Category: The Writing Life

The Fun Kind of Dread?

A reoccurring patten in my thinking: As I’m embarking on some fun activity that incongruously but predictably evokes feelings of dread, I remember reading (long ago, when I single) about how sometimes women date men they think they are attracted to, when really they are fearful of them, because they misattribute the similar physical symptoms (butterflies in the stomach etc). I just Googled it — it’s probably “misattribution of arousal“.

After I remember that, I wonder, Does it go the other way?

This thought pattern occurs pretty much every time I walk out the door to drive to a pitch meeting or a fancy party with a familiar pressure inside my sternum, like a hand around my heart, squeezing into a fist (I’ve heard this description used for heart attacks, but this doesn’t feel like a heart attack… or does it?) I wonder Am I actually fearful, anxious and dreading, or am I actually excited, but confused because excitement feels a lot like fear and anxiety?

There must be some nuance of feeling that I’m not quite sensing, between the feeling of dread when staring down two gallons of colonoscopy prep, or going to the hospital for something unpleasant and the the feeling that accompanies something I want to do — or at least that I wanted to do at some point in the past when I made the plan. During the thing, I will enjoy parts of it, and after the thing, I will avow that I am glad I did the thing (setting aside the post-event feeling combo of “I had fun” with “afterburn of shame” for another post.)

All this is basically elaborating on the same theme as when I wrote about feeling compelled to do things that terrify me a couple months ago. (No surprise. As I mentioned, it’s a pattern.) Since then, I have moved through the list items I laid out in that post: I shot a short film, started a Substack newsletter, and enrolled in the class about pitching freelance articles to publications. Because I tried to do the class, impossibly, in conjunction with the other two things (plus work and life) today I need to do a lot of catching up. My assignments include writing things and sending actual pitches for articles to actual editors of publications, which, when I planned today, these didn’t seem like a big deal, but now that it is today, I’m having this familiar conversation with myself because I’m feeling those familiar feelings. Dread. Or excitement! One or the other!

Either way, it’s on my calendar, so now I’ve got to do it.

It’s a weird way to go through life though, isn’t it?

(PS: Two things writing this post makes me want to think / write about at a later date: 1) Calendaring Creativity (pros and cons, creativity vs creating. 2) How much I despise the word “excited.” Because the world, or because me? Discuss!)

I’m HAPPY to Direct a Short Film!

About a month ago, I mentioned directing a short film. Sometimes plans, as they roll downhill, unravel or disintegrate. Other times they pick up speed and size until you’re running to stay ahead of them and not get flattened.

In this case, I’m happy to report it’s the latter. Happy, of course, being one of medley of emotions that also includes recurrent heart-racing panic and existential dread. For those of us with a certain temperament, this is the price for getting things that we want. As the snowball of happening—and its accompanying panic—gets bigger and bigger, it helps to keep reminding myself “This is something I want.” And it is. For years, I’ve said I’m going to direct something.

Here’s a little background and an up-to-the-moment update on how it’s going.

ORIGIN STORY:
Back in 2020, Paul and I sent three pitches for a TV show called Creepshow, an anthology series with short episodes that are like Twilight Zone with a horror bent. One was chosen, leaving us with two fairly well outlined ideas. I decided to write out one of these and it became THREE DAYS. I was hoping to use it as a second sample for more opportunities in the horror anthology space — but when those opportunities never manifested and Paul didn’t seem interested in directing it, I started thinking more seriously about taking the plunge I’ve been talking about for so long.

I began to visualize the film taking place in a mostly furnished apartment I have access to. As the industry strikes crept into autumn, a friend with a small film equipment rental mentioned that she would donate equipment. And then in September, an out-of-town friend crashing at our place mentioned coming to LA at the end of October to produce a friend’s music video. Half-joking, I said, “want to produce my short film while you’re at it?” She said, “Sure, I’ll do it.” Her trip in LA became our de-facto shoot dates.

WHERE WE ARE NOW:
For almost any event, once you have dates and a location, it’s “just” a matter of filling in everything else… In five weeks, I’ve gotten more “Sure, I’ll do its” that I could have imagined… from cast members and also a DP we met at a film festival (who insisted on providing an even nicer camera and lighting package than I’d been going to get from my friend). It’s been amazing.

But as we gather more people, I feel more obligated to make my no-frills, “hey, kids, let’s put on a show!” learning experience into a good product for all the people who are being so generous. I want to ensure we make something they can be proud of, put on their sample reels and use to get other work. And I want make it a good experience… I’m terrified of being that friend who you agree to help move, only to show up and realize they aren’t done packing, there’s not enough people to share the work, and not enough boxes! I really want to have my boxes packed and in order.

We shoot in six days. As we get closer, every potential hole looks bigger. The actors are wearing their own clothes and makeup — should I have looked harder for professionals? I’m ordering bedspreads late at night like an addicted home-shopper, and each one that arrives is not quite right. Should I have sprung for a production designer? Production design is production value — what if our minimally furnished location looks shoddy? Our producer knows sound and will set the levels, but she won’t be dedicated to sound. Sound issues are the worst! There’s no assistant director, no script supervisor, no one is dedicated to continuity… am I courting disaster? Have I left myself so many producing worries that I don’t have time to cram all the “directing” prep and learning into my brain? What have I been doing for the last decade? Why have I not spent them watching videos about camera blocking and lenses and taking acting classes? Is this all a big, terrible, expensive mistake????

In my heart, however, I believe it is not. I remind myself that I have so many talented people on board helping me, and so many things that have fallen into place Catastrophizing is a waste of one’s imagination.

This is something I’m happy about. I am grateful. It’s going to be fine…

Here are some images from my amazing volunteer stand-ins who patiently let me work through my storyboards yesterday!

Why Do I Keep Doing Things That Terrify Me?

