2009-12-06T21:53:00.000-08:00

The Weinstein's, along with Sony Pictures, Warner Brothers, and a few other generous production companies have made available some very recent - and very successful - feature film scripts for legal download.

Huge thanks to these companies for supporting up and coming writers by allowing them to view the works of the masters!

To read them, go here.

Thanks to Kubilay Uner off Twitter for pointing this out!

Back So Soon?

2009-12-03T21:02:00.000-08:00

I have the urge to blog, even after barely surviving NaBlo. Crazy!

Anyone know knows me IRL knows I can really get rambling about television - because I love to ramble on about my favorite, and not-so-favorite shows. However, I don't usually like to write about it, because I prefer to engage someone else in a discussion. Not scribble out my thoughts, and wait to see if anyone replies, and then get wrapped up in that wacky back-and-forth internet conversation. I like to do it up front, face to face, nose to nose. Old school, as it were.

But after a long and one-sided chat with Philsy today (who is exhausted after finishing scoring his first feature, holy poop on a plate!), I decided to turn loose a few thoughts for ya'll to chew on, add to, or spit out. So here it is:

For the past few months, I've had an on-again-off-again romance (or been boink-buddies, if you prefer) with Glee.

Okay. I get it. Glee is awesome, for a lot of obvious reasons. The pilot alone reminded me to not stop believing, and embarrassing as this is, I like to dial this up full-blast whenever I'm having a "I'm a hack writer and I suck and I have no business doing this and I have the vocabulary of a pre-schooler" moment. The premise is fresh and unique - the cast is spectacular. The bones of the story arcs for the first season are clever and interesting.

However... about 75% of the episodes after the pilot follow a formula like this:

Someone gets mad/upset/threatened. They quit Glee. Everyone works to get them back, and they do. The end.

or...

Someone (or something) threatens to shut Glee down. Glee kids scramble to resolve the conflict. Conflict is resolved. The end.

Now, I know that some pretty big stakes are being spun over the first season for individual character story arcs, so I can appreciate that they're working to weave a lot together. But really... does almost every episode have to focus on Glee club losing members or being shut down? Could we not build out more stories about the characters, to help the audience develop deeper relationships with them and learn more about them, and forge episodes around that? They did manage to do it, for that remaining 25%. I'm confident they can continue to do it if they try - but right now I feel like I'm being fed a lot of filler and recycled drama.

In fact, there was one storyline in particular this week that was like nails down a blackboard. Turn back now if you don't want
*** SPOILERS ***!

Glee club, unbeknownst to their director Will Schuester, participated in a professional television commercial for a mattress store - although they did not accept payment, they did receive a shipment of mattresses, an honorarium for their work. After discovering his wife Terri was not actually pregnant, a very upset Will returned to school late at night, found the pile of mattresses, pulled the plastic off one and slept on it.

What Will didn't realize, was that by accepting payment (even in pocket-coil form) he was thereby upping the status of Glee club from amateur to professional, thus disqualifying them from preforming in sectionals.

This resulted in a screaming match between Will and Sue (the overly-aggressive cheerleading coach antagonist) in the principal's office, where it was concluded by the end of the scene that nothing had changed, and the kids would now be disqualified.

Except that a short few scenes later, it was determined that the Glee kids could go on to perform at sectionals if they returned the unused mattresses, but that Will would not be permitted to coach them or participate further because he'd already had a good nights sleep on one of them and, well, you just can't return a used mattress.

Huh.

If we'd had that resolve back in the argument scene, then we could have pushed Will's character a little further. Because even though he cares about the Glee kids more than anything, deep down, he's really there because he wants to recapture the greatest moments of his life - his youth - which were with Glee. His marriage is failing - the woman he truly loves is slipping away, and Glee's all he's got. So to see him struggle, and ultimately give up Glee in order to let them succeed would have been a nice little tid-bit of development.

Maybe I'm way off, I don't know. But that's what I'd have done.

Next week's the finale. I'm excited to see what they'll do with it, but more importantly, I'm extremely curious to see where they're going to take the next season. Hopefully, it's a whole lot more of that 25%.

Finish Line.

2009-11-30T19:29:00.000-08:00

Huzzah!

Thirty days, come and gone. Maybe if I'm lucky, I'll win a cookie!

As much as I've enjoyed the challenge, I don't think I'll be continuing to blog every day. It's a big commitment - I give huge credit to those folks I know who regularly blog on a variety of clever and interesting subjects. Truth is, the bulk of my creative energy is currently invested in trying to make my show go, and getting a few other ideas off the ground. By the end of the day, there's just not enough steam left to push the train around the track once more.

Congratulations to my fellow NaBlo'ers, the fallen few we lost along the way, and to the successful NaNo'ers.

To all the bloggers out there who inspire me, entertain me, teach me, and encourage me: thank you, and write on!

My Sunday Blessed.

2009-11-29T23:04:00.000-08:00

Had two wonderful gigs last night - feeling motivated, refreshed, confident and reassured, despite some recent dance frustration. Did... well, let's just say. Got a ride to gig #1 from my big little brother, which was wonderful given the lousy weather.

Almost wound up in the middle of a multiple car pileup after gig #2. Funny how, despite the speed, everything moves in slow motion when your brain realizes, in that .7 seconds, that you may experience injury or permanent shutdown. Thankful. Very thankful.

Had a long day helping the 'rents haul some reno garbage to the dump and rake leaves. It was a misty, foggy afternoon, and had there been a piper in the hills it would have completed the feeling of reconnection with my tartan ancestry.

Tomorrow is the final day of this wacky blog marathon. Trying to find my second wind so I can punch it to the finish line.

Exhausted. Goodnight.

Bling Bling! It's Your Costume Calling...

2009-11-28T15:27:00.000-08:00

Bellydancing is NOT a lucrative career, by any stretch - unless you teach full time, host workshops, travel to give workshops, book piles of parties, and when all else fails - have restaurant gigs.

The main reason it's not a huge money maker is the costumes. A good professional costume can run you anywhere from $400 to $1400, depending either on how many times you've smacked yourself on the head with your sword or how little impulse spending control you have. So while $150 for a 20 minute private gig sounds like a lot, factor in the cost of the costume, the investments in hair and makeup, shoes, transportation, music, lessons (because we all try to keep learning!) - and you're left, at best, with minimum wage.

I've managed to get a handle on the rest of it, and make things stretch. But I've recently come to terms with the fact that I will need to step up my wardrobe if I want to keep working, especially at my restaurant gigs.

My first bedlah, or bra and belt set, came from a store in Seattle and cost $180. It was a basic beginners costume, and it served me for a time, but after not wearing it for almost a year I recently resold it. My second costume came from a good friend who traveled to Egypt - it's a lovely burgundy and gold number, and it really was my first professional costume. Smothered in rhinestones and beads. I hope to have it for years to come.

Costume number three was an eBay purchase, from a woman in NYC. It was a beautiful blue bedlah, but it never really did it for me, so I resold it recently to someone in California. My fourth came from Dahlal online, the holy grail of costume suppliers in the USA. Unfortunately, their costumes are expensive, and hit and miss sometimes - I ordered a coin bedlah, which looks lovely, but is horribly uncomfortable and gets tangled with my hairpiece - so I avoid wearing it. Number five was handmade, and while it came together well I don't love it as much as I should, and will likely sell it in the coming months. Six came from a wonderful local dancer and friend, and it's a saucy little fire engine red bra and fitted skirt. FAR sexier than I would normally select, but it's had good reviews so far so I'm developing a good relationship with it.

Costumes are important to me - it has to feel right. It has to fit my character, and my mood. Even the most beautiful costumes can look completely wrong if they're on the wrong dancer... and that's not even a comment relating to body-type. It's a whole energy/aura thing. It either works, or it doesn't.

Additionally, I have fabric up the wazoo for various costume ideas for myself, that I would like to make - but that takes time, of which, I have none.

So, my wardrobe is currently bare. Every weekend, while I'm getting ready, I feel a bit melancholy about my lack of bling and options. I know it's temporary - when Philsy starts work again in January, things will pick up and I can add a few more pieces to the roster.

I also saved, and ordered a new costume for NYE from a company off eBay. They're located in Egypt, and had excellent feedback, so I felt it was a relatively safe risk. Unfortunately, it's been two weeks beyond the date that the costume was said to be completed and shipped, and I'm in a bit of a pissing match with the seller about what it means to honour your obligations. I suspect that before the weekend is through I will have to file for a full refund through PayPal, and then scramble madly to find a new costume to replace it (NYE is a big night, and I'm expected to have something new to wear).

So there. Writer, Bellydancer. Hopefully those two less financially winning halves will someday make a half-decent career whole.

Or, I'll just get a desk job.

*chuckle* *snort*

Pre-Holiday Mania

2009-11-27T17:49:00.000-08:00

(Well shit. I wrote this blog on Friday, but after an episode with the microwave - which you can't run for more than 30seconds at a stretch or it blows the fuse - I forgot to log back in and actually POST it. So that's my excuse.)

The next few weeks are packed. Meetings, dance gigs, writing to finish, friends to see... it's all starting to pile up, and while I love ALL of it, I am looking forward to hopping on that plane and settling in for some reading, knitting, and relaxing.

Haven't heard much from my producer over the past week or two, which is somehow reassuring and worrying at the same time. He assured me that everything is on track, and to this point we have all we need - but I'm still scrambling to crank out a pilot just the same. Rachel and I have both given each other deadlines for first drafts, which is helping TREMENDOUSLY... my biggest motivation is accountability, knowing that someone is waiting to receive it. An original pilot is a tough nut to crack sometimes... you're playing "getting to know you" with the characters as much as your audience will be, and sometimes it takes awhile to really hear their individual voices.

Working on a new super seckret project with a few folks which I'm excited about, but by putting one more thing on my plate have reached writer's critical mass. Oh well - no pain, no gain! More on this as it progresses...

Someday, I'd like to go to one of my gigs, and just bust out a DDR mat...

On A More Positive Note...

2009-11-26T22:10:00.000-08:00

I actually spent a fair chunk of time writing today, to avoid grinding to 80 in WoW.

Huh. Go figure.

I also bought myself a new winter coat. It's super lovely gorgeous wool, and it had a super extra large price tag to boot - which resulted in a few days of soul searching, and searching for change between couch cushions. Really, it's the nicest coat I've ever owned. Like my super Swedish wellies, I hope that it will be part of my wardrobe for many, many years to come.

Well there. Excitement abounds!

Dear Homeless/Children/Elderly/Healthcare Workers/Teachers: I'm Sorry No One Cares.

2009-11-25T20:27:00.000-08:00

Hold on to your hats, 'cause I'm in a helluva tear.

In this province, we have poverty. A fair amount of it. In fact, I recall not to long ago reading an article online that said our homeless population was higher than anywhere else in North America. Possibly higher than anywhere else in the world.

In this province, we have a failing palliative care system that is going to fall ass-over-teakettle as the baby boomer generation continues to age over the next twenty years or so.

In this province, we lack proper funding for heath care. We bully unions into signing lop-sided, lousy agreements, and force them back to work without any thought or concern for their arguments, or the hard work they do.

In this province, we lack proper funding for the public school system. Classroom crowding, lack of resources, and under paid teachers and staff are ensuring that generations of children are growing up without the proper education they deserve.

In this province, we are currently experiencing severe funding cuts to arts and culture. This is destroying jobs, families, communities. This is compromising the great and beautiful expressions that blossom from the creative members of our society, shaping and enriching all our lives.

Yet...

In this province, we have spent billions of dollars preparing to host the 2010 Olympics. This includes everything from major rapid transportation upgrades, to lighting displays, to Olympic athlete housing, to merchandising.

I will never say I hate the Olympics, because I don't. I am glad for the athletes, and that they are able to pursue the careers they desire and are able to derive an income from those careers.

But! I loathe, absolutely loathe and detest our Premier and elected party for making such disgusting and grandiose expenditures; expenditures far beyond our means. Perhaps Mr. Campbell needs to go back to basics, and understand the function of a credit card. You use the credit card - you pay it off. Not over months, or years, or decades - you pay it off, ideally within the month given.

That said, I understand we are in economically difficult times. Not everyone is capable of paying their credit up front, and interest free. Many people I know are struggling, due to job loss, and credit has helped provide some cushion until things are better. But I don't understand - can't understand - how a government can operate so irresponsibly with credit that doesn't even belong to them, but rather to the British Columbia taxpayers.

It's not as though any of those problems are new, or surprising. They were there when we placed our bid on the Olympics seven years ago. But our government chose to wear blinders and greedily push ahead, without a single consideration to long-term consequence.

And if for any reason, I was going to willfully choose to have my tax dollars run into deficit for benefit of this province, it would be to solve one or all of the five problems I outlined in the beginning of this post, which in my humble opinion are far more worthy of our financial attention.

I am one truly disappointed, and embarrassed British Columbian.

Who, me?

2009-11-24T22:33:00.000-08:00

The problem with loving story so much, is that sometimes you can become so emotionally invested in someone else's story that you forget you're trying to tell one of your own.

I am addicted to story; in a variety of mediums, primarily television since I decided to point my ship in that direction back in '07. Along the way, I've met up with some other crafty seamen and women (*giggle* SEAMEN *snort), who have fascinating stories of their own. When one of them hits a plot point, I tend to drop everything I'm doing and watch them with my breath held tight.

When reality sets back in, I realize I'm two steps behind where I should be. So when it's my turn to step it up, I'm not as prepared as I should be.

Getting there. Rambling. Where am I again?

Hitching my boat to a few others in an attempt to create something collaboratively delicious. It's looking promising so far...

Got off the bus today, and an addict was shouting at the stop. I turned, mostly just because it started me - it was almost right out of The Village Idiot sketch by MP. She politely, and articulately, apologized, and assured me that I was not the person she was addressing before returning to her shouting rant about the lack of addicts in the area.

Biiiiiizzzaaare.

Crap in a Hat!

2009-11-23T23:55:00.000-08:00

It's 11:56... and here's another lame one off blog entry because I am *gasp* actually getting a lot of the real writing done today.

So, let's see... I am enjoying some coffee, and some sour patch kids. I did some dishes earlier, and beat another level in the new Super Mario game.

This Lame Blog Entry brought to you by the letter X, the number 17, and the colour plaid.

Writer Machine GO!

2009-11-22T22:40:00.000-08:00

Tonight, I was going to blog about my obsession with Christmas - due to an exciting but unexpected burst of inspiration I'll be knuckling down on an idea for an animated web series instead. Enjoy your reprieve, for the Christmas blog cometh.

I'll leave you with a body massage:

Get Your G33k On!

2009-11-21T17:00:00.000-08:00

Christmas of '88, Santa brought me and my brother a Nintendo Entertainment System. That's when everything fell apart...

I kid. Although, Blackjack and Depthcharge on the 386 quickly lost their position as prime video game entertainment in our home.

Countless hours were spent playing Tetris, Final Fantasy, and of course, Super Mario. We'd get so loud and wired up, Mum would shout at us from the kitchen to calm down - but usually wound up joining us for a crack at a few levels. I think we were pretty balanced kids though; very rarely did an excess of video games degrade into bad behavior or poor grades.

