...A Writer Lurks
I've been working on that story I was writing. No not that one, the other one. No. The other one.
I'm just messing with you. It's the one that was a comic book before I realized that I don't know how to write comic books. Yeah, yeah, maybe if I tried it for longer than a week I would actually LEARN something and it would get easier. The problem with that is that every time I would sit down to write I would find myself completely blocked by the format and unable to get anything out. So I took a breath, and started from scratch, this time writing a novel, the thing I marginally understand how to do better than writing a comic book. (It's not like I'm published or anything, so really, what DO I know about writing a novel?)
Anyway, it's going well. The proof is not in the 4 notebooks filled with notes and scenes, nor in the 12 pieces of scrap paper I have filled with, what is essentially, doodling (except in word form) which is later translated into a coherent narrative. Rather, the proof is in the flesh and blood (or ones and zeroes) six pages that I have typed. Not only that, but reading them over again, I STILL LIKE THEM. They're GOOD* pages. And there is a story there. Actually, there are lots of stories, all clamoring to be told, but once I started writing this first one, the others seemed to calm down and let me get to it. (Occasionally a particularly impatient scene will leap out at me and demand to be put to paper even though I know it won't fit in until after the first book. Well after the first book, sometimes. Which, of course, makes me panic. What do you mean there's a whole series of books? I'M NOT A NOVELIST, YOU HAVE CLEARLY CONFUSED ME WITH A REAL WRITER.
It does feel a bit like the story hit me accidentally while it was winging it's way to a proper published author who would, no doubt, be far more adept at interpreting and channeling it in a timely fashion. At this rate, I'll finish the first book in just under fifty years. Yahoo! Break out the champagne!
OK, back to the title of this nonsense.
There is a character in this novel who I haven't been able to get a handle on. His personality was clear in some ways, and weak in others. A large part of the confusion, I believe, was down to the fact that I couldn't 'hear' his name. It went through several incarnations: Victor Edwards, Victor Jarlath (what was I thinking?), and Victor Julius (clearly I thought 'Victor' was staying). And then, one day a man came into Otto to buy a gift for his wife and as I glanced at the name on his credit card slip it hit me.
Benedict Chant.
Suddenly, I knew exactly who the character was.
"Benedict Chant, my friends call me 'Chance'," he said, striding forward to take Ryland's hand. Ryland had a hard time imagining Benedict having friends, let alone ones that called him 'Chance'. But he also wouldn't have expected the head of Chant Industries to be quite so disarmingly eager-to-please, so what did he know? Benedict "Chance" Chant was pumping his hand with as much enthusiasm as though he were meeting his favorite movie star instead of some nobody Brit who had no business being here in the first place.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Chant," Ryland replied, politely extracting himself from the handshake. He could see the disappointment on Chant's face. Maybe he really doesn't have any friends, but has always desperately wished to be called 'Chance', Ryland thought, in which case, someone ought to tell him you can't give yourself a nickname.
Can you see Benedict Chant? Because I can see him clear as day now. Furthermore, I had no idea he was such a geek before, but now it all makes perfect sense.
As for the real Benedict Chant? He remains blissfully unaware that his name has been swiped for use by a writer. muahahahaha.
Amidst the writing, I work, I sing, I search for an apartment, I watch Mythbusters (which I'm totally obsessed with because it's AWESOME. First of all, Science! Second of all, Explosions! Third of all, Geeks! Put them together and you have an incredibly entertaining show. I was skittish about starting a new obsession after Hotel Babylon broke my heart, but I believe me heart is safe with Mythbusters. Whoops, I turned into a pirate for a moment. By the way, did you know that pirates may not have worn eye-patches because it was a cool fashion statement or because they got their eye gouged out in battle? In fact, many historians believe that pirates wore an eyepatch to keep one eye always ready for night vision in case they had to leave the blinding sun to duck below deck during a battle. They would simply switch the patch over to the other eye and use the dark-accustomed one to see. IT REALLY WORKS! I learned it on the Mythbusters pirate special. Science in action!).
That's all for tonight!
Julia
*Again, see the part where I'M NOT A PUBLISHED AUTHOR so what the hell do I know?
Monday, May 31, 2010
Friday, May 14, 2010
Dude, Where's My British Drama?
GOOD GOD, MAN! WHY MUST THE BRITISH RUIN MY LIFE?!?