I’m directing a short film.
I’m starting a weekly Substack newsletter.
There’s a 90% chance that by the end of the day I will sign up for a class that will force me to pitch paid publications.

All of these things have been on my to-do list for awhile, but I have not done them.
But right now I’m feeling a desire to pull the trigger on these things. This desire has unknown origins, but it is not unfamiliar. It is a desire that pokes its head up very intermittently and causes present-me to set events and projects in motion that future-me will then have to navigate and carry out long after the desire to do so has beyond diminished and she is reduced to a frenzied ball of “Oh-God-just-let-me-get-through-this-and-I-will-never-put-us-in-this-position again.”

During the pandemic I wrote an article for Emry’s Journal that described this process in some detail. It all holds true.

More on this topic in coming days.

5 a.m. Check In

Just got back from dropping Paul off at the airport. Driving home in the still-excellent traffic, I felt pretty chipper and considered starting my day early. But by the time I got home, the wisdom of getting back in my pajamas had asserted itself, and I have a feeling that by the end of this post I’ll be ready to go back to sleep.

We’re getting older. That’s the headline news, the reality that overshadows and colors other life events. Paul has, this year, added a number of white hairs to his curly mop. I’m stiff and sore in places that I never considered could be the source of pain. I make involuntary noises when I change positions sometimes, and he falls asleep watching TV.

Remember that first year or so after a certain person was elected, you’d wake up in the morning and it would hit you, oh fuck, that guy’s president, and there was nothing you could really do about it, so you’d just go about your day, doing all the things you do, but with this added awareness that would sometimes fade into the background and sometimes not? The knowledge of getting old bears some similarities.

I had a writing teacher who would talk about the acute thread of the narrative—like the two friends going on a road trip, and then the chronic part of the narrative, which is that element from the past that exerts pressure on the proceedings. Like you realize the road trip is a final hurrah before one friend ships off to war and the other friend is secretly in love but has never confessed it. I think in film school we would have called the chronic element backstory that added emotional stakes.

Backstory can be revealed in various ways—the more sophisticated way is series of small revelations deployed throughout a story, like Tar. The more efficient but heavy-handed way is thrown on the plate right at the top, like Star Wars, or more recently, Renfield.

The “has gotten old” story element can have an elegant, gradual reveal to the extent that one can hide it at the beginning — from others or oneself — so it can emerge organically alongside the acute plot points, like a character starting a new job, going on a date, or waking up in the wee hours to take a spouse to the airport and then choosing whether to chase one’s youthful ambitions or go back to sleep.

At a certain age, being old becomes not-at-all hide-able and can only work as a top-of-show element – something the audience knows about the character before learning anything else.

Anywhooo — when I wake up in the wee hours these days, this is apparently what I think about. Mortality.

When I wake up after the sun, I am less philosophical and instead think about all my little obligations and goals and how best to prioritize and juggle them.

My 3-month-long production gig ended this past week, so I’ve been reaching out to friends, adding back in some workout routines, and trying to transition my brain into writer-mode instead of producer-mode. I can feel it happening, which is a relief, but, sadly, my time away from the pen hasn’t miraculously turned me into a speed writer.

I have several writing projects on the pile and am feeling the shortness of time — not just due mortality — ha ha— but because this same job is slated to start back up the last week of June. I’m very glad to be booked ahead as it removes some uncertainty, but it also creates a ticking clock. Two months seems like a lot of time until I see how the days between now and then fill up with non-writing things:

I have another short production job next weekend / week, after which an ex-employer has asked if I can to come back to support them during the first couple weeks of May prior to a large event.
In mid-May, I’m on the wait list for a 10-day Vipassana silent retreat, so it might or might not happen.
In May or June a trip to Texas might be needed to help with some family stuff.
Add in high school graduations, birthdays, dinners, doctors’ appointments…

And then it will be the last week of June.
Two months as a fractal of life – flying by.

The sun is up and it’s not 5 a.m. anymore.

Crickets – Not in Times Square

Writing update: Between my producing job at Mattel and my “300 Days of Content” project, writing has come to a screeching halt. My brain is using a completely different set of muscles, which, I guess, is good for the working muscles, but not great for the ones that aren’t being used. I can literally feel my facility with words, and my feeling for language, lessening. I’m hoping this is temporary, and that maybe as these new muscles become more toned and efficient, they can take less effort, and I can achieve more balance.

Life Update: Last night I went to hang out with my brother and sister at my sister’s family’s apartment. They’ve been having issues with fruit flies, which of course is annoying to her. This prompted my brother to say that his apartment gets large waterbugs, which he really hates. They have no problem wishing death unto either of these species of insect.

I contributed that our apartment has crickets. One can hear them chirping in the eaves. Sometime I’ll see a blurry-something skitter across the floor and at first I’m alarmed, thinking it’s a spider, but then I put on my glasses and realize, it’s just a cricket. In which case I ignore it and let it go on its way.

“Obviously, I can’t kill a cricket,” I said.

“Why not?” my brother asked.

I thought about it. I’ve never heard of crickets being dirty like flies, and they don’t bite. And there’s the fact that I don’t like to hear things crunch. But none of these are the real underlying reason.

“Because of A Cricket in Times Square.”

They looked at me blankly.

I’ve run into this with younger people, but how can people of my own Gen X era not know A Cricket in Times Square?

“It won a Newbery Award!” I tell them, as if that will clear it all up.

“It was a cricket, and a kid who worked at a newsstand adopted it… and it could sing, or play its wings like a violin or something…”

A glimmer of recognition in my brother’s eyes… “Was it a cartoon?”

“Yes! Not a series, but like a TV special.”

Through the magic of the internet, you can watch it here: (I don’t know why it’s age restricted. I would say it is safe for all ages.)