My brother took his love of video games a step further, and now makes video games for a living at a major company in Vancouver (no - not EA). I still indulge regularly, an avid console and PC gamer. MMO, RTS, and FPS are part of my regular vocabulary, as are LOL, LFG, and OMGWTFBBQ.

o.O

My brother wound up taking the NES with him when he moved out - I didn't argue, as it seemed to have more sentimental value for him (though, it did for me too). Today, he decided he no longer wanted it, and brought it over. We wound up playing the new Super Mario Bros Wii game together for most of the afternoon, totally borking my writing plans for the day... but it was just like old times.

I'll leave you with one of my favorite pieces of internet g33kdom... many of you have probably already seen it. It's nonsensical outrageousness at it's best. Enjoy!

On The Inside

2009-11-20T20:46:00.000-08:00

DISCLAIMER: I'm OK - just random writing.

Lonely is a rough place. It’s big, and empty – there’s no one here in lonely. There are no windows, only walls. It’s dark, and cold, and damp. It’s full of self-doubt, and self-hatred. Lonely is where sad lives – it festers and grows, and it’s only a matter of time before it will block out all the other feelings. Soon, lonely will metastasize into something much larger, and completely blanket and hide me from the outside world. There’s no way back, and no way out; just an existence hampered by sadness, confusion, and self-destruction. Lonely is where souls go to die.

Cranky Sleepy

2009-11-19T22:38:00.000-08:00

Frankly, I feel like a tool for not coming up with a decent excuse for not writing a clever blog. My cat ate it? My mailman ate it?

I'm exhausted, and had a guilty, "I suck and I haven't done enough work and I don't deserve to call myself a writer" sort of day... so I really can't focus long enough to crank out something interesting, or informative.

Something better, tomorrow.

Night Off!

2009-11-18T20:36:00.000-08:00

I am eating chips, and sour patch kids, and donut holes, and macaroons with my friend Rory. I am blogging from a MAC (hell hath frozen over for PC devout girl). Given the length and prolific nature of my previous entry, I am hereby declaring this a day free of posting - except that I am posting. Because it's still NaBlo, yo.

And I am going to watch Halloween for the first time, on this wet, cold, dark, and mucky Vancouver night.

And that is enough navel gazing for ya'll.

Another Week - Perhaps Two.

2009-11-17T22:10:00.000-08:00

Somewhere, beyond that door, was the box. Either I was going to get it, or Ralph was going to get it. Right in the chest.

*****

4:49 AM. I woke up with a start after a fairly late night indulging in nicotine and cupcakes. In fact, the cupcakes actually may have outnumbered the cigarettes, which would explain my stomach's very sudden and very demanding cry for the pink drink.

While I sat crumpled on the bathroom floor, suckling from the bottle, I was reminded by a cranky, early AM radio disc jockey that this was, in fact, the last week, and don't forget.

Fuck. Right. Like I'd just forgotten. Give me a fucking break.

Cocksucker.

After graduating from the floor to the side of the bathtub, I realized I really hadn't done much worth doing so far. In fact, I'd spent most of my time at home alone, baking cakes (and several cake-like variations), eating cakes (and several cake-like variations), and mutually masturbating online with a guy from Baltimore who I could almost guarantee looked nothing like the photograph. When I ran out of nicotine, I'd simply pay a visit to Kitty, the 80-something ex-peeler who lived down the hall. Kitty bought her smokes by the caseload, so she was always good for a pack - and she only charged $10. "Just like the old days," she'd say with a nostalgic chuckle. But then she'd make me stick the bill in her bra strap - I'd oblige her, with an uncomfortably forced smile (Kitty was always in her underwear... I know, I know. But it meant I didn't have to leave, and $10 was a good deal...).

Two hours passed, and I spent most of it thinking about how the patterns on the linoleum looked like different animals. I figured I'd spent enough of the day wondering if the polar bear was really just two pigs kissing snout-to-snout once the sun aggressively forced its way into my eyeline. Time to go. Out.

After searching for a clean pair of panties, not having any luck, deciding to go commando, I finally stumbled out the front door. Stuffed the short knife in my back pocket. The elevator door opened much faster than I remembered. It startled me. I fell backwards onto the filthy worn carpet, the knife tearing a two inch hole in the ass of my jeans. No panties! Great. Decided to take the stairs.

Momentum was on my side, until I caught up with myself just three metres outside the front gate. Holy. Crap. The air was crisp, and the sun was warm - but that shit was everywhere, that awful, sludgy blue shit. God, it stank. It stank like a fucking old folks home. Like poop, and human fluids, and death, topped off with sickly sweet smelling tropical rainstorm air freshener. Can we just get this over with please?

Cocksuckers.

I hurried down the street as quickly as I could, dodging the piles of mess. Around the corner and up two blocks, I saw the crowd around station seventeen. Well fuck me. The next station was too far to go, and I needed it now. So I marched ahead and began to shove. I learned quickly that being nice only got you one place - dead. Well, I guess I never actually learned that first hand. Fortunately for me, I've always been an asshole. But I saw a lot of nice learn themselves, first hand, and that was enough reassurance that my attitude needed no adjustment, should I want to survive to the next phase. Except that the next phase was just a bullshit scam. There was no next phase.

After climbing through the main doors, I made my way through the sea of people inside to the very back. Ralph was on deck, fortunately, so I had my in. I called to him:

"Ralph!"

No response.

"Hey! Stinky! Over here!"

Ralph used to have the unfortunate habit of running into skunks. Everywhere. He was like a human skunk magnet - if skunks had an agenda, stinking Ralph up was their prime objective. That was a long time ago, though, so I wouldn't be surprised if he told me to go fuck myself for that one.

No response.

I pushed my way up to him. Right in front of him. Nose to nose.

"Hey man, what gives?"

"Stand back."

He blinked, and looked right through me.

Shit.

"Ralph, it's me. Would you let me through? I need to pick up."

"I said, stand back."

"Jesus Ralph!"

"Stand back. Now."

He wasn't angry. He wasn't even particularly authoritative. He was just monotone. That creepy, unyielding, automated monotone that means something is wrong. Something is bad.

"Fuck. Ralph, just... Fuck."

He pushed me back a little, to better illustrate his instructions. It took me a moment to compose myself and realize that this was not Ralph. That this shell was formerly Ralph, and nothing more. Even still, it's pretty hard to look your ex-husband in the face and recognize him for someone other than you remember.

SomeTHING other.

The crowd swallowed me up for a moment while I considered my options. I could try again later - or, I could bribe someone. Would have to be male - I don't have much else to offer these days.

Later would be too late. And despite being alone for a year and a half, I had little-to-no desire to be intimate with anyone other than my hand.

So, as I said in the beginning: Either I was going to get my box, or Ralph was going to get it. Right in the chest.

It's not him. It doesn't matter. You can do this.

I pulled out the knife, and moved forward. I think I sliced some guy's arm by accident. Sorry? I'll send him a fucking Christmas card, I guess. His arm should have gotten out of the way faster. Seriously.

Ralph barely blinked, unable to compute as fast as I was able to raise my arm and run him through. It was everywhere - that goddamn blue sludge. God, it was awful, and rank. I puked up what was left of the Pepto-coated-cupcakes in my stomach, all over him as he dissolved in front of me. Most ex-wives who's husbands dicked around on them would be glad to get that kind of justice. I wasn't.

While the crowd scattered and panic'd, I slipped into the back room. After searching the long rows of open crates, I found the box. Grabbed it. Made a dive through a ventilation window, and headed home. Choked back laughter as I drew similarities between Ralph's former nickname, and his smelly demise.

Got home, ripped the box open. Twenty bottles. Enough for a week or two, at least.

Awesome. Prolonging the inevitable.

So... what next? A yellow cake, with fudge frosting. Ralph's favorite.

Rules of Thought.

2009-11-16T21:22:00.000-08:00

So now that we're all good and warmed up, I'm going to blog about writing. I don't usually blog about writing, or the biz, mostly because there are so many blogs out there that already cover all that needs to be:

Complications Ensue
Dead Things on Sticks
Ruts and Grooves
Typing Faster
Uninflected Images Juxtaposed

...to name a few.

I don't like to be redundant, so I don't get particularly talky on the hows, whos, whats and whys of writing. Once in awhile, though, a thought, question, or idea will strike me, and I'm unable to find any reference in the archives of my favorite writing blogs. So here's today's thought:

Ideas. Who owns 'em?

One of the reasons that I tend to shy away from discussing my writing, is because most people (other writers in particular) seem to have the obnoxious habit of saying, "Oh! And what if you did THIS with it... and then what if THAT happened..."

Sometimes, their ideas are good... and that's what irks me. Hearing someone else's clever augmentation of my own work, before I've thought of it myself. It's not an ego issue at all - rather, it's an issue of ensuring that credit is paid where credit is due. See, I'm new to the business end of this business, and therefore understandably cautious. The last thing I want to do is get marked as someone who unfairly borrows from others. So, exactly what constitutes unfairly borrowing? That's what I'd like to clarify.

Generally speaking, if I'm discussing someone else's idea with them, and I blurt out an extension of that idea, I do so with the understanding that they may take that extension and run with it. That's cool - I'm fine with that. However, I'm not totally clear on whether that's the norm. Is it acceptable? Should you clarify, and ask for verbal permission to use an idea when it's presented to you?

Obviously, if someone said to me, "Hey, Erin - I'm going to write a sitcom about boxes..." I wouldn't run home and start working on my OWN sitcom about boxes. Because really, that's a pretty shitty sitcom concept... more importantly, it wasn't my creation. But! If someone said to me, "Hey, Erin - your show really needs a box in it! A big purple box, that spits out chocolate bars and sings Happy Birthday..." well, then. I'd probably say, "That's a shitty idea. What's wrong with you?"

But there's a chance I might say, or think: that's exactly what my show needs.

So is the big purple box, that spits out chocolate bars and sings Happy Birthday mine for the taking? Mind you, we'd need to ADR the box with He's a Jolly Good Fellow instead, but that's beside the point.

Any ideas?

Reaching the Midpoint

2009-11-15T22:02:00.000-08:00

Whew. Fifteen days of blogging. So we'll twist the action slightly, and give this protagonist a boot in the right direction.

Something had to be culled from the to-do list, so: NaNo is NoMo. I gave it a good solid attempt, but with so many other things on my plate it didn't seem like a logical project to be investing so much time in, once I really got into it. After I completed my daily screenwriting objectives, I would then switch gears and attempt to crank out 2000 words for my novel, which quickly proved to be overwhelming and not at all productive. Top it off with a daily blog, and there you have it - impending insanity.

I've always been a "bite off more than I can chew" kinda gal. I'd like to think that this is a good thing - that I'm always pushing myself just a little bit harder. When I was in my late teens/early twenties, I would put myself through unbelievable fits of hysteria before claiming failure on any one creative project, and letting the plate fall.

Over the last few years, I've learned to loosen up a bit and not be so hard on myself. Admitting defeat is much more desirable than becoming a stroke victim at 30. That said, I'm still selective when it comes time to remove something from my creative roster. It cannot be something that will take away from my ultimate goal of writing for television full-time. And so, the novel falls.

Someday I'll pick it up again. Maybe even in the next few months. But for now, I need to focus.

Nesting

2009-11-14T16:57:00.000-08:00

This past year is the first year that the nesting instinct has really kicked in. Baking, cooking, cleaning, organizing - activities that were formerly "sometimes activities" are now becoming more regular in my routine. It's a little strange how the psychology behind those things starts to change. It becomes an ingrained need, like eating, or sleeping.

A side affect of that, has been that I've returned to knitting again. I've tried to learn to knit a few times in my life; mostly because I've always admired the craftiness of it. But now the desire to knit is a bit deeper, and so I've been working away on a pair of wrist warmers while watching my weekly TV. Knitting also allows me to clear my head after a long battle with Final Draft.

When I was attempting to be crafty, years ago, I and a few others got sucked into crochet by a co-worker at TM. There we were, all us ladies taking your ticket calls, and crocheting scarves and hats. It was pretty funny - and it made the day go by much faster. Wish I had a photograph.

No Place Like Success!

2009-11-13T20:14:00.000-08:00

Another friend of mine clicked his heels today and wound up high above the clouds. I've known Garner for several years now - we both met years ago while toiling away on our respective feature entries for the Final Draft Big Break Contest. We've never met face-to-face, unfortunately - only over the internet as there's a few provinces between us. Never-the-less, we've seen each other through the myriad of frustrations suffered by aspiring working writers.

Today, Garner had his break. I'll let him tell you all about it on his blog, but it was a good one that will hopefully lead to lots of work doing what he loves. Quite honestly, I have yet to meet another up-and-coming writer who has produced anything close to the volume of work that he has (myself included). This guy has scripts coming out his... well... desk drawers, I'll say.

Witnessing the successes of friends is tremendously satisfying, and equally motivating. Reminds me that there's work to be done, and work for all who want it and for all who are willing to work hard for it.

Congratulations!

We Don't Need No Eggs And Bacon.

2009-11-12T22:58:00.000-08:00

Slickity Jim's Chat'n'Chew went to the great hipster neighbourhood in the sky at approximately 4am this morning. The cause? Manslaughter. The suspect? The sushi restaurant next door.

The place had an unexplainable magic to it. Walls chock full of odds'n'sods memorabilia, antiques, random cool junk. The food was delicious and prepared with love - homemade preserves on every plate. Eggs so fresh, with such deep golden yolks that you half expected to hear chickens clucking and skittering across the kitchen floor.

Several of their booths were fashioned from luxuriously comfortable old transit seats; your bum would sink deep in to the groove of a couple of decades of bums before it.

Thought of Slickity's just last weekend, but sadly did not go. "Someday, soon..." - someday will never come. Hopefully they rebuild, and if they do, I'll be first in line, my napkin tucked and ready.

So long, old friend. RIP.

Gone, But Not Forgotten.

2009-11-11T22:12:00.000-08:00

Two of my Great Grandfathers fought in WWI. One on my Mum's side - one on my Dad's. I don't know much about my maternal Great Grandfather, other than he died in a foxhole under fire.

My paternal Great Grandfather ran a confectioner's shop in the small town of Alloa, Scotland. Not long after he and my Great Grandmum were wed, he was enlisted in the Scottish infantry. After two mandatory tours of duty, he elected to return for a third. As they say, third time's the charm - sadly, he was killed.

My Great Grandmum was left to raise two small boys by herself. Making matters worse, the family packed her and her sons up, and sent them on their own to live in Canada. I can't imagine how she felt. What were his motivations for returning to war after he'd done his duty? Did they discuss it? Did she object?

Over the past few days, I've watched a number of interviews on various news programs with young widows, and widowers. Many younger than I. It's heartbreaking. Many of these men and women have babies or small children - they're just getting started in life. An important part of that new life, that they shared with someone else is now over.

Yet none of them appear to regret the decision their partners made to fight for the freedom of others. Sure, they were devastated, but they were also fiercely proud.

It takes a very special person to love someone so deeply, but still allow them to put their life on the line every day.

It takes courage.

To all those courageous men and women: thank you.

Explanation For Adult Dysfunction.

2009-11-10T23:21:00.000-08:00

Happy Birthday, Sesame Street.

