Monday, July 19, 2010
Transformed
I forgot to mention that they transformed Michigan Avenue into a war zone while filming "Transformers 3" downtown. I think they're still doing some shooting just south of the river, on Wacker Drive.
Megara
I was watching "Hercules" with the boys the other day, and rather liked the saucy Megara, the love interest babe rendered in typically Disneylicious style. I'm not particularly a fan of Disney's cultural meatgrinder that digests things and spits'em out all Disneyfied, but the boys seem to enjoy'em, so I put up with seeing Disney stuff every now and then. Megara's just simply HOT. She's trouble! Boom-chicka-boom!
Wah wahhh
Something about a published novelist writing an online article whining about how hard writing is irks the fuck out of me. Any creative endeavor is all about a huge investment of energy and time. Writers write. Simple as that. Do it, and deal with it, and count yourself very fortunate that you manage to score a book deal for your troubles. So, it took you ten years to get it done? Well, so what? At least you have something tangible to show for it. I soldier on because writing is fun for me, and rather than it being hard NOT to write (alright, I write constantly, one way or another, so maybe this doesn't quite come up for me), but I understand that there's no penalty whatsoever to not writing, except the understanding that I'm not writing. It's integral to my happiness that way. I never whine about it; I just do it.
And for somebody who managed to actually see their book published? What the fuck is there to complain about? As someone who many disparate readers tell me routinely that I'm a really good writer who is also perennially rejected by editors, were I to actually find a home for one of my books, I'd do a happy, happy dance. I'd count my lucky stars. But this gal decided to whine about how long it took for her to get her work done? You know what you do to stop that? Write more. There's a certain narcissistic romance some writers engage in with the whole "Oh, if you only knew how I suffered!" kind of bullshit -- like ink-stained fingertips or a trembling hand on a sweating, aquiline brow leaving an inky smear upon it. To create is to swoon. Oh, the humanity. Give me a break.
There's no penalty for not writing. You do it because you're compelled to do it. And there are few true satisfactions in it (at least in terms of appreciation, recognition, and reward). But do it I always will, because it's just who I am. If a book takes ten years to write, maybe that's how long it took to sort out that particular story's problem. Or maybe you don't have that much to say as a writer, and it didn't inspire you. Who knows? The only cure for writing is more writing, and that can be said with any creative endeavor, and only creatives get this. Non-creatives may think it's a waste of time, or may think they can do it, but they can't (and don't and won't -- you all know who you are, you "idea havers" and so forth who have a great idea you never actually write or create). The ones who can simply do it. Ideally, you make something worthwhile, something you enjoy, and better still, something beautiful that others can appreciate, too, and still better, something others will buy from you, for fuck's sake, so you can carve out the time to do more and more of what you love. But it's really the process that drives it. That's the furnace within that stokes the creative spirit.
Maybe this writer in that article is really privately worrying that, having sold one book, one that took her a decade to write, that she's got nothing more to say. Who knows? She is right that reaching an ending is vital. Get it done, or else it's just an open wound. And please, please don't whine about it.
And for somebody who managed to actually see their book published? What the fuck is there to complain about? As someone who many disparate readers tell me routinely that I'm a really good writer who is also perennially rejected by editors, were I to actually find a home for one of my books, I'd do a happy, happy dance. I'd count my lucky stars. But this gal decided to whine about how long it took for her to get her work done? You know what you do to stop that? Write more. There's a certain narcissistic romance some writers engage in with the whole "Oh, if you only knew how I suffered!" kind of bullshit -- like ink-stained fingertips or a trembling hand on a sweating, aquiline brow leaving an inky smear upon it. To create is to swoon. Oh, the humanity. Give me a break.
There's no penalty for not writing. You do it because you're compelled to do it. And there are few true satisfactions in it (at least in terms of appreciation, recognition, and reward). But do it I always will, because it's just who I am. If a book takes ten years to write, maybe that's how long it took to sort out that particular story's problem. Or maybe you don't have that much to say as a writer, and it didn't inspire you. Who knows? The only cure for writing is more writing, and that can be said with any creative endeavor, and only creatives get this. Non-creatives may think it's a waste of time, or may think they can do it, but they can't (and don't and won't -- you all know who you are, you "idea havers" and so forth who have a great idea you never actually write or create). The ones who can simply do it. Ideally, you make something worthwhile, something you enjoy, and better still, something beautiful that others can appreciate, too, and still better, something others will buy from you, for fuck's sake, so you can carve out the time to do more and more of what you love. But it's really the process that drives it. That's the furnace within that stokes the creative spirit.
Maybe this writer in that article is really privately worrying that, having sold one book, one that took her a decade to write, that she's got nothing more to say. Who knows? She is right that reaching an ending is vital. Get it done, or else it's just an open wound. And please, please don't whine about it.
Ballbuster
Looks like Blockbuster Video is finally dying. This is a reasonably good piece about the demise of that chain. I'm amused that the ONION had pegged that trend years ago. I can't even remember the last time I actually went into a video store. I think when living in Indiana, The Land That Time (and Hope) Forgot. Otherwise, not since the late 90s. Just funny how retro that is. I remember the trips to the video store, scoping around for something interesting and/or amusing to watch.
I've been busy managing my post-vacation workload today, hence being somewhat quiet, although I've been trying to think of a decent name for a fiction blog, as well as thinking about life and story ideas and daydreaming in general. I really, really need to get busy and find a fresh job. Gotta get that done. It's going to be weird to remarket and repackage myself as a 40-year-old in need of a new job. Thankfully, I still have my boyish demeanor, right? Hah!
I've been busy managing my post-vacation workload today, hence being somewhat quiet, although I've been trying to think of a decent name for a fiction blog, as well as thinking about life and story ideas and daydreaming in general. I really, really need to get busy and find a fresh job. Gotta get that done. It's going to be weird to remarket and repackage myself as a 40-year-old in need of a new job. Thankfully, I still have my boyish demeanor, right? Hah!
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