Let me explain.
I found this show on Netflix. See, I like to utilize the instant watching feature on Netflix to a rather insane degree, meaning it can take me weeks to watch the actual DVDs I receive from Netflix, because I'm too busy watching the shows and movies which are available on my computer through their website.
Anyway, this particular show has often been recommended to me by whatever strange criteria comprises Netflix's recommendations, and finally, I decided to give it a chance.
It's a BBC show called Hotel Babylon about the staff which runs a five-star hotel in London, as well as the shenanigans that are got up to by the guests who are stinking rich and seem to think that means they can do and have anything they want. And for the most part, they can, with the help of the staff who not only cater to their most perverse whims but also keep their mouths shut about it, so long as you don't piss them off.
The characters are so much fun, and really well written and acted, so you feel for them and love them and want to be their friends (except for that slut Anna, but even she made me tear up a little when we finally got to see behind the facade) and want to see them succeed and not get found out because they did something bad in the past and...
You see where I'm going with this. The first season sucks you into their world and you are only too happy to stay there. So you do. You stick through the whole first season while they find their feet, and though they make a few missteps, all in all, they come out swinging with an excellent show.
Eagerly, you begin season 2. This, too, is very good, despite a few glaring flaws. But you brush them off because the characters are as delightful as ever and it's just so good to see them, and you are simply having too much fun to care.
And then season 3 begins and all hell breaks loose. Main characters suddenly start leaving left and right with no warning. Not that you can blame them since the writing is suddenly laughable. Except you're not laughing. You're crying and tearing your hair out and shouting "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO MY SHOW!" at the screen. Five episodes into the third season and you've finally had enough. You are not watching anymore, and you are desperately trying to erase those five episodes and pretend that you stopped watching when it was still good and the characters were happy and not idiots.
Why? Why would they do that to a perfectly good show? A show that was so good I was starting to wonder why it hadn't been stolen and recycled the way America does with every other good British show. As though Americans were incapable of watching British actors. Seriously, what is up with that? They even speak English, for crying out loud, why do we need to recast? Oops, rant-tangent, they can happen to anyone.
And while we're on the subject, can someone explain to me why British television shows only have 8 episodes per season while American shows have around 22? That's a big difference. I'm just saying.
What was I saying?
Right, you should all watch Hotel Babylon, but do yourselves a favor and pretend it ended after the 2nd season and say, "Oh, man, I wish they hadn't canceled this show after only two seasons, it's so good! Oh well, I'll just make up my own storylines for these endearing characters." Then get on your computer and write some kick-ass fanfiction for me to read.
Well, go on! Do my bidding you little minions! Fly!
Julia
PS-Erm, I'll definitely write a post pertaining to real life soon. I promise. Hey, Wimbledon is coming up, bet there'll be some juicy stories about that, eh, eeehhhh? (Nudge) (Nudge) (Wink) (Wink)
Anyway, I'm off to watch the first episode again and begin the healing process.
Byee!
PPS-Though it pains me, I feel I am obliged to note that Hotel Babylon not only continued with a third season but also limped along through a FOURTH! I can't even imagine how horrible that must be, especially since I read through the episode summaries on IMDB, and it looks so terrible I have had to bleach my brain lest it become infected with those ridiculous plots. Shh, shh, shh, Julia, it's OK, that didn't happen. The second season ended and they all lived happily ever after, never mind what the nasty website said....
Let me explain.
I found this show on Netflix. See, I like to utilize the instant watching feature on Netflix to a rather insane degree, meaning it can take me weeks to watch the actual DVDs I receive from Netflix, because I'm too busy watching the shows and movies which are available on my computer through their website.
Anyway, this particular show has often been recommended to me by whatever strange criteria comprises Netflix's recommendations, and finally, I decided to give it a chance.
It's a BBC show called Hotel Babylon about the staff which runs a five-star hotel in London, as well as the shenanigans that are got up to by the guests who are stinking rich and seem to think that means they can do and have anything they want. And for the most part, they can, with the help of the staff who not only cater to their most perverse whims but also keep their mouths shut about it, so long as you don't piss them off.
The characters are so much fun, and really well written and acted, so you feel for them and love them and want to be their friends (except for that slut Anna, but even she made me tear up a little when we finally got to see behind the facade) and want to see them succeed and not get found out because they did something bad in the past and...