Like most people, Sesame Street was an important part of my childhood. Every week, my vocabulary grew with Bert and Ernie - my numbers, with Oscar the Grouch. Important events, like the death of Mr. Hooper provided a gentle introduction into very real and natural parts of life. Every Christmas, I looked forward to watching the Sesame Street Christmas Special that my Mum carefully recorded and preserved on VHS - until I was probably much too old to, but would never have admitted it.

However, one of my memories of the show is not so fond as it was frightening. In fact, I was laughing about it most of today, until I found it on YouTube just now... maybe I'm tired from a long day, but it actually scared me again. Just a little.

Ladies and gentlemen, I am of course referring to: the "Yip Yip" martians. These funny little fellows seemed innocent enough, but let me assure you that they are DANGEROUS! They can teleport anywhere! They like to break into people's homes! And they DON'T like rock and roll...

They are not to be trusted.

I was three or four years old. It was summer, best I can remember, and my Mum had just sat me down in front of Sesame Street so she could take a shower. Not five minutes later, the sketchy sketch in question came on and I was immediately reduced to tears. I climbed behind the sofa, wailing as loud as I could in an effort to drown out the sounds of these unearthly creatures. My Mum, bless her, must have heard me and came running, wrapped in a towel and a shower cap still on her head. Laughing, she turned off the TV and calmed me down. I realize she wasn't actually laughing at me, but at the silliness of the situation. But really, I ask you: what child would this have NOT scared the living crap out of?

So I submit to you, the jury, Exhibit A: Martians VS Radio

Comment(s) (in) Moderation

2009-11-09T23:18:00.000-08:00

While taping the little gray cells for subject matter this evening, I noticed the little link Comment Moderation at the top of the screen. It got me thinking about how I choose to comment, and when, and where. I do so far more in moderation these days, simply because I think I've hit a bit of a passive phase.

Not that I don't have it in me to fight. But my list of what's important to fight for, and what's worth fighting for is a tad smaller, more compact and concise than it used to be. My Dad always said, pick and choose your battles, and I've definitely become more picky as I grow older.

I've also taken back to listening, watching, observing, and being tactically calculated rather than running in, guns blazing every time someone voices an opinion I disagree with.

That said...

When I started belly dancing, six years ago, it was for exercise. I'm not naturally prone to exercise, unless it involves fun, or some other form of payout (other than maintaining good physical health). As time went on, the hibernating actor in me saw it as an excellent opportunity to flex some character muscles, so I started to lean towards performing. Gradually - student nights, festivals with instructors, parties with friends.

When I had my first restaurant gig, a few years ago, it was a great resurrection of the performer in me. At the time, I didn't require the extra income, and I knew that there was an over saturation of working dancers in Vancouver, so I didn't aggressively pursue dance as a career alternative or augmentation. But when I was laid off last year, I had no choice but to seek out new income, and restaurant dancing seemed like a good place to start.

I wasn't particularly met with a warm welcome from the dance community. Some dancers were very kind and generous in letting me fill in for gigs - one dancer in particular who is a wonderful and talented woman, and who I don't get to see perform nearly as much as I'd like. Many, naturally, were resistant to seeing a new dancer on the scene, and I bore the brunt of a bit of attitude. What right did I have to be working?

For the record: I had every right to be working, because I worked hard at it. I honed my skills, and I paid my dues. And I still work hard at it - right now, I'm trying to learn more Arabic so that I can communicate better with my Arabic customers (something I've come to realize they really appreciate and get a huge kick out of).

I also took what I had, and made it work. I'm not 19 - I don't have a perfect knock-out body. What I do have, are well-seasoned performance cahones - interacting with a crowd doesn't intimidate me in the least. In restaurant dancing, that's really the key; you're there to entertain people. 50% of it is actual dance, and 50% of it is how you work the crowd.

So take what you have, and make it work. Build on it - never stop learning. NEVER let your successes, or your failures, go to your head. Always pay respect to those ahead of you, and don't forget to acknowledge those coming up behind you. Remember that nothing worth having in life comes easy. And if you really, truly want it, it will happen - but it's all up to you.

It's Not Goodbye...

2009-11-08T19:58:00.000-08:00

But it feels like it. Every time one of my favorite shows comes to the end of the season, it stirs a mix of emotions inside me. I'm thrilled to see the season finale - if you're lucky, that's where all the juicy season storylines climax in a delicious display of hilarity or conflict (or both). However at the same time, I'm also heartbroken that I'll have to wait a completely unacceptable length of time before I get my fix back. Textbook example of a television addict, folks.

Tonight, I'll be saying farewell to Mad Men and Bored to Death. We only started watching Mad Men over the summer, so there was lots to dive into and get caught up on. Mind you, I think we devoured the first and second seasons in a matter of days. Possibly a week at most.

Bored to Death is, of course, my favorite new show of the season - yes, even more favorite than Modern Family (which I finally saw the first episode of, tonight). I'm going to dig into Jonathan Ames' books over the holidays, so hopefully that will keep my non-sexual crush sated.

Modern Family looks fantastic, to be honest. I see why everyone I know keeps relating it to Arrested Development - it's a very similar breed of funny. Never really been a huge fan of Ed O'Neil, but then I wasn't a fan of Alec Baldwin until 30ROCK... so hopefully this will change my mind.

Still not feeling Community. I want to, really... but it still feels a wee bit disjointed. Like the scenes and pacing aren't moving as smoothly as they could be.

And now for two-bite brownies, coffee, and Sunday night video games while patiently awaiting my favorite stories.

Angry Back

2009-11-07T21:20:00.000-08:00

It's beginning to seem like I throw my back out more often than most people take out their garbage... sadly, this happened this evening right after I finished my first gig. One more gig to go, and thankfully I had one T3 left... so hopefully I can pull it off without collapsing to the dance floor.

In light of my discomfort, I'll keep it short and hit the lovely Rachel back with a Haiku - she writes fabulous Movie Haiku, so I'll see if I can wrangle a television one and do it justice.

This week's 30ROCK episode:

Bed bugs attack Jack
Auditions out of control
Robot star is born

Short and Sweet

2009-11-06T18:32:00.001-08:00

Lacking time today, so I'll leave you with a limerick:

There once was a gal from Vancouver,
Who attempted the "Hoover Maneuver",
She ate a whole cake,
Times two! A mistake,
Off the couch, her own friends can't remove her!

(I'm starting to notice a theme...)

My Pants Are Ablaze!

2009-11-05T22:20:00.000-08:00

I lied. I love food.

Although a vice, for me, constitutes borderline addiction - and I wouldn't say my relationship with edibles is quite that. But it's pretty close.

Growing up, we always had dinner as a family. Almost always, it was homemade - my Mum was pretty damn fantastic in the kitchen. From old favorites like meatloaf, or Sheppard's pie, to fancier fare like stir-frys and curries, she knew how to prepare everything with variety, flavour, and love. Casseroles were popular in the cooler months - delicious dinner salads in the warmer. The phrases "Korean Beef Night" and "Greek Salad Night" were common in our home.

As if that wasn't enough, her baking alone could put Martha Stewart out of business. Cookies, squares, cakes, pies, and even homemade bread and buns were part of everyday life. Spoiled? You bet we were.

When I left home, both times (do you need to question why I returned?), I'd make any excuse to come for dinner. I spent many evenings alone, sulking into pre-prepared meals. Or, I'd exert an extraordinary amount of energy to create something that still wouldn't come close - something that she would have prepared with confidence, and ease.

Last summer, my Mum had a stroke. Thankfully of the gentlest variety, but it impacted her speech and understanding enough that life has changed. Those wonderful meals changed too, as my Dad had to take over most of the cooking (there was a lot of BBQ in the beginning, or so I'm told).

Mum's back in the kitchen now, on a part-time basis. Reacquainting herself with a skill she once crafted and mastered over nearly forty years. It's slowly coming back, and she needs to trust herself and her instincts more because what she has made over the past few months has been outstanding.

So tonight, while I scoff off my Swanson's chicken pot pie, and Aylmer's canned Harvard Beets, I'll raise my glass to the best damn chef I've ever known. Love you, Mum.

What's Your Pleasure?

2009-11-04T12:20:00.000-08:00

Last night, I had the pleasure of sharing company with Rachel and Peter for an evening of Karaoke. Which was more fun than I'd expected, I might add. Rachel managed to get me up on stage for a song, which I need to commend her for because I swore up and down a long time ago I would never, ever sing in a Karaoke bar. So she has done the impossible, as far as I'm concerned.

I had an interesting chat with Peter, who has a lot more knowledge of the who's and where's of the writing/producing biz than I do. We got to talking about vices, after several drinks - and he inquired what mine were. Alcohol? Not really. Drugs? Nope. Food? Well, sometimes. But no. Sex? Love it - but no. Not a vice.

We went on to chat about other things for awhile, and I pushed this question to the back of my mind to let it simmer. I do like alcohol, and on occasion will have a drink for self-medicating purposes, but it's definitely not a regular thing and no, it doesn't keep me going. Same goes for food. Sex is wholly different when you're in a relationship. It's part of that relationship. I suspect people who self medicate (for lack of a better expression) through sex are of the single variety, who can sleep with whom they choose and when.

Later in the evening, as the conversations were winding down, we chatted about what it's like to write - and what it's like to collaborate with others. And then it struck me: when you're working with a group of people, breaking story, and there's an "Ahah!" moment, and you all know you've stumbled on the golden ticket. That rush of adrenaline, and feelings of accomplishment and extreme satisfaction, and togetherness as a creative team.

THAT is my vice. It may not be lewd, or lascivious, but it is immensely satisfactory and gratifying in an almost inappropriate way. And that is why I want to work in television, folks. Because I need that feeling. Without it, I am a very sad panda.

And there you have it.

Bits and Bites

2009-11-03T19:05:00.000-08:00

I'm being dragged out for Karaoke tonight. I've never been before - the closest I've ever come is public Rock Band. See, I used to be a singer, so I've always had a hard time wrapping my head around this silly singing stuff. But we'll see how it goes.

*****

Today, I saw a beautiful crystal ash tray in a dollar store, and was reminded of my Grandmum who rolled her own cigarettes, in one hand, until she passed away at 90 years of age. Broken hip, victim of the palliative health care system. Lungs? Just fine. I miss her.

*****

Is it wrong to love a fur coat if it's vintage? It's already dead. Long dead. Shouldn't someone honour it for the beautiful critter it once was? So lovely - couldn't afford it, though. I think the clothing on Mad Men is starting to get to me.

*****

Prepping to make a large batch of Italian veggie soup (now pushed to tomorrow morning, due to silly singing tonight). I love fall food - delicious and hot, full of harvest'ly goodness.

*****

An Intellivision followed us home from the thrift store today. Just after I finished phase one of decluttering. It better start working soon, or it's going to find itself evicted.

Don't Remember. Sorry.

2009-11-02T20:33:00.000-08:00

Last night, while tidying up, I thought of something clever to blog about today. And of course, forgot to write it down - and of course, spent all day thinking about it and not getting anywhere.

So. What shall we talk about, blog?

For many years, I've had a lot of strange little rituals. Now, I wouldn't go so far as to say I'm OCD, but perhaps there are some borderline components that make up this eccentric part of my personality.

After I turn the shower off, I like to cup the last of the water that runs out of the faucet in my hands and throw it up over my head. Also, on the subject of showers, I can't really make it out of the house without one (unless I'm camping). I also, absolutely must with no exceptions have Chinese takeout on Christmas eve. Before writing, I will play one game of solitaire while listening to a loud selection from my super-secret embarrassing play list of doom.

When I was little, my Dad and I used to have a bedtime ritual based on a children's book I can no longer remember the title of. We would shake hands, and say, "And how do you do, and how do you do, and how do you do again!" It provided a sense of completion to the day - of comfort. Some days, I really miss it.

What are your little rituals?

Deadlines Aplenty

2009-11-01T21:48:00.000-08:00

I've given myself two additional challenges this month: NaNoWriMo and NaBloPoMo

Sillysauce! But true - I am going to attempt the insane and juggle both. While still working on development for my show, and finishing off a few murder mysteries for my friend's company (oops! coming soon... really).

So for my first BloMo, I'll talk briefly about my NaNo. I've attempted novel writing several times in my life, but like features the sheer volume scares the crap out of me. I wrote about 25,000 words of a novel in high school, which is sadly lost somewhere on a 3-1/4" floppy disk (likely for the best, my friends). Like feature writers, novelists impress the pants off me. I've always felt that level of dedication to a large scale story is truly under appreciated by mainstream society.

As I mentioned in a previous post, I've recently fallen in love with writer Jonathan Ames - sadly, I fear it's unrequited. I digress... what impresses me the most about his work is how close to home most of it seems to be. How he uses what he has, and what he's experienced. A lot of my writing comes from wild inspiration, mountains of research, and thinking so far outside the box that I can't even make out the label anymore. So, I've decided to delve into a novel that discusses a topic prevalent in my own life: agoraphobia. In my case, it's not quite so severe - but it has resulted in some fairly difficult situations regarding getting out of the house.

So, we'll see where this goes. At the very least, this much writing will give me an excuse to indulge my neurosis. Onward and upward.

This Is How My Brain Goes.

2009-10-26T13:08:00.001-07:00

When I'm working in a group, or with other people, I am very open minded to collaboration, and subsequently, accountability. Some of the best creative results come from multiple voices - however, when I'm working alone on something, I regularly balk the norm and instead like to do things my way*.

*See, most people would have put quotes, or in conversation, air quotes around the words: my way. Not me. I like italics. Because I can, because this is my blog. About me.

So I was standing in the shower, thinking about all the things I like to do my way. Like this blog, for example - the title is an ass mess of html. But I did it. Me. My website? Also an ass mess of code (though less so, as I finally conceded to allowing a friend to help work on it because I couldn't even get it 50% close to what I wanted it to be - my way will never win out over my predilection to sheer laziness).

Writing is another thing I like to do my way - though, I expect most writers do the same. I never like to approach two projects the same way. Most ideas gestate in my brain for an absurd length of time (for example, my show was an idea eight years* in the making). Sometimes, I feel that a story is a bit like a bottle of wine. It's better with age. But some ideas get hammered out in a matter of days, hours, minutes. Sometimes, you need to just go.

*Dear Would-be Colleagues and Showrunners: please disregard the above statement should you ever be in a position to consider me for hire. I can produce an outline/episode in less than a week. Again, see my first paragraph. But when I'm working completely alone and unaccountable, show and steady. Hah! I meant slow. But I like that, so I'll leave it.

One of my favorite childhood books was Leo the Late Bloomer. I'm not certain why it lists the publishing date as 1994 - I read it when I was five, not fifteen. I like Leo. He doesn't rush - he takes his time. He doesn't give a shit about what the other tigers think. I'd like to share a drink with him.

Now I'm really rambling. This makes my last entry look like a lie.

I suppose what I'm getting at, in a rather roundabout fashion, is that in order to move things forward a little faster I'm going to have to pretend that I have other people to answer to. Because if the show doesn't go, I'm not waiting another eight years. I just don't have that kind of time.

Perhaps I need more accountability fire under my ass?

Or a better excuse.

Rambling.

2009-10-22T22:16:00.000-07:00

I've hit a blog block.

