I have been shamed into posting.
It has been pointed out to me, um, by several people, that I have not blogged in a month. And as for the person who posted “Robin Zander from Cheap Trick told me he wants you to give us a new post,” thank you. I have not laughed that hard since the last time Paris Hilton opened her mouth.
I’m reading through my rambling, incoherent novel at this point and noting that there are lots of cheesy chills and sappy exchanges that make me fear I am writing the Victorian “O.C.” Lots of “not the curse!” “Yes, the curse!” “You don’t mean…?” “Indeed.” Dun-dun-DUNNN!!!!
Okay, so not quite that cheesy, but let’s just say I’ve got my work cut out for me. Every writer has a process, and here’s what I find both fun and challenging about mine. The fun part is that, since I don’t plan anything, I get to discover so much along the way–about my characters, the plot, life, human nature, and myself. When it works, baby, it’s an E ticket ride. However…a bit of planning can be helpful when you’re, oh, I don’t know, writing, say, a FREAKING TRILOGY with mulitple story lines and an arc that snakes through all of it. It’s kind of like building a house, picking out all the paint colors and tile, and then at some point realizing you have no contractor or blueprint. I need a Magic Systems R Us store. Oh wait, I think that’s Holly’s house.
There’s so much I’d like to say/do in book #3. I think I have about four books in one. But I have to make choices. Things have to hit the cutting room floor. I keep a file open while I write called Orphans. Things I cut but might go back to end up in that file. Currently, Orphans is about 82 pages long. Single-spaced. 12-point. Yikes. It’s like the writing equivalent of The Island of Misfit Toys. I really hope I don’t have to dump my demonic mummers though. They are such fun. Really wanting to spend time with my demonic mummers.
We are still stuck in moving hell limbo. No closing date yet. Two months of waiting. So to take our minds off of it, Barry and I rented “Crash” the other night. I had wanted to see it since it won the Oscar for Best Pic. Man, was I disappointed. Actually, I felt really pissed off watching it. I was thrilled that a picture was finally going to address racism. But I felt like they didn’t miss a single trite scenario. And in the end, I felt like they tied it up with a nice bow to make people feel okay about their racism. The “you know, deep down, we’re just one big family and we all need each other” BandAid so that people could walk out without really being forced to face their own prejudices. Listen, I know people who loved this movie, so maybe it’s just me, but I really feel like this picture missed the opportunity to go to some really, really uncomfortable places and leave people there and not wash it all away. I wanted a Brechtian moment, I guess.
For my money, the film that did that was Spike Lee’s “Do the Right Thing.” That was a movie that got under my skin. That changed me. It made me see things differently. It made me think. Spike Lee doesn’t let anybody off the hook. It’s a great film, and if you haven’t ever seen it, take a look.
Meanwhile, I promised I’d post my iPod list for The Book with No Name. So here it is:
In Dulce Decorum/The Damned
Anywhere on This Road/Lhasa de Sela
White Rabbit/Jefferson Airplane
Zoo York/Paul Oakenfold
Good Morning Beautiful/The The
Possum Kingdom/The Toadies
Birth/The Faint
No Surprises/Radiohead
Approach-Dream/Hilmar Orn Hilmarsson & Sigur Ros
Dogun/Sigur Ros
Sigur Ros/Sigur Ros
Track 4/Sigur Ros
Ba Ba/Sigur Ros
Subterranean Homesick Alien/Radiohead
Fade Into You/Mazzy Star
Walk Through the Fire/Buffy the Vampire Slayer, the Musical
Something to Sing About/Buffy the Vampire Slayer, the Musical
Silly Boy Blue/David Bowie
I’ve Seen All Good People/Yes
Rhiannon/Fleetwood Mac
2HB/Venus in Furs
Beauty Queen/Roxy Music
God/Tori Amos
The Killing Moon/Echo and the Bunnymen
A Change Is Gonna Come/Sam Cooke
Beautiful Day/U2
And now, Robin Zander said he wants me to get back to writing my book. Or else he won’t wear the white suit and sing “Voices” to me on a rooftop while I’m wearing something out of Debbie Harry’s closet circa 1979.
Wow. I just said that out loud, didn’t I?