So, WordPress just congratulated me on the number of “Likes” I have received so far on the blog.
First, let me say thanks to all of you who hit the appropriate button.
But 1337? Am I missing some numerological significance to this number?
Two seconds on Google and I learn that I may have fallen into the ASCII rabbit hole, having entered an elite or “leet” status.
Alternatively, my blogs are being blamed for initiating the 100 Years’ War.
Regardless, I repeat my thanks to the many visitors.
The last week of June each year, the City of Toronto explodes with colour and excitement as the fever of inclusion takes over the city. It’s another Pride Week.
Gay, straight, budgie…whatever you consider yourself, if you haven’t experienced the pageantry of Toronto Pride Week, you should consider your life cheapened. You should then get your butt to Toronto and party.
Following on the success of Pride Week, however, the other Deadly Sins have petitioned for their own festivals.
Greed Week is slated to run over two weeks and its organizers are actively petitioning for a third.
Wrath Week got pissed at everyone and so plans to do its own thing.
Planning for Envy Week has been difficult as organizers keep asking for the date to be moved because they feel the other Sins got better dates.
Lust Week started slow and gentle but really built up a head of steam before petering out.
Avarice Week demanded the largest budget and still refused to control its expenses.
Sadly, Sloth Week just never really took off.
(Note: Photo is property of Pride Toronto and is used without permission.)
Three days. I have three days to come up with another 10 pages from my latest screenplay for a reading and critique in my screenwriting class. And I have nothing.
Well, that’s not technically true. I have something. I have the architecture of my screenplay written out…I know where I want to go and what steps I need to take, broadly speaking, to get there.
But those are just a series of incomplete sentences that barely fill a page. I need 10 pages of a screenplay. I need narrative (not too much, as is my wont) and dialogue, and yet everything I write right now reads like crap. Absolute, utter drivel.
Welcome to the first draft.
I love to brainstorm and come up with new ideas. Ideas for new screenplays. Ideas for scenes within those screenplays.
Brainstorming is exciting. Everything is possible, so I am at my most creative. Nothing comes off the table, and every idea leads to several others.
I love to plan. I like to arrange those ideas into a semblance of order…it is quite literally the assembly of a puzzle. What if I moved this scene from the first part of Act II to just before the climax? How does that change the story?
But at some point, I have to stop brainstorming and planning. I have to start writing. I have to take those incomplete sentences and turn them into coherent scenes of people interacting with people—directly and indirectly—to accomplish goals and thwart those of others.
And even that description of the process sounds interesting. But then I begin typing and my words take on the feel and smell of two-week old cod.
If the mom character was any stiffer, you could iron shirts on her. Why not just have the son respond “Oh yeah!” and euthanize all of your creative ambitions?
You want the boat captain to do what? Even the most psychotic of fishermen wouldn’t contemplate that idiotic move! What was your research: old Popeye cartoons?
You suck! You suck! You suck!
Okay. Feel better now? Had your little tantrum. Your little pity party. Ready to move forward? Take a deep breath.
This is your first draft, and it’s gonna suck. That’s what first drafts do. But it’s the first draft that sucks, not you.
The idea is still sound. Story improvements you can’t see right now will arise in the workshopping process. The dialogue can be massaged and the narrative edited…in your second draft. You can move some of the scenes around to enhance the conflict…in your third draft.
The only thing about what you are doing today that is anywhere near a final draft is the name of the screenwriting software. [NOTE TO FINAL DRAFT: Give some thought to changing the name of your software. Too much pressure for some of us to handle.]
You’ll be fine. Your story will be fine.
Just start typing…
It’s a long weekend, this weekend in Canada. We’re celebrating Victoria Day, which is a celebration of either the capital of British Columbia, a previous Queen of half the planet, or a friend of mine who blogs Victoriously.
Regardless of what we call it, however, it is a celebration of Spring (welcome to Canada) and of drinking beer on patios and at cottages—the May Two-Four weekend, as some of us older folks recall it (commemorating the Canadian single-serving case of 24 bottles).
What makes this year’s version a little odd for me is that for the last year or so, every weekend has been a long weekend, for I am a freelance writer. On any given Monday or Friday, I can choose not to work. Likewise, on any given Saturday or Sunday, you are likely to find me working. Day nomenclature has ceased to hold meaning for me.
For all intents and purposes—and I have plenty of both—the only real difference between a Wednesday and a Saturday is how many of my friends can come out to play at 2 o’clock in the afternoon. And most of my friends are in entertainment, journalism or science, so even that constriction isn’t very strict.
Admittedly, I am less likely to hold an interview for an article assignment on the weekend, but those are few and far between.
Now, my freedom comes at a price…or lack of a price, as the case may be. My pay packet is smaller than it once was. I have no health benefits but what the government gives me (welcome to Canada!). I often have to make myself go for a walk to ensure I get some exercise.