There are many, many unposted, saved blog entries sitting in the wings. I can't seem to finish, or feel satisfied, with any of them - so forgive me but, I'm going to ramble in the hopes that I come across my groove again.

Mostly, I've been spending a lot of my interweb time reading other people's blogs. Many of them are informative, articulate, clever. Not a lot of naval gazing - which mine tends to be, sometimes. Just how interesting is my lint, really. Not very. I don't think, anyway. So between all my work writing, I've been trying to muster up something clever and intelligent to say... I will say, that the old gray cells seem to be pretty tapped these days. Pre-tay, pre-tay, PRE-tay tapped. Pretty tapped.

Hmm.

I've fallen in love with writer/creator Jonathan Ames' Bored to Death. It's a delicious comedy with a sprinkling of noir, and chock full of clever dialogue sandwiched with very simple, palatable plot-lines. The lead, Jonathan (aptly named after the creator) is a frustrated writer-gone-illegitimate private dick. Most episodes so far follow his "case of the week" - though this show is far from procedural. Lots of twists and turns, and I like that our lead is involved in each of them.

Ted Danson's character in particular is a real treat to watch - a self indulgent man-child, who is dependent on Jonathan for everything from marijuana procurement to advice on how to attempt a bi-sexual experiment.

That would be my top pick from the new lineup this fall. I am enjoying Glee, though I feel it's suffering from a few hang-ups... Community has funny moments, but it doesn't feel like it's found it's groove yet. Have yet to see Modern Family (it's waiting in the machine) but I've heard good things. FlashForward has piqued my curiosity - have only seen two episodes so far, but will keep watching for now. Parks and Rec finally hooked me in; it felt too similar to The Office last season, probably mostly due to the format, but it feels like it's own entity so far this year.

Ramble ramble.

Going to attempt to bake a blueberry pie this weekend, between the mountain of gigs I've found myself in the middle of.

Show's going well. I'm at a point of hurry up and wait, so there's not much to say.

Pants. Who needs 'em.

A Small Problem

2009-10-09T11:38:00.001-07:00

Perhaps you can help?

I have an image in the header of my blog. The image is linked to my website, and because I am a cut and paste and Frankenstein HTML user at BEST, I wasn't able to figure out how else to include the image header than in the title... which, when viewing my blog, or linking to it, results in: No Pants Island <img src="http://erinmcgechaen.com/BBanner.jpg">

Gobbledygook!

Can anyone shed some light on this obnoxious little ankle biter?

Treading Water

2009-10-05T22:40:00.000-07:00

For the past few weeks, I have been thrashing about in the middle of a very, very large pool.

It's my own pool - I designed it. I know where the shallow end is. I know where the deep end is. The stairs are there, the drain is down there, and the filter is somewhere behind me. However for the first time, I'm actually trying to swim.

I've read several books on swimming. Gone to swimming lectures, talked with other swimmers. Hell, I've even worked at jobs NEAR swimmers. I've spent a lot of time paddling around in my bathtub, practicing what I've learned. You'd think with all that knowledge swimming around in my head (forgive me...) that I'd be better prepared.

I'm not.

Apparently, things are very different for Canadian swimmers, as opposed to American swimmers. Canadians get thrown in the pool, all alone. American swimmers have coaches, and lifeguards, and cute little orange floaties for their arms. They aren't really alone in their own pool until all their swimming instructors, and fellow swimmers, are confident that they can do so without drowning.

Lucky bums.

Here's hoping I can keep my head above water long enough to master the breaststroke.

So... now what?

2009-08-06T17:38:00.001-07:00

You sell your first script (or series concept, in my case). For sake of discussion, let's call this Series A.

What's next?

I'm obviously hoping for the best case scenario; that being, the production company sources interest (READ: $$$) from a broadcaster for Series A, and we're off to the races on a bible and pilot. They seem confident that this will happen, and they have a strong track record of making it happen (including a pilot they're shooting for something else right now).

But what if it stagnates? What if nothing happens to Series A, and the option fee rolls in every year for the next four, and that's it? Today, as I mulled over other projects I've sketched out or brainstormed, I wondered: just how many other ideas should I be trying to get out there? How many other things should I be working on?

The upside of this first success is that it's connected me with an agent - the fabled, magical agent that newbie writers rip yarns around the proverbial campfire about. Though we're still sealing the deal on this first project, I'm wondering how soon is too soon to be tossing other ideas and work his way. Should I be tossing him work directly at all?

Additionally, should I be giving the company I'm now building a relationship with first crack at whatever tidbits come out of my brain? Or should I be saving tidbits, putting them aside, and working on building Series A and only Series A, until such time as it becomes clear that Series A ain't going anywhere?

So, to those who've been around this block a few times, I ask: how many projects do you have on the go, at any given time?

And: now what?

Complaint Letter

2009-07-12T14:34:00.001-07:00

Dear Phlog,

Your service is disappointing, and I wish to request a full and complete refund. When I elected to follow "Another Phlog", I did so under the pretense that it would be a full, complete, and satisfying entertainment service with saucy anecdotes, witty thoughts, and clever stories. Seeing as how "Another Phlog" has not been updated for well over a year, I wish to file formal complaint and insist that this situation be rectified immediately, henceforth and herewith.

Regards and chocolate cake,

No Pants Island

The dreams that you dare to dream...

2009-07-10T11:14:00.000-07:00

Right now, I'm enjoying a morning coffee. Looking at the sunshine outside. Listening to the Lord of the Rings score courtesy of Philsy. I am completely at peace with the world and everything - and everyone - in it.

Yesterday, my career really began.

When I arrived at my meeting, I told myself I would not be nervous. Not have expectations. I told myself I would enjoy the experience, and whatever would be, would be.

Introductions and small chat were a good warm up. We did a bit of creative brainstorming, and they gave me some notes and thoughts. And then after that, the only words I really remember were:

Option.

Contract.

Financing.

Pilot.

I found myself floating towards Gastown a short while later, imagining how fan-fucking-tastic it is going to be to work with experienced people who I can learn from, and to see my show come alive. There are still a lot of hurdles ahead, but I'm not too worried. This is the beginning of something wonderful.

For the past three weeks, I have ritualistically been singing "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" every day. Last night, while Philsy and I enjoyed a lovely meal on a patio in Gastown, a fellow walking past burst into song... "Somewhere, over the rainbow... skies are blue..."

I did my best not to burst into tears.

Thank you. To all my friends who've supported me and encouraged me, thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Here we go!

The Sun Will Come Out.

2009-07-08T10:56:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, I Like To Capitalize My Titles. Sometimes, I don't. I honestly can't remember if that's grammatically correct, or not. It usually depends on my mood. Right now, my mood calls for caps.

For the past few days, I've debated on posting any career related updates, because if things don't work out - do I really want to post a sadsauce update alongside the happy hopeful one? Life is full of ups and downs though, and while I'm hoping for more ups I'll try not to be too intimidated by the potential downs.

Tomorrow at 10am I will be meeting with the potential future foster parents of my show. Although I'm still trying to maintain the same attitude as when I embarked on this journey (Nothing will likely happen. The chances are slim. These are not the droids you're looking for...), I am now into full-blown fantasy mode, dreaming of working as a staff writer under the skilled tutelage of some fabulous showrunner, who will make my series as hot as a burlesque show on flaming coals in the desert. With fire spinners.

I've come to accept that I will never feel completely prepared for this meeting, so I've stopped pressuring myself to have a flawless pilot script, a perfectly packed show bible, a crystal clear premise. Truth is, if I had all that, I'd have a show. I need help, and I know it, and here I am looking for help.

Help!

Fingers crossed for an up.

Interwebs. I See What You Did There.

2009-07-07T09:36:00.000-07:00

Perhaps I should have pursued a career in research.

Early this morning, I received a voice mail from a prospective employer who saw my resume on Monster.ca. He very quickly mumbled the name of his company, and his name, and said he had "lots to discuss" with me.

Me: cynic. Yeah right. I bet you have lots to discuss.

So I dial up a few Google tabs and get to work. Within minutes, I have his name confirmed, I know his address - I know that he's trying to sublet his apartment. I know his girlfriend's name, and his dogs name. I know his birthday, and where he went to school, and what he looks like.

Scary.

So I stopped to think for a moment about how much of my information is out there on the interwebs. I try to keep a cap on how much I give out - I keep Facebook set to "friends only." I'm cautious about posting phone numbers - even email addresses, anywhere. My address doesn't exist online - at least, it shouldn't. But still, anyone could Google me and probably come up with enough information to piece a few things together.

The most important piece of information I ascertained, was that this is not a company or a job I'm interested in. So I guess I've saved myself a long, awkward phone call by being early morning Screeny McCallerson.

Buddy's got a great view from his living room window, though.

Oh Please! PLEASE!

2009-06-30T17:11:00.001-07:00

Please just give me an answer. Preferably a second yes. Half a greenlight is not enough - I want a whole greenlight in all it's career kick-starting glory.

More news to come. For now, that's all you get. Nothing else to see here folks - move along, move along.

Health Shmealth

2009-06-12T09:18:00.000-07:00

I try not to complain too much about aches and pains. But this week has been off the scale.

Last week I planned to "pound the pavement" and find myself a job. Any job. Mid-last week, I came down with a killer cold/flu. So I wound up pounding the sofa and the bed, instead. By Monday, I was feeling a bit more like myself, so I went out for a walk with a friend. Halfway down Burrard, I start coughing - and bam! Threw my back out. How embarrassing.

I've had a lot of back problems over the past few years, and since I've been ignoring them like I ignored my gall bladder for so long, I decided maybe it was time to go talk to the doctor. I woke up Tuesday morning, bright and proactively early to go see my doctor - and Philsy said, "Maybe you should look in the mirror..."

Hives. Face, elbows, knees.

So I went to the doctor. He tried not to laugh - I was a mess, after all. Suspicious that my woes were stemming from an old injury sustained while PA'ing on a TV show (note to self: even if it costs you your job, do not try to keep up physically with the boys - it's not worth it), he sent me for an X-ray and gave me a referral to a chiropractor. He gave me some cream for the hives, though I know full-well that creams won't fix this. I went through this once before, in '93. Am I old enough now to start quoting years gone by as double digits? I think so. I feel so, after this week.

Off for the X-ray, then home again to await what I was sure would be a full-blown mess of hives by the end of the day. Sure enough, I was right - covered, head to toe. However, when it started to affect my breathing Tuesday evening, I cried uncle and off we went to the ER at St. Paul's. The staff whisked me in, to the head of the line; as much as I'd like fast service, I know what service that fast means and it worried me.

After being assessed by one of the Docs, we concluded together that no point of origin for the hives could be determined. So they shot me in the ass with some heavy-duty anti-histamines, gave me a prescription for more, plus predisone (immune suppressant), and sent me home to sleep. They gave me a verdict of five to ten days - sounds about right, given what I remember from last time.

So I'm stuck indoors right now, like some sort of leper. At least I can use my hands again to type - they were fat as footballs the first few days, so I couldn't even be productive and get some writing done. I did struggle to the chiropractor on Thursday, and found some back relief. And I'm firing off as many resumes as I can, and hoping that I won't hear about interviews until at least Tuesday of next week. Because I'm still scary looking, ya know.

Generally, I really don't like to complain about health problems. I know a lot of people who have had much more sicky than I this year, including several of my readers. My Dad, for example, who in the past ten years has been through three rounds of chemo, had numerous flu's and pneumonia due to his compromised immune system, and then spent last Christmas/New Years in the hospital battling a heart infection - yet still gets up every morning and does his thing, without much complaint. Amazing.

I think this post rambled on a bit. Sorry about that. I'm done. Back to bed, for now.

Pick Me! Pick Me! Pick Me!

2009-06-07T21:47:00.001-07:00

Right now, I should be worried about finding a job. But I'm not. Not completely, anyway.

Friday night, in the middle of a wicked summer cold, awake and unable to sleep - I cracked. I started daydreaming (nightdreaming?): "What if I'm accepted into the CFC's Primetime Program?"

Bugger. I'd promised myself I wasn't going to get worked up and excited because, statistically, my chances aren't good. Though I don't know exactly how many applications they receive each year, I'm sure they get plenty - and of them, only eight lucky aspiring television writers make the cut. Don't get me wrong, I'm not trying to sell myself short. Sure, I've got a shot. But I also have a brain that likes to wander deep into the forests of fantasy land, frolicking happily in what might be before reality comes crashing down, clear cuts that forest and puts up an office block.

However, now that I've let it outside, I'll have to indulge my enthusiastic ego and let it run around and play kick the can until the sun's completely set. Hoo, boy. I hope it doesn't get bruised and come home crying.

In the meantime, I have resolved to carry on and look for other options. Masters programs at UBC and SFU look interesting - despite daunting wait lists. I'm not particularly keen on going out-of-province for any extended periods of adult education, but I suppose I should research and see what's out there.

And of course, the job hunt carries on. Hopefully to be resolved before next month's rent is due. Otherwise, Houston: we may have a problem.

Someone Set Up Me This Decade.

2009-05-22T00:00:00.000-07:00

Thirty.

I know a lot of people turning thirty this year. Many of who are really unhappy about getting older. But so far, the only consistency in my life has been: things get better with age. And it’s true – every year gets a little better; every year is a little more exciting and successful. So I'm welcoming thirty with open arms and a big, friendly smile.

It wasn’t until my mid-twenties that I finally started setting concrete goals for myself. The biggest goal being to sell my first script before thirty, which I checked off the lifetime “to do” list this past January. Other things accomplished: went back to school, got my life and finances in order after my early-twenties relationship blunder, and met a good, stable guy. Rebuilt my relationship with my parents. Found some really good friends who I’m confident will be good friends for years to come. Conquered various fears and anxieties. Found a niche for regular performing that has sated the actor in me.

Looking ahead to the next ten years, I’d like to:

• Sell five more scripts.
• Work as a staff writer on a television series.
• Get married.
• Have babies.
• Buy a home.

Yikes – that’s a big list. But for the first time in my life, I know I can do it. All of it.

Happy Birthday, Me.

C'est dur la but!

2009-05-11T10:08:00.000-07:00

There. That's my one public attempt at Francais. Ever. Enjoy it - possibly mock it. I think I spelled it right, but I wouldn't bet money on it.

Before I begin, I would like to thank the lovely Christa at Purolator for making this coffee-fueled, peaceful blogging moment possible!

Ahem...

So the package to the NSI was shipped Friday. I checked, rechecked, triple checked everything, because I'm not only accountable to myself now - I'm accountable to my producer. So everything had to be flawless. The folks at the Totally TV program are quite particular that everything be "just so," and combined with my usually obsessive behavior on the subject of detail, presentation and accuracy, I was pretty certain that I'd covered all my bases.

At 3:30pm, I arrived at the Purolator depot and was assisted by a very friendly, helpful agent. She gave me two options for shipping - Monday at 10:30am for $34, or Monday at 9:00am for $42. For eight dollars difference, I thought the choice was obvious: early it is!

Except that it wasn't until late Friday night that I wondered: "Would there be anyone in the office to accept my package at that hour?"

Insert panic here.