You see where I'm going with this. The first season sucks you into their world and you are only too happy to stay there. So you do. You stick through the whole first season while they find their feet, and though they make a few missteps, all in all, they come out swinging with an excellent show.
Eagerly, you begin season 2. This, too, is very good, despite a few glaring flaws. But you brush them off because the characters are as delightful as ever and it's just so good to see them, and you are simply having too much fun to care.
And then season 3 begins and all hell breaks loose. Main characters suddenly start leaving left and right with no warning. Not that you can blame them since the writing is suddenly laughable. Except you're not laughing. You're crying and tearing your hair out and shouting "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO MY SHOW!" at the screen. Five episodes into the third season and you've finally had enough. You are not watching anymore, and you are desperately trying to erase those five episodes and pretend that you stopped watching when it was still good and the characters were happy and not idiots.
Why? Why would they do that to a perfectly good show? A show that was so good I was starting to wonder why it hadn't been stolen and recycled the way America does with every other good British show. As though Americans were incapable of watching British actors. Seriously, what is up with that? They even speak English, for crying out loud, why do we need to recast? Oops, rant-tangent, they can happen to anyone.
And while we're on the subject, can someone explain to me why British television shows only have 8 episodes per season while American shows have around 22? That's a big difference. I'm just saying.
What was I saying?
Right, you should all watch Hotel Babylon, but do yourselves a favor and pretend it ended after the 2nd season and say, "Oh, man, I wish they hadn't canceled this show after only two seasons, it's so good! Oh well, I'll just make up my own storylines for these endearing characters." Then get on your computer and write some kick-ass fanfiction for me to read.
Well, go on! Do my bidding you little minions! Fly!
Julia
PS-Erm, I'll definitely write a post pertaining to real life soon. I promise. Hey, Wimbledon is coming up, bet there'll be some juicy stories about that, eh, eeehhhh? (Nudge) (Nudge) (Wink) (Wink)
Anyway, I'm off to watch the first episode again and begin the healing process.
Byee!
PPS-Though it pains me, I feel I am obliged to note that Hotel Babylon not only continued with a third season but also limped along through a FOURTH! I can't even imagine how horrible that must be, especially since I read through the episode summaries on IMDB, and it looks so terrible I have had to bleach my brain lest it become infected with those ridiculous plots. Shh, shh, shh, Julia, it's OK, that didn't happen. The second season ended and they all lived happily ever after, never mind what the nasty website said....
Friday, February 19, 2010
Olympic Fever BABY!
I heart the Olympics.
Sports are usually about a bunch of guys scoring points against a bunch of other guys, and it often involves a lot of complicated rules and lots of standing around in between short violent bouts of action.
But the Olympics are about human beings against physics, about finding the limits of your own body and then pushing past those limits. It's not even about the Gold (but, really, it's all about the Gold, right? I mean, Silver, Bronze...who the hell cares?) it's about doing your personal best with the world watching. I love the theatricality of it, the drama of each struggle whether that struggle is with the other competitors, the clock, or your own demons.
I'm typing this while watching the Men's super-G (I don't even know what that means, but it seems to involve guys skiing very fast down a terrifyingly steep mountain). The commentators mentioned that the athletes only got a chance to inspect the course once this morning which means they would need "a good memory and a lot of nerve".
What's not to love about that? "A good memory and a lot of nerve." It's like a proverb about life or something.
Oh goodness, they are going fast.
I have been watching all the coverage since it began, but I actually have probably only SEEN about three quarters of it because a lot of the time I'm watching with my hands over my eyes. Not only am I worried about them falling and hurting themselves, but sometimes I get so wrapped up in who I want to win (cough Evan Lysacek, men's figure skating cough) that I almost can't watch them perform. I basically closed my eyes every time it looked like Evan was going to do a jump because I didn't want to see him fall. Which, as it turns out, I needn't have bothered because he ROCKED IT!
Oh Bode Miller, please don't go so fast, I worry about you. Oh thank goodness, he made it down alive and in FIRST PLACE! Let's see if he can hold onto it...here comes a Canadian OH GOD HE FELL! Oh he's OK. Got right back up. Do you see what these boys do to my heart? Lindsey Vonn was the worst because not only did I really really REALLY want her to win, but I was also afraid that she would hurt herself, knowing that she came into the games ALREADY INJURED. Who does that? Why was she even training in the first place, doesn't she know that's dangerous?