However…I don’t attend meetings. If my boss is an ass, I’m probably looking in the mirror. My commute is maybe two metres. And my drinking problem doesn’t seem to be suffering (phew!).
This morning, I seriously argued with myself as to whether I was going to work on a feature due next week or take my camera out for a walk…and it could have gone either way (I strangely decided to work on my feature).
I have no family about whom to worry or of whom I need to take care, so I understand I have a luxury of options that many feel they cannot afford.
At the same time, I watch many of my responsible friends—typically the ones who can’t come out to play at either 2 o’clock—and see them dig themselves an early grave, fighting to give their families everything except the one thing their families probably want most of all: themselves.
I may die tonight—exercising that drinking problem—or I may live for another hundred years. I don’t know. But either way, I’m not worried about it. I don’t have a timer on things to accomplish.
That’s a nice feeling.
All y’all have a great series of days that may be a weekend!
You seek, you tap, you listen,
Bobbing left and right.
Grasping a toehold,
Grasping at hope.
Brute force, divine strategy
Mingle into a dance
Both aerial and arborial.
Unceasing, unerring, uncaring
Of the lives you disrupt;
Your murderous needs
Foremost in your mind.
Survival of the fittest
In a war of millimetres.
Anger? Frustration? Agony?
Only ceaseless desire
For what you have not yet.
One thing I love about signs is they can say so much more than the words written on them. Whether there is a subtext within the words or it is simply a matter of context, each sign tells a story that you might not see at first glance.
PS I just realized that a lie (li) takes you from “obvious” to “oblivious”…lovin’ me some words today.
The announcement earlier today about Angelina Jolie’s pre-emptive double mastectomy for fear of future breast cancer made me pause for a moment to consider what makes a woman sexy to me. What follows is purely subjective and I hope it is taken in the spirit in which it is meant.
What makes a woman sexy?
Is it her amazing boobs? (Angelina Jolie)
Is it her sinewy legs? (Amy Purdy, activist and meningitis sufferer)
Her flowing hair? (Persis Khambatta from Star Trek: The Motion Picture)
Her fashion runway looks? (Emma Thompson)
Her youth? (Dame Helen Mirren)
Her demur nature and delicacy? (Team Canada’s Cassie Campbell)
Her fame? (Leela with my grandmother)
No, what makes a woman sexy is who that woman is, not what she is or how she looks. It is what comes from within when you take a moment to get to know her.
That is the sexy that stands the test of time. That is the sexy that makes me want to be in her presence.
(All photos used without permission, except the last one. Copyrights belong to owners.)
Virginal tableau of ice and snow,
Cloudless sky of photonic bliss,
Serenity whispers in my ear
And the universe rests.
A thunderous snap
Violently tears the silence
Only to be swallowed
By the gentle murmur
Of a newborn breeze.
Almost imperceptibly,
The tableau is broken;
Minor movements barely felt,
Tinny cracks inaudibly sensed.
Newly formed leaves turn to watch
The millimeter march of white
As snow and ice shift to shore.
Pushing, crawling, clawing,
An unrelenting progress
Of unimaginable ruin.
Unslaked with its beachhead,
It forces onward and inland,
Carving glacial paths toward homes.
Bending trees, crushing fences,
Invading homes, uprooting lives,
Until the breeze subsides
And serenity returns to the lake
To contrast broken lives.
(Images used without permission; copyright ctvnews.ca)
Learn more about the destruction at Dauphin Lake and our ongoing under-appreciation of Nature’s ability to take back what is hers.
And then there are those photos that just refuse to be categorized in any way.
Enjoy.
Aside from my wife and my mother, the most important woman in my life was my grandmother Dorothy, who encouraged and advised me at every turn in my life. I stayed with my grandparents while I attended college and my first apartment was literally two doors down the same apartment hallway. She has always been my friend.
Dorothy passed away last year. When she did, I was given an old family photo album and as I have this nice little scanner, I thought hmmmm.
In honour of Mother’s Day and because my grandmother’s birthday was May 15th, I offer the following retrospective album of Gram as I have known her and as I wish you all could have.
If she were still alive, I am confident she would be worried all to hell about my current artistic adventures and spirit journey, but I also know she would give me all her love and support…and maybe a few hands of cribbage to keep me honest.
I miss you, Gram.
PIECES OF ME...
Mother, Nehiyaw, Metis, & Itisahwâkan - career communicator. This is my collection of opinions, stories, and the occasional rise to, or fall from, challenge. In other words, it's my party, I can fun if I want to. Artwork by aaronpaquette.net
Life at any age can be amazing! We only need to grab hold & experience it!
The internet web log of Michael Cedarwood. I used to be a stripper. Now I'm a writer.
Thoughts on creativity, Pharma and whatnot
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Living for Happiness
A perspective from the other side of the hockey ocean
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Author of Kritsotopoula, Girl of Kritsa and Rodanthe's Gift
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Rantings and Ravings on all things Screenwriting and Movies
My Elicits, an Inception... Learning to Live in Perfection
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