Fortunately, Purolator is well equipped with kind, compassionate CSR's to handle nutters like myself. I spoke with a woman on Saturday, who was very sympathetic and advised me to phone back this morning if things on the online updater looked shaky. So when it was 9:00am our time, and no update had been made I decided it was time to calmly panic and contact them again. I was helped by a wonderful fellow named Tom, and then followed up with the aforementioned Christa; she confirmed that my package arrived safe and sound.

WHEW!

My life is always filled with calamity and drama, so it was no surprise to me that things came tumbling toward the finish line.

One down, one to go. Trying to organize my work for the CFC application now, which I'll need to send off on Wednesday. I did consider the very, very rare possibility that I might be accepted to both programs and be forced to choose (because I don't think either would jive with the other)... but honestly, I'm not sure which would win at this point.

On a side note, we caught a very, very, VERY late screening of Star Trek last night. Holy mother of all sweet godly film making - it was breathtaking. Can I refer to a Star Trek film as breathtaking? JJ Abrams is absolutely brilliant. So much tasty story. Nom nom nom.

Show Time!

2009-04-15T23:52:00.000-07:00

When I decided to push forward with my series, I wrote the treatment. Short, sweet, with all the fundamental details needed to explain the concept. I did so, under the understanding that to sell a show in today's market, you do not want to run out your front door with pilot script in hand. Apparently most producers will think you're married to it and pass it over without a second glance. Granted, I'm sure that's not always the case, but coming from the mouth of someone who I respect and who is in a position to option such projects, I decided to heed and proceed.

So, I wrote my treatment, and my 30ROCK spec, and there I was. Whew! Felt good. Only now where do I go... truth is, I'm craving more learning experiences. Those can be obtained through a variety of means - the ideal, being also lucrative, would be as a Script Coordinator. But that's just one avenue, and if I'm learning anything of late it's that you need to cast a large net if you want to catch even just one fish.

There are two schools with programs in Toronto which would be very suited to where I'm at in my career - the NSI, and the CFC. Each require a monster-sized package, which I delved into earlier this month. Part of that requirement, is to have your series pilot script.

Woo boy. Didn't think I was going to have to birth this baby quite so soon.

On the upside, I have an AMAZING producer to work with. I am so lucky. Dare I say mentor? I hope so. It's nice to have someone to learn from, rather than floundering around in the dark on your own, hoping you'll find a light switch soon so you can see where you're at.

Pilot is almost done. Then comes the rest. Here's hoping I'll be heading to Toronto in September!

(Oh, and Jorge? A letter's on it's way... casting this net all the way to Hawaii!)

Your Productivity Asplode

2009-03-26T09:40:00.000-07:00

Busy week!

As I'd assumed, we were not selected for Crazy 8s. So I jumped right into rewriting for the next competition, Hot Shots. Hopefully we'll have better luck there!

Monday was busy. I started organizing the NSI submission material, got in touch with a few different people, and began braving Craigslist in the hopes of finding some writing work. I'm actually impressed with the amount of work on Craigslist, but it can be a real chore to sift through all the obvious scams to find the good stuff.

Got to chat with my Ideal Producer yesterday. She's not sure where she's headed next, and it could be out of country, so she doesn't want to commit to anything this lengthy in case her location changes. But she did suggest another Ideal Producer, and I'm going to meet with her next Wednesday to see if it's a fit. So hopefully that's that! It would be nice to get down to work with someone, and focus on packaging the submission and making it the best it can be.

I've been in the process of rebuilding my website, and despite it's near completion really wasn't happy with the results. So I spent most of yesterday redesigning, and I'm MUCH happier with it now - it's very clean, simple, and professional. Now to connect with my techie guy who can put it all together (I just don't have the brain for it anymore). I also am going to have some new photos done. I decided I wanted something sharper, more professional, in a black blazer. Fortunately, my photographer friend just bought himself a brand new, high end fancy shmancy Nikon. So I'm excited about testing it out with him!

I've been on a bit of a cooking binge this week. Made a tasty Mexican rice casserole, and baked the BEST banana bread I've ever had. Holy cow, it's good. Martha Stewart, you are a goddess.

Nom nom nom.

Monday Stuff

2009-03-23T13:10:00.001-07:00

Off to a good start today, all things considered.

We haven't heard back from the Crazy 8s selection committee yet. Without making an ass out of me, I'm going to assume that we have not been chosen. I suspect that those who were would have been notified by now, as first draft is due on Thursday. If they have in fact already made their selections, and the top ten selected teams now know who they are, I'm a tad disappointed that the organizers haven't notified everyone yet. A quick courtesy email would be nice.

I prepared myself for rejection, so I'm not spending too much time licking wounds today. Instead, I jumped right into focusing on the next possible outlet for this short, a contest called Hot Shots wherein one film is selected, and produced on about a 30k budget. My friend Mike won this contest in it's first year, and he and my friend Peter made a fantastic short comedy called The Bar. So that will be the next stop for this short. I'm hoping that Jason will want to continue working on it with me.

Up next, the NSI Totally TV program. I think my Ideal Producer might bite, and this is very exciting as she has years of experience and serious chops. I'm going to chat with her about it later today, so fingers crossed. I'm in the process of deconstructing what was left of the feature script, and converting it to series pilot for the entry. The treatment is solid, I think, so the worst of what's left is the paperwork with numbers and budgets and bears OH MY! That, right there, is why I need a producer who knows the business end. Because I don't. And I'm not sure I want to.

More positive - my EI has been extended by five weeks. Five more weeks to focus on writing. Woohoo!

Pitched!

2009-03-21T15:04:00.000-07:00

Well, we did it. Whew! My Ideal Director, Jason, and I pitched our Crazy 8s film this morning, just after 10:30. I'm glad that he's available to direct, and that he seems so excited to be working on this with me; despite my last post, I think it's probably best to take a back seat and watch how this one pans out before I take the reigns myself.

We walked into the boardroom, where about nine or ten panelists sat munching breakfast food and waiting for our story. Jason knew most of them - I only knew one. At the back of the room, was a videographer, and my friend Frank who was taking still photos (weird coincidence!). I took a deep breath and jumped in - we had our pitch memorized and solid, and I think we did a great job in the execution of our back-and-forth banter. People laughed where I'd hoped they'd laugh, and faces seemed warm, bright and receptive.

After we were finished, they immediately laced into the story. This is good stuff to help me grow my writer's skin - script changes, story changes, character changes were thrown at us a mile a minute. I did my best to sort all this information quickly in my head, and accept changes I felt were good and fair, and politely reject those which I felt would derail the vision of the film. It's a tough balance, because you don't want to appear difficult and married to the script - but you also don't want to sell out too quickly and accept every change that's suggested, because that implies that you really have no faith in your work and perhaps you don't know your own story as well as you should.

I think we did a great job of answering all their questions and concerns, and despite the overwhelming amount of critique they seemed to like the idea. The hardest part is taking critique when they haven't actually read the script. I don't think we could have made it any more clear by the pitch, though... but it's something to think about for next time.

So now, we wait. They didn't give us a deadline to expect a response, and in my stressed out state I forgot to ask. But since the scripts for the top ten are due on Thursday, I'm sure we'll know soon.

Here's hoping. I really want to make this movie. This would be a great way to continue an already successful year, and a fantastic way to say goodbye to my twenties.

At the very least, I will pat myself on the back for conquering the fear monster and chasing my dream!

A Change of Director.

2009-03-11T18:55:00.000-07:00

Last week, I signed up to pitch my short film Behind the 8-Ball to the Crazy 8s. Was #22 in line at 8:15am, and booked my slot to pitch on March 21st at 10:30am.

I've been wooing my ideal director since - rewriting the script per his suggestions and comments. We're at a place now where I think we both feel good about it, and he thinks that it has a really good shot at selection based on several factors. Great! Except that he's busy working on a TV series right now, and his time is minimal, and he's not sure just how much he can commit.

This got me thinking again. About how I'd like to direct. I keep saying, someday - truth is, I have the theory. I understand directing actors because I used to BE an actor. I'm just on this weird, self-depreciating trip - like, I feel barely justified in calling myself a writer, even though I've sold my first chunk of writing this year. How can I possibly call myself a director? I'm a hack, I must be. People will laugh, and not take me seriously. Little voice inside my head has returned with a vengeance! YOU SHALL NOT PASS!

Back it up a moment. Everyone starts somewhere. Everyone. And my ideal director would be along for the ride, as co-producer. We'd need another strong producer to pull weight. But... this could happen. Why not? Why couldn't I direct my film?

So I'm looking for a good solid producer to compliment my uber co-producer. Hopefully I'll find someone keen enough to jump on board before next Saturday.

Well okay then. Plugging my nose, and jumping in. Both feet.

A Dream Is Born.

2009-02-20T09:00:00.000-08:00

Last Friday, I witnessed my show's maiden voyage.

The Four Seasons hotel was buzzing. Guests milled in and out of the ballroom, admiring and bidding on silent auctions, chatting, networking. I sat myself at a table in the corner of the room, with a glass of red to calm my nerves. Discovered the true meaning of 'clutch purse' - my restless hands were grateful for the outlet.

As the show began, I sat on the edge of my seat and held my breath, patiently waiting for the audience reaction. I found myself lost in watching the actors, and less focused on the audience. It was a HUGE crowd, and a new show, and the actors deserve huge congratulations for keeping the attention of as many as they did.

The mysterious woman wearing black with sparkly silver heels in the corner of the room became the show's biggest red herring. People started approaching me, and chatting me up and asking questions about the show. I was honest - I told them I was the writer, and I was just here to watch. They were very friendly, and one woman even suggested I come join them at their table. I politely declined - I just don't think it would have been appropriate.

I pulled two Tina Feys that evening (well, rather, two Liz Lemons) - I got my shawl caught in the clasp of my clutch purse while ordering a drink at the bar, and had to discreetly rip it out. And I somehow managed to get wrapped up in a discussion about fertility clinics, claimed my husband and I were trying (for the sake of fitting in), and then got hounded to go in for a consultation. I wasn't intentionally lying, per say - I was just so wrapped up in the show and focusing on taking notes in my head about what worked, and what didn't, that I just naturally kept conversational momentum going.

Fortunately, I managed to squeeze my way out of that one. Whew. Philsy would have been awfully surprised.

The highlight of the evening was bumping into Damien Kindler, creator of Sanctuary on the way out. Sorry to sidetrack for a moment, but guys claim to 'have the balls' to do something. Does that mean women 'have the boobs'? Alright then. So I had the boobs to talk to Mr. Kindler (that sounds wrong on many levels, but I'm having a good chuckle so I'm going with it) and asked him what he thought of the show. Whether he was just being polite, or was genuinely interested I'm not sure, but he claimed he enjoyed it, and asked me a few questions about writing it.

I stammered through some answers, and then squeaked out what my goals were, and that I would like to work as a script coordinator - although they already have a coordinator for their show, he did invite me to drop by his office to chat sometime. This weekend, I plan on getting caught up with Sanctuary (I only ever saw the webisodes) and maybe watch some Stargate (would you believe I haven't really seen any?) and then email him on Monday. Yay for networking!

A few really good things are starting to develop for me. I'm starting to look at writing like a job. Yes, it's a creative expression, and yes, it's deeply satisfying on many levels - but it's a job. Like flipping burgers, or answering phones, or removing gall bladders. My work ethic is more focused than ever before, and most of those doubting little voices have vacated the my conscience. I just have to do it. I just have to get it done.

And off we go.

That's So Fake.

2009-02-15T13:43:00.001-08:00

If you read this, if your eyes are passing over this right now, please post a comment with a COMPLETELY MADE UP AND FICTIONAL memory of you and me. It can be anything you want — good or bad — BUT IT HAS TO BE FAKE. When you’re finished, if you’d like to continue the chain, post this little paragraph on your blog and be surprised (or mortified) about what people DON’T ACTUALLY remember about you.

Needed: 32 Hour Days

2009-02-11T09:08:00.000-08:00

Lately, I feel like I'm running out of time to do everything I want to get done. There's just too much stuff! Granted, I'm not complaining about the stuff. I like the stuff. I just need more time to get it all completed.

Rewrites for the first script are complete and done. Whew! Everyone is happy, I think, so I'm now back to focusing on the treatment for script #2. However, I've only just woken up to the fact that I'm now on the six week countdown till EI is done, over, kaput. And I'm wigging out - just a little. We got decent tax returns, which was a huge, welcomed surprise. But that will only go so far. I need to get a job. Now. Fast. Ideally with the title Script Coordinator. Problem is, I don't know how many productions would be getting into pre-pro any earlier than, say, May. June maybe? I was given the name of someone at CBC who I need to get in touch with, so maybe something will come of that.

Maybe something with extended health care. Oye. I was spoiled with free massages last year - and now my back is screaming: WHY CAN'T YOU FIX ME WHY CAN'T WE GO TO THE LADY WHO FIXES US!

It's a beautiful pre-Spring, sunny day. Hooray!

Puzzle Pieces

2009-02-05T23:01:00.000-08:00

Life has always been a bunch of puzzle pieces, to me. Most of them you have; others, however, are lost: under couch cushions, in the closet. In the drawer of random junk. Every so often, I come across one of these pieces - and one of three things happen. I don't recognize the piece, so I ignore it. I recognize the piece as being important, but I don't know where it goes yet so I put it aside. Or I have an enlightened moment, know exactly where it fits, and add it to the picture.

There's a fleeting moment of exhilaration that gets coupled with the addition of new puzzle pieces. However, that feeling of joy is quickly replaced with the worry, "How long until the next one?"

I have a fist-full of pieces. Fitting them in their places is going to be like climbing up a mountain with a bag of sand on my back. Nothing important is ever easy. However, I can't help but wonder just how far I'll have to go up that mountain before another one snaps into place...

Second Month

2009-02-03T09:55:00.000-08:00

February is always better than January. The worst of the winter is usually over, the birds are slowly returning and engaging in their morning musical theatre. The days are just a tiny bit longer - just enough to boost your serotonin a notch. Though, despite family health issues (my own, included) January was a pretty significant month for me. So I'm hoping that bodes well for the months that follow, including February.

I'm getting close to the finish line on murder mystery treatment #2. Although, it's actually treatment 2b, because I was just about finished another treatment when I was asked to create a different sort of script, first. They needed a corporate 'plug-and-play' style story, which is a lot harder than it sounds. I need to provide lots of blanks that can be filled in so the story can be personalized to the client, but I still need it to maintain some semblance of a STORY. Once I finally wrapped my head around it and dug in, it wasn't quite as hard as I'd thought. At least, so far. We shall see as the days progress.

On the subject of the paid writing gig, I got a message yesterday that the actors with the company want to workshop my script for a few hours this week before it's first performance. This stirred up a lot of different emotions for me: disappointment, inadequacy, frustration. Fear. Fear of rejection, mostly. A lot of these actors are not just working for this company, they work in film and television. They have credits. I'm just the new guy. What do I know? Obviously not much, because my script sucks. I suck. I should just give up now and get a call centre job and forget the whole thing ever happened.

After coaxing my bruised ego down off the ceiling, I managed to start rationalizing the situation, somewhat. This is a good opportunity to network. This is a good learning opportunity. It will be fun to work with others. While these are all good things, I can't help but feel as though I'm going to be torn to pieces and I won't be able to say or do anything about it. Philsy made a very good point, and asked if this was my baby... no, obviously not. My shows, my features - those are my babies. This is a job, and an opportunity, and ultimately as long as I feel I do a good job, and I get paid, then that's what matters. I'd love to figure out who or what tried to squelch my creative voice at an impressionable young age, and left me with a chronic case of artistic masochism. I must beat myself for my work!