Yeah.
Basically I become everyone's mother.
I really shouldn't shout at the TV, I think my neighbors think I'm crazy.
OK, I'm going to leave you now, I just felt inspired to share.
Later,
Jules
Sports are usually about a bunch of guys scoring points against a bunch of other guys, and it often involves a lot of complicated rules and lots of standing around in between short violent bouts of action.
But the Olympics are about human beings against physics, about finding the limits of your own body and then pushing past those limits. It's not even about the Gold (but, really, it's all about the Gold, right? I mean, Silver, Bronze...who the hell cares?) it's about doing your personal best with the world watching. I love the theatricality of it, the drama of each struggle whether that struggle is with the other competitors, the clock, or your own demons.
I'm typing this while watching the Men's super-G (I don't even know what that means, but it seems to involve guys skiing very fast down a terrifyingly steep mountain). The commentators mentioned that the athletes only got a chance to inspect the course once this morning which means they would need "a good memory and a lot of nerve".
What's not to love about that? "A good memory and a lot of nerve." It's like a proverb about life or something.
Oh goodness, they are going fast.
I have been watching all the coverage since it began, but I actually have probably only SEEN about three quarters of it because a lot of the time I'm watching with my hands over my eyes. Not only am I worried about them falling and hurting themselves, but sometimes I get so wrapped up in who I want to win (cough Evan Lysacek, men's figure skating cough) that I almost can't watch them perform. I basically closed my eyes every time it looked like Evan was going to do a jump because I didn't want to see him fall. Which, as it turns out, I needn't have bothered because he ROCKED IT!
Oh Bode Miller, please don't go so fast, I worry about you. Oh thank goodness, he made it down alive and in FIRST PLACE! Let's see if he can hold onto it...here comes a Canadian OH GOD HE FELL! Oh he's OK. Got right back up. Do you see what these boys do to my heart? Lindsey Vonn was the worst because not only did I really really REALLY want her to win, but I was also afraid that she would hurt herself, knowing that she came into the games ALREADY INJURED. Who does that? Why was she even training in the first place, doesn't she know that's dangerous?
Yeah.
Basically I become everyone's mother.
I really shouldn't shout at the TV, I think my neighbors think I'm crazy.
OK, I'm going to leave you now, I just felt inspired to share.
Later,
Jules
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Crazy Feet
This whole "can't sleep so I get up and write a monologue instead" thing is sort of getting old.
Not that I don't want the muse to visit me because I do think this is another great one which I will perform next season, but why couldn't I have written it at, oh say, 5 PM instead of 5 AM.
Yes, 5 AM.
OK, granted I was watching The Big Bang Theory until 3:30 AM, but then I was trying to sleep. My brain wouldn't turn off. It just kept mulling ideas over no matter how often I shouted, "SHUT UP AND GO TO SLEEP." Eventually, I hit upon the idea for this monologue and started composing it in my head.
I stopped for a moment. "You'll never remember this in the morning," I thought ruefully. With a sigh, I sat up, hit my light, and opened my computer.
Now, I debated posting this because so much of it's humor depends on how it is performed. In fact, I think the actual monologue itself doesn't really have all that many jokes, it's more the character of the monologue which is funny. Well, I think it's funny, anyway.
I tried to give as much description as possible as to how it would be performed, but well...you'll see. I have also capitalized words to indicate emphasis.
Anyway, here it is.
"Crazy Feet: A Brilliant Performance"
By: Julia
(An actress, she speaks very slowly and clearly with strange emphasis and awkward intonations.)
Hi, my name is Julia, and I am going to do a…uh…Monologue, for you. Right now.
(She prepares in the cliched actor way, head down hand moving in front of the face like some sort of weird prayer gesture. She looks up, having been interrupted.)
Wha-? Oh what’s that? What is the Name of my Monologue? The Name of the monologue is “Crazy Feet”. Which, by the way, will be a lot more hilarious after you’ve seen it. In fact, I think if we all take a moment to just Meditate on the title “Crazy” “Feet” (laugh snorts) I mean, it’s just…it’s brilliant! Because ‘crazy feet’ is an amusing Theme of the Monologue “Crazy Feet”. (She smiles at them, sees that they are not joining the joke and deflates.)