Last night, I got started on my homework and watched the first episode of Being Erica. This is a new series for CBC, and I have to say I was very impressed. Granted, I am smack dab in the middle of the target audience for the show, but I thought the writing, formula, and structure was really tight for a first episode. I still have about three or four more episodes on tape, and I think I'll get caught up this weekend and then try and follow it week to week. I'd really like to see the CBC get more gutsy with it's programming, and start following American show models more because - let's face it - the American television industry has it down. That doesn't mean we can't have Canadian content. But in the interest of creating GOOD story, let's not try so hard to be UNlike Americans that we fall flat on our faces and end up with a mud pie instead of a creme brule.

There's sunshine in them there hills.

Pardon My Blog Etiquitte

2009-01-27T10:34:00.000-08:00

Some of you may or may not have noticed, I follow a blog called, "Dispatches from the Island." This is Jorge Garcia's blog; he plays Hurley on the TV show LOST. I have always had a soft spot for any character that is the love able big guy, and when I started watching LOST I naturally fell for Hurley and the talented fellow playing him (not in THAT way... just in a natural, favorite character kind of way).

Immediately, I started buzzing different roles I could see Jorge in; different scripts I've written, sketched out or done treatments for. One of them stuck - REALLY stuck. So much so that I'm getting ready to send a query to his agent in LA. I've unfortunately become quite married to the idea of him in this role, so I'm going to have to sell the hell out of it. Given that LOST only has two more seasons (two more? I'm pretty sure that's right...) I'd assume that Mr. Garcia will be looking for a new TV series to attach himself to. At least, I HOPE he will be. I'm hoping he might like mine. We'll see.

However, what I was originally going to mention was the fact that on his blog, Jorge doesn't reply to all the responses on his posts. Now granted, he can garner up to 80 fan boys (myself included) blathering about everything from fart jokes to LOST trivia. This doesn't really irk me, per-say, but it does bother me when I have a question to ask and it gets lost in the shuffle. I'd love to have some interaction with the guy before I land my show treatment on his agent's desk. I guess for now I'll have to admire from a distance and hope that he likes it, even though I'm really nobody special (to him... I'm someone special to lots of other people. My cat, my boyfriend, my parents - I think).

BUT... I am guilty of the same thing. I don't always reply. I always read, but I think it's nice to be acknowledged when taking the time to write a response, however short or long, on some one's blog. So I'll do more of that from now on. Promise.

The script was delivered on Saturday. He loved it, and said the cheque's in the mail. It's possibly screwed up my EI claim, despite the fact that I am NOT making huge bucks for writing these, which means that we could end up out on the street once the savings are gone (and it is, just about). Talked to Dad last night, and he said not to worry - just keep writing. Whew.

Recently, Philsy and I started playing World of Warcraft again. When we stopped playing last spring, I was bored with it (and with the MMO genre in general), and I figured I was wasting my $12 a month. But with the recent expansion pack, I'm really enjoying it again. Not enough to get addicted, but just enough that I can look forward to it and use it as a reward system for work completed.

It's snowing, right now. Bleh. I've had more than enough of the stuff. I'm also not in the greatest position to be shoveling, given my abdominal healing. But someone will have to go over to the 'Shore to take care of my parent's driveway. Replace someone, with me, and there you have it. *shake fist at snow*

Happy Tuesday, everyone.

This Week Is Done.

2009-01-23T19:34:00.000-08:00

I shouldn't wait to blog, because I end up with too much to blog about. Then I procrastinate, and hide from the blog, because it's too much to sort out and spit out in some sort of sensible, eloquent fashion.

*deep breath*

My surgery last Thursday went well. My recovery - not so much. My brother took me to the hospital, and stayed with me instead of running away for a much needed coffee as long as I needed him to. There's quite a procedure to getting ready for an operation like this - it's almost like being inducted into some sort of special organization, or cult.

You follow all the same rituals as everyone else: weighed, measured, questioned, poked, prodded, pilled, and sent into a small bathroom to change and be assimilated. And to partake in a ritual that, I'm fairly certain, is one that ALL surgery patients must participate in. Those of you who have had surgery probably know what I'm referring to. I'll spare the details for those who don't, but let's just say, it ain't pleasant.

You emerge from the bathroom in strange, unfashionable, ill-fitting garments. And everyone looks at you. Because they know what you just had to "do". But then you get seated in one of the large recliners and wait for your IV hookup, and watch all the other people going into, and coming out of that bathroom. And you chuckle to yourself.

From there, you have your nose piercing taped down, more questions asked, and then you wait. And wait. And wait - until one of the surgical nurses comes in and calls your name. Hooray! And they gather you up, and walk you out of the pre-op/post-op room, down the hallway, to a little waiting room in the surgery area. The surgeon pops by to see you - mine was in a good mood, and I took this as an excellent sign. The head surgical nurse who would be working with my team (wow - a whole team for me!) also came and asked me a bunch of questions, and hooked me up to another IV of antibiotics (I suspect because I had checked YES on the question: Have You Had Cold/Flu in the Past 3 Weeks?

I also met my anaesthesiologist, a nicer older gentleman who was sympathetic when I explained that I'd spent the past few weeks in the hospital with my Dad, and had at this point had my fill of hospitals, and was looking very forward to the day being over. The head nurse returned at that point, and gathered me up, and I walked the green mile to my operating room, #9. Which has always been a good number for me, I thought as I tried not to look through the glass doors of other operating rooms; at any of the other bodies which were being repaired.

You walk in, you lay down, you go to sleep. And then a few moments later, you wake up. And the best part was, as I was talking (in my sleepy state) to the nice Saudi nurse about Khaleegy dance and thobes, I realized that the pain in my gut was suddenly gone. There was some new pain, but that was only temporary. The thing which shouldn't have been there, was no longer. What a huge relief.

Recovery was thwarted with the attempted attention grab by bladder #2 in the form of a lovely UTI late Thursday night (which reoccurred today, even after a bout of antibiotics). Late Saturday night, I barfed all over the bathroom floor - a reaction, I think, to following the nurses orders of taking the max dosage of T3 for the first 48 hours to help minimize pain. After I was sure I'd cleared most of the drugs from my system on Sunday, I cut them back to one, occasionally, as needed.

Ex lax? Don't do it. EVER. I'd rather be constipated. When you have abdominal surgery you learn quickly just how much the muscles in the abdomen are involved in daily life, particularly #2. Never having taken laxative before (I'm pretty regular, thank you very much) I assumed that nothing could totally eliminate the need for strain. And I should have trusted my instincts - it became a battle between the bowels and belly. I'm certain I just about blew my stitches. I'm also certain you don't want to hear anymore about this, so I'll move right along now.

Before going to the doctor today to pick up round two of UTI drugs, I had to shower. Had to. I am obsessive compulsive when it comes to personal hygiene and cleanliness, and cannot bring myself on the best of days to leave the house without a shower in the morning. So a week of no showers had not only put me in a mental funk, but a whole other kind of smelly funk that no person should ever have to be subjected to. I wrapped myself up in a saran wrap corset, taped it down, and hopped in. Felt good would be a gross understatement. That was definitely one of the top five showers in my life, for sure. Hmm - there's a future post topic.

That's really it. I'm trying to finish up project-X which I said I would deliver tonight, a day earlier than the client has requested. But I'm having a rough time with some bits of it, and procrastinating. I'm also feeling stupid, and like I'm lacking vocabulary, and even this entire post feels void of anything beyond a grade six level. Bah. Sure sign I'm overtired, and haven't had the chance to disappear into a good book for over a week.

Dad came home from the hospital today. I phoned, and he picked up, and my face must have lit up like a Christmas tree before dissolving into Niagara falls moments later.

Things are leveling off. Finally.

RIP Gall Bladder. May 22nd, 1979 - January 15th, 2009
Survived by Liver, Pancreas, Kidneys, Heart, and a bunch of other stuff.

Letter.

2009-01-12T11:23:00.000-08:00

Hi God, it's Me.

I know I don't call or write as often as I should. Life has been busy this past year - I guess I don't need to tell you that. You already know. That's no excuse, but I'm writing now, so here it is.

Please don't take my Dad yet. We're not ready. He's not ready. He still has lots of things to do here on Earth. He needs to walk me down the aisle at my wedding. He needs to see his grandchildren, and laugh and play with them, and sing them the nursery rhyme about bunnies, and do the magic belt trick for them. He needs to show me how to use a table saw so that when I own my own home, I can tear it apart and renovate it too. He needs to finish building the home that he started for my Mum so many years ago because he loves her so much. He needs to finally have the retirement that he worked so hard for.

Please. No more set backs, no more pain, no more complications. No more one step forward, two steps back.

Let us get back to living. Please.

Stabilizing. And a little good news.

2009-01-08T18:44:00.000-08:00

Dad had his angiogram on Tuesday at St. Pauls. Two very small blockages, that they didn't bother much with. The left ventricle wasn't working well, and the initial assumption was cardiomyopathy. Though that still hasn't been ruled out, the doctor feels it may be a viral infection causing the body to attack the heart. If this is the case, then it's a bit of a throwback to the lymphoma - but may be more easily remedied.

Of course, none of these diagnosis can really be proven until he's been on medication and lifestyle changes for a few weeks.

But we're getting there. Things are stabilizing. Finally. Which is a huge relief after the roller coaster ride I've been on this holiday season.

In other, happier news...

I have sold my first script. And it will be performed for the first time on February 4th, in Toronto.

A very dear friend connected me with a fellow she's doing some work for - he runs a huge international Murder Mystery entertainment company. They're revamping everything for spring - new marketing, new website. And he wanted new scripts. We went to see one of their shows back in December, and it was a lot of fun. I was instantly inspired, and started scribbling out ideas on the spot. By a week or two later, I had the first treatment finished, and they loved it. So now I need to add the dialogue and cues and ship it off to him before the 24th of January so the actors have time to prepare. And then write 2 or 3 more scripts, as well.

I'm still a bit dazed about the whole thing. The great part, is this will hopefully be enough of a sale to hook myself an agent. I'm already getting my work meticulously organized, treatments et al, so that I can present it and say "I got paid for these. Here's the rest of my stuff. Can you help me get paid for this, too?"

Maybe 2009 won't be such a bad year after all.

I'd like to say, I wish the year was over. But.

2009-01-04T21:13:00.001-08:00

The year has just begun. It's 2009.

Dad has been in the hospital since last Monday. They're still not 100% sure what's wrong, but they are leaning towards a problem with his heart. However, until they can get him to drop all the fluid he's retaining in his legs, they can't perform an angiogram which will either confirm or deny any heart issues.

This is a throwback to last summer, when my Mum was in the hospital. Only, my Mum is still recovering from her stroke. My Brother and I are battling the fucking snow every day to get to and from the North Shore, picking up Mum, spending the day with Dad, rinse, repeat. Fortunately, my Brother is an excellent driver; I've resolved to grow the hell up this year and get my license, once and for all. So we're all tired. We're all scared, and worried. I try to pull the optimism wagon with me, all day long, because my family is pessimistic by nature. Someone has to be the voice of positive. This is an exhausting effort, even though I know it's for the greater good.

Practicing that. Ahem. My surgery is on the 15th! Oh happy, joyous, fluffy bunnies of laughter and gaiety.

Yep.

Not December 25th.

2008-12-23T23:13:00.000-08:00

Christmas is cancelled.

At least, for our family, it's cancelled. My Dad is suddenly very sick - my Mum is still so-so, and is on some new medication. They decided today that it would be best to cancel Christmas, and do it some other time.

This is tough to deal with. Not because of presents, or turkey, or Christmas trees, or any of the other material goods that are part of the seasonal ritual. It's tough to deal with because my parents aren't well. It's tough to deal with because they're getting older, and their health isn't the best, and I know my parents will put on a brave face through even the worst of illness. I've seen them do it. So for them to cancel Christmas, means things are really, really bad.

I don't really know what else to say. I think I need to sleep now.

All I Want For Christmas.

2008-12-16T09:54:00.000-08:00

I ventured out to do some Christmas shopping, yesterday. Which very quickly turned into some Christmas gawking, at price tags, and a return trip home with nothing but a few groceries and a long face. It's going to be a tighter Christmas this year, financially, and although I'm a grownup (hah - I use that term VERY loosely), and understand the concept of budgets and living within ones means, it still tugs at my heartstrings that I am unable to buy all the pretty shiny things I'd really like to give to my family and friends.

When I was little, before I had my paper route, I remember starting to save for Christmas right after summer vacation ended. I'd have almost four months of allowance saved by the time Christmas shopping rolled around. We'd all pile into the van, and head to Park Royal, where we'd go our separate ways and meet back at a central point (I must have been somewhere between 10-12).

This was also around the time I started to figure that maybe Santa Claus wasn't a big man sitting in the mall in a red suit, so I started feeling a bit guilty about the money that 'Santa' would spend on me. Which is a bit absurd, because kids are kids, parents are parents, my Dad worked at a big job, and I did not. But regardless, I felt like my meager offerings couldn't compare. I tried my best to come up with creative and thoughtful gifts; I can hear my parents reminding me over and over to NOT spend all my money on Christmas shopping, but I did anyway.

Now, it might seem like I had forged a connection between material things, and love. The thing was - I could care less about what people gave me. I still could care less about what people give me. Honest! I'm just as happy with a new pair of socks as I am with a big screen TV (okay, perhaps I'm pushing my point just a little...). I just really felt a strong desire to give everyone everything they wanted. Hell, I still dream about winning the 649 and helping my parents buy their dream home in West Van. Is that a bit backwards for my age? It feels like it, sometimes.

Back to today. I can't spend all my money on Christmas, because I am now part of 'we'. And we only have so much money, and it's slowly disappearing, and when it's gone if I haven't found a steady job related to what I'm trying to accomplish with my life then it's back to retail, or something similar. So there's a budget, and there will be no wiggle room beyond that. But it's hard when I see something beautiful, or interesting, or fun, and think 'this would be perfect for...' and then look at the price tag and frown. Step away from the would-be gift. Move along.

Gifts are going to be augmented with the gift of time, this year, with baking and other homemade crafty-type projects. But I'm going to head out again today, armed with a better plan and a better idea of where to go to do the spending part of gift giving.

Next year will be good, and the year after that will be great, and the following year will be wonderful. Every year things get a little more organized, the budget grows a bit, and we're closer to our goals.

The best gift of all, this year, I've already received: my Mum's improving health.

Drinking: It's an appropriate time to blog!

2008-12-12T19:55:00.000-08:00

I keep starting blogs, and not finishing them. And not liking them enough to continue with them, so I try again, and fail. This one is going up, whether it's done, or not - whether it's good, or not. So take it, and like it. That's what I say.

On the horizon... *drum roll*... my first PAID writing gig. I feel like I'll jinx it to say so before the contract is signed, but I can't hold back any longer. A friend of a friend runs a Canada-wide murder mystery dinner theatre company, and he's contracting me to write three or four new scripts for them. Let me tell you: I am fucking giddy. And overwhelmed - mystery is a genre I used to LOVE to read, but haven't for awhile. It's also a genre I've never written before, though I understand the mechanics of crafting one, so I'm not completely in the dark. I've been putting together outlines for him to look at, which hopefully will be ready next week if life will stop throwing curve balls at me. I've also been researching exactly how much I should be asking for in terms of compensation, so I'm not short-changing myself. I don't think he would intentionally undercut me at all, but I know that it's important to have as much of a grasp on the business mechanics as it is the creative.

So that's the big news. In other news, I've been fortunate to make a friend in the industry who seems really keen on helping push me towards my goals. I'm really, really grateful because - really - I am so completely out of my element and in the dark it's not even funny. I get the gist of it all - I know roughly what I'm supposed to do. But I'm so freakin' terrified, it's hard to see straight and know how to progress sometimes. The only thing I can count on, is that I'm working harder than I ever have before. And will continue to do so. Now, I just need to work a little smarter. The little voice inside my head that says I'm bat shit crazy for trying to make a career out of this is shrinking more and more each day.

Tonight, I'm enjoying a delicious Merlot, some wonderful chocolate that a beautiful blonde angel bestowed upon me, and working on sewing Christmas stockings for Philsy, Abbie and me. A small part of me wishes I had some company - Philsy is at school, working late on a project. But I feel very blessed. Life is grand.

Pulling Off The Band-Aid

2008-11-19T22:20:00.000-08:00

I've finally decompressed.

Monday night was big, fast, and then gone. And it felt like ripping off a band-aid, really - I had to introduce myself as the screenwriter. Say hello, and answer questions, and be the person that I want to be. And after the initial panic while witnessing actors arriving and being handed copies of my script had subsided, I settled into feeling really, really good about myself. Not ego, or self-indulgence - just really proud of myself. It was like I was watching me, and cheering me on.

The response to my work seemed very positive. I spent a lot of the time listening to the actors, and watching the audience for reactions - most of the jokes seemed to hit. People were smiling. They also had good constructive feedback afterwards, which I really appreciated.

The cherry on top was having actor Garry Chalk read for my lead role. All the actors were great (especially Moxie-Snacks), but there was something amazing about how he took a rather complicated character and brought it to life exactly as I'd envisioned it. I'm normally pretty cool around actors - I met a lot of famous people working on set, and it never really phased me. Heck, Abe Benrubi hit on me in the lunch line once, and while I was flattered it never really occurred to me that he was anything other than a normal person. But I have to admit I felt a little bit starry eyed about a very successful, very established actor reading my work. I felt so much closer to where I want to be - it was like a sneak preview at what my life could be in five years if I really, really bust my ass and work harder than I ever have.

It's where I will be. I will make this happen.

Epic Blog Fail

2008-11-13T21:44:00.000-08:00

Like they said in The Contest: I'm OUT!

Seriously though. My real writing has been busy, and I've been drained of all inspiration by the end of the day when I'd normally blog.

Sorry, NaNo. NoMo. Well, irregularly, anyway.

Nine Minutes

2008-11-10T23:51:00.000-08:00

It's 11:51.

Ack. Nope, 11:52.

Shoppers Drug Mart is a scary place late at night. It seems that every time we go in there after 10pm, someone is being arrested. I was less concerned, however, about the perp, and much more worried about the RCMP-reject-gone-security-guard. Holy crap, talk about a social defect. This guy was hurling insult after insult at the obviously mentally unstable, physically weak man he had pinned against the floor.

It makes me really angry that in the race for human rights, we forgot about human responsibilities. Like our responsibility to look after and care for those who cannot care for themselves. Institutionalization became a dirty word after the Charter of Rights and Freedoms came into play - granted, the system could use an overhauled approach. But medicating people, and then setting them loose to their own devices is not the answer. People need help; they need care. Full-time care. Not a prescription and a monthly government cheque.

That's really all I have to say about that.

11:58

Let Me Sell You Something

2008-11-09T13:30:00.000-08:00

The first sales job I had was at a high end clothing store in Pacific Centre. Well, maybe high end is a stretch. But the stuff was definitely way out of my budget, and our customer base definitely was not in my age group.

After fudging my way through the interview (I had no actual retail sales experience, but I sure sold them on me anyway), I wound up working as a cashier. I loved it! I learned how to use the register in no time flat, and no one would have been any the wiser that I'd never used such a complicated one. I did have cash handling experience, and had used registers before, but scanners, bar codes, discounts and VISA were all new to me.

So there I was - fresh out of high school, with a job that was easy, and low pressure (be polite, chit chat, ring things through quickly, fold clothes nicely and slip them into a bag, send happy customer on their way). I didn't make much money, and while we didn't have to wear the clothes we sold (by law, BC was the only province at the time that couldn't make that mandatory - not sure if that's still the case) I still wound up spending a fair amount of what I earned on trying to keep up with my co-workers trendy looks. I was living at home still, so I could afford to keep working there, looking trendy, and still had enough to stick in my savings at the end of the month.

When the store was slow, the cashiers were expected to get out on the floor and assist the sales staff, tidy up the store, fold clothes, etc. I wasn't super keen on this, but I did it anyway. I soon discovered that our male clients were mostly very good looking businessmen in their late 20's/early 30's. This thrilled me, and I made a game of flirting with and selling piles of clothes to this particular flavour of customer. So it was a nice interruption to my regular day of cash duty, when a good looking guy with lots to spend would step into the store, and I'd wiggle over to him in my fitted grey wool pencil skirt and stiletto heels and start piling on the clothes and the charm (God, I wish I was a size six again so I could fit into that skirt - I still keep it in the hopes that, some day, I can).

My manager quickly caught wind of this, and decided that I had a knack for sales - so she took me off cash, permanently, to sell. Whoa! Hold on there - all I have a knack for is batting my eyelashes at pretty boys and getting them to open up their wallets. The game changed, and the rules were tougher - sure, there were still pretty boys from time to time, but trying to keep up with the daily quota requirements of being a full-time sales person was tough. Women are especially hard to sell to - I know this, because when I enter a store and am approached by sales staff in less than 20 seconds I pretty much write off buying anything and try to get out of there as quickly as possible. You have to be crafty to sell to women. You have to befriend them. And it's a whole involved song and dance that left me wanting to bang my head against the wall halfway through several sales.

Despite feeling like a bit of a one trick pony who had nothing else up her sleeve, I slowly started to pull my standards up and managed to flog garments with the best of them. But I quickly ran out of steam, and quit just four months after starting. Sales was not for me, I decided.

I haven't really had a sales job since, but given all my customer service experience, coupled with my only real sales experience, I know that I am good at sales. I could probably make a decent living off sales if it came down to it. I just don't like it. It's exhausting. It's mentally draining.

So what does all that have to do with anything? Well, I've recently come to grips with the amount of selling that I'm going to have to do with my writing. Exactly how those sales skills will serve me while pitching. I'm not just trying to charm you into loving my little story as much as I do - I'm trying to SELL it to you. To prove to you that it can make money.

As tempting as it would be to pull the little grey pencil skirt out and dust it off, I think I'm going to have to use the little grey cells instead.

Dance, Part Deux

2008-11-08T21:57:00.000-08:00

Back again tonight. I'm exhausted, and I'm cryptic because I'm paranoid. And not employed.

Yeah. See what I did there?

Anywho, it was a fun night. There was a woman and her two young sons (starting to see a theme, here)... one of the boys had just achieved his black belt in karate, so they were out celebrating. I offered to show him a bellydance move if he showed me a karate move - he showed me how to make someones skull explode, apparently (we didn't test this). I showed him how to wiggle his hips. It was a strange exchange.

I also discovered that if I chug a small glass of water just before I start, that I don't sweat so much. Which is an issue for me, sometimes. Not very classy.

Bed. Sleep.

Giggle

2008-11-07T22:43:00.000-08:00

Tonight, at the restaurant, I encountered a young man of about 15 and his mum. His mum got a chuckle out of how embarrassed he suddenly got - I spoke up, and said, "I guess of all the possible scenarios, this is probably the most awkward one to be stuck in with your Mum, huh?"

She laughed harder, and I managed to get a little chuckle out of him. Later on, I went back with my sword, and tapped him on the shoulder, "This is much cooler. You'll like this one." I spun with it on my head - he seemed impressed. We then talked video games for a moment, and I think I won him over.

I'm a geek. But I'm a geek who likes to dress up in shiny, sparkly things.

17

2008-11-06T20:11:00.000-08:00

Philsy has an obsession with the number 17, in relation to film and television, that I've slowly adopted over the years. Actually, I think the obsession may have initially belonged to Cheesefairy, but you'll need to check with her on that.

The theory is, that the number 17 appears everywhere in visual media. And now that you've been made aware of this, you'll start to see it too. It will drive you mad.

That said, when the organizers of Final Draught emailed me today and asked if the 17th would be a good day to read my sitcom, I was thrilled.

Brain can't think much good to write, now, due to excitement. Done with words today. Come again tomorrow.

*squee*

Going Public

2008-11-05T15:31:00.000-08:00

There's something really great about holding your writing.

I'm talking about actually printing out your finished work, and holding it in your hands. Feeling the weight of all those words on all that paper. Looking at the title page and seeing your name, and knowing that, "You wrote what you see, there." (pardon the lame attempt at an ICANHAZCHEEZBURGER reference)

As I've been feeling a tad blocked with the now TWO features that I'm simultaneously working on (don't try to talk me out of it - crazy is just how I roll), I decided to pull out my sitcom and have another flip through the pilot. Actually, I ended up doing a fair bit of editing and cleanup, and am now really, really excited about it again.

So much so, that I submitted it to the Final Draught Reading Series.

Final Draught is, essentially, the Cold Reading Series - but the Fall/Winter version. Until today, I've been too intimidated to submit my work to either event, for a variety of fear-based, procrastinatory reasons. However, thanks to the good people at Lululemon and their silly, silly challenge, I decided that today was the day, and have submitted the pilot episode of OUTBOUND for possible public scrutiny.

Honestly, I'll be more upset if it doesn't get selected, than if it gets selected and it bombs. Failure is infinitely easier to deal with than ignored.

I originally wrote the series with some very specific actors in mind. A few years back, I gave them all a copy to read - after I received no feedback or response of any kind from any of them, I felt extremely disappointed. This was the first time I opened up my writing to anyone other than family, and to be honest, no feedback was much worse than bad feedback would have been.

So I hid it away, along with the rest of my writing. Until last year, when I was poked and prodded by colleagues at the VIFF to try and pitch some of my work. Somewhere, deep down, I still felt that OUTBOUND was the most sellable of what I had completed at the time, so I dusted it off and pitched it to two local companies. I've never sweat so much, or so hard, in all my life.

Though I didn't sell my show, I got lots of positive feedback, and while that should have been enough to help propel me forward, I wound up putting everything on hold again when I got the job at RA. Which I don't begrudge - I loved working there, I loved the people. I got some really good experience, and I managed to help get our cash flow into the black for the first time.

However, here I am again, back at square one. So just do it already, silly girl.

Done. DONE! Done for today. Here's hoping I'm selected.

Yes You Can!

2008-11-04T21:27:00.000-08:00

Congratulations, America.

Wow! How exciting to witness such an amazing piece of history in the making.

I've never been so emotionally involved in an election before - I guess many people are feeling the same way.

Never thought I would wish to be south of the 49th. But right now, I kind of wish I was.

Congratulations, President Obama. Here's to greater things to come.

Leaving on a Jet Plane.

2008-11-03T08:43:00.000-08:00

I had the LA dream last night.

When I was five years old, we went to Disneyland. It was one of the happiest times of my life, as cliche as that may sound. All the wonderful memories I have of that vacation that are stored somewhere in my brain, and when I was younger, they were the primary source of inspiration for the LA dream.

Though I still fondly recall that trip to California, the LA dream has updated as my wants and desires have updated over the years. Now, the focus of the LA dream is to travel south to pitch and sell my work, and become a Hollywood screenwriter.

The LA dream goes something like this:

I find out that I'm going to LA. Filled with excitement and anticipation, I start to get organized - but I can't find everything I need because I don't have enough time to pack properly. I have my laptop and a few clothes, and I decide that anything else I need can be picked up there (last night's specific missing was flip flops, which I decided were unnecessary since they PROBABLY have flip flops for sale somewhere in LA).

Everything gathered, and my passport in hand, I head to the airport. Usually, there's a traffic jam, or some other hurdle keeping me from getting to my flight on time. Last night, it was a friend's ex-Girlfriend who was nagging me at the airport entrance. In fact, I think I was meeting that friend and travelling with him (purely platonic), and I was trying to avoid telling her that he was leaving town.

Hmm. Hehe.

Anyway, I managed to fob off some old hair clips on her, and she left. I got to customs, and was given the third degree for having my blog (?!) linked to my passport online. Umm, okay. Apparently Americans have issues with the title 'No Pants Island'. After finally getting that sorted out, I was on my way to the gate and to hopefully find my friend. But after getting lost (this happens a lot), I wound up on the tarmac, and discovered that I was about a week early for the flight I'd booked.

...

So I found my friend, and we went home to my parents house to wait out the week. In the meantime, my parents were building an enormous concrete wall around their house... they're renovating right now, as I mentioned yesterday, but a giant concrete wall? Hmm.

Eventually it was time to return to the airport, and as we were just arriving, the dream began it's inevitable fade out.

The LA dream has come close to completion a few times. Once, I even stepped on the plane before waking up. But generally speaking, I don't get further than the entrance of YVR. The funny thing is, when I wake up I don't feel disappointed - I feel re-energized and excited. It renews a little hope in me.

Someday.

NaNo? Forgot, yo.

2008-11-02T20:40:00.000-08:00

I think I lost a day, instead of gaining an hour.

Actually, I just forgot about NaNoBloMo until this evening. Though I hadn't really planned to participate, but I suppose in keeping with the 'I'm a Writer' theme, I probably should.

Technically, I'm out of the running by a day - but what the hell.

I've started hitting the lonely part of not having a day job. Granted, I'm still getting lots of writing done, and starting to connect and plan to try and sell said writing. But there's something to be said for lots of daily contact with regular people. Me thinks it's time to start making more play dates with people I know. It's always hard for me to get out of my shell and do that, but when I do I always think to myself "Why don't I do this more often?"

My parents are heading towards the finish line on their 30 some-odd-year home renovation project. Here's a photo of what was the only bathroom in my house growing up - apparently, one of the cats pee'd on the toilet hole last night. Smart cat!

Seriously, I'll try and come up with something more interesting to talk about tomorrow.

Free Advice Well Taken.

2008-10-30T10:55:00.000-07:00

I was riding on the bus the other day, and noticed a girl with a Lululemon tote bag. The bag had all sorts of affirmative statements written all over it, and while I would normally abhor such a silly over-self-actualized accessory, one of these statements caught my eye and wouldn't let go.

"Do one thing every day that SCARES you."

While I'd really like to say I have no idea why that grabbed me, I unfortunately know full well why it did. I'm a comfort hound. Always have been. I like to play it safe, stay behind, wait it out, watch and see, calculate, recalculate, plan, re plan, evaluate, and ultimately procrastinate. And I used to feel very guilty for my procrastination because the public education system labeled that as 'lazy'. Older and wiser, I now know that this is not a quality of laziness, but one of fear.