Um…OK*, I’m going to start now.
(Prepares again, looks up and tries to start, but catches the eye of her audience and needs to start again. She prepares again, trying to calm herself, looks up and begins) “My feet” …uh… (she trails off looking like a deer in the headlights)
Golly this was easier in my apartment. See in my apartment there are no actual People watching me perform my Monologue. There are stuffed animals though. (Visualizes the animals as though there were hordes of them closing in on her) Lots and lots of stuffed animals. And dolls. See I put them on my bed, all lined up like a little audience of woodland creatures and…and…short people. And they watch me perform “Crazy Feet”. And no matter how much I suck, they just keep Smiling their little Frozen Fmiles. Frozen, Non-Judgmental smiles.
Sometimes, though their staring does get a little intense, so I turn them around and make them face the wall, and I don’t feel so….Watched. You know?
In fact, it would really help me if you would all just turn around and face the wall while I do my monologue “Crazy Feet”. (tries to laugh as though this were a reasonable request, but catches the expression of the auditioners.)
I’m not going to get the part, am I?
*(only Elizabeth will get this, but that OK is along the lines of "Oh good" in the style of Johnny Depp as Ed Wood)
Not that I don't want the muse to visit me because I do think this is another great one which I will perform next season, but why couldn't I have written it at, oh say, 5 PM instead of 5 AM.
Yes, 5 AM.
OK, granted I was watching The Big Bang Theory until 3:30 AM, but then I was trying to sleep. My brain wouldn't turn off. It just kept mulling ideas over no matter how often I shouted, "SHUT UP AND GO TO SLEEP." Eventually, I hit upon the idea for this monologue and started composing it in my head.
I stopped for a moment. "You'll never remember this in the morning," I thought ruefully. With a sigh, I sat up, hit my light, and opened my computer.
Now, I debated posting this because so much of it's humor depends on how it is performed. In fact, I think the actual monologue itself doesn't really have all that many jokes, it's more the character of the monologue which is funny. Well, I think it's funny, anyway.
I tried to give as much description as possible as to how it would be performed, but well...you'll see. I have also capitalized words to indicate emphasis.
Anyway, here it is.
"Crazy Feet: A Brilliant Performance"
By: Julia
(An actress, she speaks very slowly and clearly with strange emphasis and awkward intonations.)
Hi, my name is Julia, and I am going to do a…uh…Monologue, for you. Right now.
(She prepares in the cliched actor way, head down hand moving in front of the face like some sort of weird prayer gesture. She looks up, having been interrupted.)
Wha-? Oh what’s that? What is the Name of my Monologue? The Name of the monologue is “Crazy Feet”. Which, by the way, will be a lot more hilarious after you’ve seen it. In fact, I think if we all take a moment to just Meditate on the title “Crazy” “Feet” (laugh snorts) I mean, it’s just…it’s brilliant! Because ‘crazy feet’ is an amusing Theme of the Monologue “Crazy Feet”. (She smiles at them, sees that they are not joining the joke and deflates.)
Um…OK*, I’m going to start now.
(Prepares again, looks up and tries to start, but catches the eye of her audience and needs to start again. She prepares again, trying to calm herself, looks up and begins) “My feet” …uh… (she trails off looking like a deer in the headlights)
Golly this was easier in my apartment. See in my apartment there are no actual People watching me perform my Monologue. There are stuffed animals though. (Visualizes the animals as though there were hordes of them closing in on her) Lots and lots of stuffed animals. And dolls. See I put them on my bed, all lined up like a little audience of woodland creatures and…and…short people. And they watch me perform “Crazy Feet”. And no matter how much I suck, they just keep Smiling their little Frozen Fmiles. Frozen, Non-Judgmental smiles.
Sometimes, though their staring does get a little intense, so I turn them around and make them face the wall, and I don’t feel so….Watched. You know?
In fact, it would really help me if you would all just turn around and face the wall while I do my monologue “Crazy Feet”. (tries to laugh as though this were a reasonable request, but catches the expression of the auditioners.)
I’m not going to get the part, am I?
*(only Elizabeth will get this, but that OK is along the lines of "Oh good" in the style of Johnny Depp as Ed Wood)
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