Fear of failure, in my particular case. If I never follow through, I'll never fail! I'm not sure what traumatic incident occurred in my childhood to make me so afraid of making mistakes, but it's something I've been working through ever since. And though I've managed to conquer most things on the fear front, I still have yet to really steamroll ahead and do the non-written things related to my writing career. Contact, network, present, pitch, ask questions, research, be bold, believe. Believe in my work.

So, Lululemon, I accept your silly marketing challenge. Every day, I will do something that scares me regarding my impending writing career - specifically relating to networking, connecting, and selling myself as a writer. And I will not fear rejection, and I will not fear failure. Because the only failure is to sit here in my chair, keep writing my scripts, and never share them with the people who could bring them to life.

One day down, one person contacted.

Shimmy Cards

2008-10-29T10:54:00.000-07:00

While I was at RA, I worked with a lot of really talented, accomplished artists. One fellow who has worked for a lot of big clients, including Disney, drew a little dancer for me to use on my business cards and website. What a great guy!

Here's the one side of the card - the flip side will be a new photograph from my session next Monday. Phone number masked for interweb privacy, of course - and the email address is not up and running yet, but will be soon.

Food. Glorious Food.

2008-10-28T10:30:00.000-07:00

I have a method when approaching most cooking. It works about 75% of the time, and it's reflective of my rebellious nature; my need to ignore the rules, toss out the instruction manual, and do it MY WAY. Because I am all knowing. Well, not really - I just got lucky and had a Mum who cooked like Martha, and paid close attention to her, and managed to extract just enough information about the basics that I can pretty confidently toss almost anything together without so much as a glance at a recipe.

So after a quick glance at the interwebs to see "What's in a falafel?" yesterday, I marched to the grocery store to pick up some ingredients and then proceeded to eyeball and estimate and approximate my way through making my first batch of these delicious middle eastern treats. A few handfuls of parsley, some tahini, shallots, white onion, GAAAARLICCC (I still taste it in my mouth, even now, even after brushing my teeth twice), and of course - chickpeas. Into the food processor with you! Added some cumin, salt and pepper, and they were ready to form. I browned them a bit on both sides in a pan, and then put them in the oven for about 25 minutes or so. And my god were they good! The rest won't last long. Falafel is something I frequently crave, yet never thought to make, and spent way too much money on at various takeout places along Davie and Denman. Aha! No more! Homemade falafel for all!

Yum.

Poker Face

2008-10-24T19:31:00.001-07:00

I really hate not being able to talk about my writing here.

Actually, there's nothing stopping me - nothing physically, no website filters. But I have an intellectual properties setting in my noggin that keeps me from divulging, in detail, anything I'm working on. I learned the hard way, a long time ago, that the interwebs is a place filled with pirates and vigilanties. So I try to keep my cards close to my chest.

That said, I'm really coming along with a few projects. My current feature is shaping up nicely, and I've finally started writing the script I'll be submitting to the Crazy8s filmmaking competition next year.

I was really lucky to meet an agent through teaching bellydance last spring. She's a wonderful, kind, bright person, who doesn't normally represent writers - at the time, I didn't have the courage to ask her if she'd consider helping/representing me. Somehow, this morning, I suddenly found that courage and wrote her a heartfelt email. Here's hoping she'll write back, and something will forge from it.

There's my Friday Go Me. Oh, and huge Friday Go You to Philsy, who starts school on Monday. I'm quite proud at him.

Stitchy McCostumerson: Bra Basics

2008-10-22T14:07:00.000-07:00

Last year, I bought a bunch of freshwater pearls off Ebay with the intention of making a necklace (FYI: beads/gemstones are very, very inexpensive on Ebay). The necklace never got made, though the pearls inspired me to make a new dance costume. And though I'm not always quick enough to remember my camera, I thought I'd try and document it's construction here.

My inspiration was also derived from the mermaid style skirt - fitted at the top, flared from knee to ankle. I previously made a costume in this style, which I'm now in the process of deconstructing and reconstructing the bra for (always, always use a push-up bra for bellydance costuming - unless you've been gifted with a D+ - otherwise it can look a bit lacklustre). The upside to this sort of costume is that it fits nicely into a bag for travelling, and goes on easily without a lot of pinning and securing to ensure that your audience doesn't get a "very different kind of show".

Pearls... mermaid skirt... I'm sure you see where this is headed.

Step #1: Covering the Bra

Attaching the fabric to your bra should be done by hand. Remove the straps and band from the bra, so you're left with just the cups. Stitch the cups closer together in the middle if you want more cleave. Cut a large rectangle of the fabric you'll be covering it with (stretchy fabric is much easier to work with). Stretch, fold, and form the fabric around the cups of the bra. Rather than basting, I find it's more effective to use knobby head pins like pushpins to hold your fabric in place. Once you're satisfied with the way it looks, start sewing! And expect to get poked by the pins - it's just a cost of doing business. I try to place my fingers between them to keep from being pricked.

New Costumers: please do not use the bra as is - always, ALWAYS cover the bra with fabric. Even if you slack off and cover the existing straps and band with fabric instead of building new ones (as I have done before when rushing to finish an immediately needed costume piece), cover it all. There's nothing tackier than a dancer with an underwear bra and a few beads or coins sewn on. If you can't be bothered, then get someone else to do it for you.

Step #2: Creating the Band and Straps

Using a heavy duty interfacing (thickest you can find - I believe this was a few mm thick - oh, and don't let the cat sleep on it like I did), cut two bands using the previous bra bands as a reference for size and shape (don't forget to add an extra inch on either end for seam allowance!). Keep in mind, that your new bands won't have any stretch, so be sure to measure your ribcage and adjust the size of the new bands accordingly. Then from the same fabric you covered the bra with, cut another large rectangle and cover one side of the new bands - do the same on the inside of the bands with some jacket liner. Stitch by machine. You can cover the inside with anything you like, but I like the professional look of the jacket liner. It feels nice on the skin, too - though it can get stained over time. Some dancers will create felt pieces that clip or Velcro on to the inside of their costumes, that can be removed and washed, or replaced.

I neglected to photograph the construction of the straps, but it's the same as the bands, really. I like my straps to be one centimetre wide. Again, use the previous straps as a reference, but keep in mind that the new straps will have no stretch and need to be longer - you may want to have a friend help measure how long your new straps should be. Again, add an extra inch on each end, so that you can secure the straps to the bra without losing length.

Step #3: Attaching the Band, Straps, and some Embellishment

Attach the band and straps by pinning in place, and stitching with a heavy duty upholstery thread. The upholstery thread is key in ensuring you don't have a wardrobe malfunction. As with all costumes, this needs to be examined periodically, and reinforced when/if you feel necessary.

Now, before I could attach my band and straps, I wanted to overlay some fish netting on parts of the bra. I attached this using a simple basting stitch by hand, with the intention of reinforcing it later while I bead the bra.

When you have your band attached, fit the band around your ribcage and determine where your clasp will go (I like hooks and bars, personally). Fit and stitch the clasp, make sure it's comfortable, and then with the help of a friend determine where the straps should attach to the band. Once you have that figured out, carefully use a seam ripper to pull the stitches out of your lining, and create a pocket to slip the strap into. Reinforce using a machine, and stitch closed.

Step #4: Lining the Cups

Cut a square of liner fabric - again, fit it in place and pin. Hand stitch the fabric to the bra.

So that's the basics of constructing the dance bra. When it's lined, it's ready to be beaded - I recommend beading with upholstery thread, because this handles the weight of heavier glass beads better than regular thread. Use an embroidery, or big eye needle like the one below - it's impossible to thread a beading needle with upholstery thread, and it's impossible to get most seed beads to load onto a regular needle.

That's it for today - more to come later.

Thanks!

2008-10-13T17:32:00.000-07:00

I am thankful for:

• My health - although not perfect - I'm lucky to have two legs to walk with, two eyes to see with, two ears to hear with, and two hands to write with.

• My family - I'm glad to have my Mum and Dad, and my big little brother. Since her stroke in July, I'm more grateful for my Mum than ever before.

• My friends - I'm lucky to have a supportive network of people who love and believe in me. I love and believe in all of them, too.

Mostly, I'm thankful for the sudden surge of confidence that's helping propel me towards my dreams. I no longer feel embarrassed about my writing, and I don't feel as though I should hold back anymore. I'm thankful to have had a great job this year that helped set me up for this new found revelation about my creative self.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

Note to Self:

2008-10-10T16:16:00.001-07:00

Do not clean out the fridge, and the litter box, at the same time.

It's just. Too. Much.

Keep It Down.

2008-10-10T08:45:00.000-07:00

The number of women I have met over the past few years who have fondly recounted episodes of eating disorders in their youth, is starting to alarm me.

Many of them speak of their experiences with binging or purging as though it was equivalent to having been a member of the Girl Guides, or instead just a natural phase of childhood development. This leaves me confused, and baffled. Did I miss the memo? Was this something that all young women were to partake in as some sort of dysfunctional rite of passage into young womanhood?

While I'll admit that I randomly scrutinize parts of my physique probably as much as the next guy, if someone were to come right out and asked me if I am happy with my body, I would probably say yes without much thought. I feel I'm lucky to be the size and shape I am - I'm happy with my curves, I like my face. I wish I was in better shape so that I could sustain exercise longer without breaking a sweat or having to rest, but that's not so much vain as it is healthy and practical. Overall, there's not much I'd consider changing about my body. I don't see myself as perfect, or better looking than anyone else - there are many women out there who are far more attractive than I am. I'm not conceited in the least. I am, however, realistic.

Also - I LOVE FOOD. I love food. Love it. I was raised in a home where we had 3 square meals, and they were WONDERFUL meals prepared with love and caring, flavor and variety. Dinnertime was something I looked forward to most days - I can't imagine following that up with a trip to the washroom to relive the experience, just to keep an inch off my thighs.

I could take this further and delve into deep discussion over the evils of media, diet trends, body image (both perceived and real), but it's nothing anyone hasn't discussed, thought about, or written about before. I guess it's just such a shock to me that eating disorders were so trendy when I was young - and probably still are.

Think I'll stick to my BBQ, stir-fry, casseroles, stews, pasta, roast beef, potatoes, various veggies - and yes, even fast food (a sometimes food!).

For Cheeseblog, With Love.

2008-10-09T12:07:00.000-07:00

I can't believe I didn't post this sooner. Cheesefairy, this one's for you.

Ever Do Something SO Crazy...

2008-10-09T11:04:00.000-07:00

People might just think "She's Crazy!"

Yeah, well that's me. All the time. Twenty-eight hours a day, Seventeen days a week. Crazy!

The sun is shining, despite the incredibly chilly October that took over the city. It's not just Autumn cold - it's 'chilled to the bones' cold. I suspect that whomever the guy is in charge of weather got it backwards this year, because Ontario is apparently experiencing a pretty balmy season so far. How ridiculously unfair.

My carpal tunnel is giving me monstrous grief, and my fingers are suffering to keep up the with the creative pace of my brain. I've debated on dabbling with the voice recognition function of Final Draft, but I have little faith in such futuristic program features. Besides, there's something delightfully masochistic about suffering for your art.

I think I've settled on participating in NaNoWriMo, provided I finish a complete first draft of Project OIC that I can feel satisfied with. This has been a totally NOT by the book writing experience - Syd Field would beat me over my noggin if he saw how I put this thing together. But it works, and it's funny, and it has a ways to go but I can see how it'll get there. NaNo will be a treat, because I haven't written anything in novel format for so long.

Woo to the yay.

Dear Ms. Palin

2008-10-02T18:48:00.000-07:00

Ahem.

It's pronounced NEW-CLEAR!

...

Friday (Monday?) "Go Me!"

2008-09-29T15:57:00.000-07:00

Er... ahem...

*sneaks this one in, a wee bit late*

• Last week, I started my new job. Well, not exactly new, but rather a renewed commitment to my writing. I subscribed to my friend Don's method, and hit a cafe every day, and wrote. Drank too much coffee. And discovered a startling correlation between Tylenol-3 and creative output. Zoinks! Rest assured, I am not a prescription druggie in the making - just enjoying what little temporary benefit comes from the constant discomfort in my upper right abdomen.

Is it okay to bullet one point? Because I have no other points to reference from last week. That really was the big accomplishment, and I feel great about it. Aside from baking a birthday cake for Dad from scratch (the first cake I've made from scratch in a very long time, I might add).

Woo.

Belly News, And Belated Friday "Go Me!"

2008-09-23T13:48:00.000-07:00

In the midst of a busy week, I forgot about my Go Me. So here we be:

• In the never ending quest for the functional domicile, I polished off our place so that it is a functional, mostly clutter-free environment for creating, retreating and living. There's still a few boxes to go through, and more things to go to the wildlife store, but all in all it's shaping up to be not such a bad little apartment. All it needed was a little love.

• I got out of the house! Several nights, in fact, and hit the comedy festival. Good stuff.

• I started cooking and baking again, something I love doing but haven't had the chance to do much of due to work and lack of tidy space.

***

I met my surgeon today. He seemed very nice, and friendly, and understanding, and compassionate. All the things I was scared he might not be.

We discussed my situation, and he was concerned that I hadn't opted for surgery sooner, given the amount of pain and discomfort I've been experiencing over the past four years. I guess I have a high tolerance for discomfort? Or perhaps I'm just a masochist, I'm not sure. At any rate, it sounds like it should be fairly straightforward, as long as my gall bladder maintains it's current state and doesn't get much worse.

I told him I'm a bellydancer, and it's bad for business to have great big scars across my stomach. He laughed, and assured me that unless there are complications, that it can all be done via lapriscopy, and will only result in four small incisions.

I'm waiting on a final date, but the surgery will take place sometime in the first two weeks of January, unless I have another major attack between now and then.

Whew.

I Has A Floor. A Floor! I Has One.

2008-09-17T16:36:00.000-07:00

When we returned from vacation, I was confused. Had we gone away to visit family and have a restful, relaxing vacation? Or were we hurricane refugees. Because let me tell you: our apartment was definitely hit by some violent force of nature.

Problem is, the violent force of nature was US.

At some point last Spring, when I was working monstrous amounts of overtime, I gave up. I stopped cleaning - laundry day became random, dishes and used appliances piled up, and clutter and mess took over the living room, leaving it totally unlivable. Which was really depressing and frustrating, because deep down I am a clean and tidy type of person. I don't like mess, I don't like chaos. My Mum kept a very clean home, and had a very specific sort of cleaning schedule, and granted she was a full-time homemaker so she had the time to make things 'just so', but I still feel compelled to maintain at least a degree of order in my home.

So when I lost my job, one of the first things I decided to do was tackle the mess monster. And as of around 11am this morning, I was finally victorious - five full bags of trash, four full bags of donations to the Wildlife Thrift store, several litres of Windex, many dust rags, and some paper towels later our home has returned to some sense of order. There's still boxes and bags of items that need to be sorted through and either chucked out, or donated, but it's a whale of an improvement over where it was two weeks ago.

Phil was a big help too, despite that fact that he's working lots of overtime right now. I think he's starting to see what a difference a clean and clutter free home can make.

Whew.