NAILED IT

So there's this website called Dinosaur Comics. 

It's just the same panels over and over with different words.

I've been scrolling through for close to an hour laughing my ass off.

And they make a t-shirt with this gem:

(via TopatoCo)

You're welcome.

Sherlock

People. Are you watching Sherlock? No? I am judging you. This is my face.



(via)

The visuals are snazzy.

(via)

The acting is top-notch.


(via)


(via)

And the writing is spectacular. Seriously, for any writer out there who wants to be inspired and left in awe, do yourself a favor and watch this show. 

That is all.


(via)

Make Good Art

"Leave the world more interesting for your being here."




(via Neil Gaiman's Blog)

I Don't Get Writer's Block...

I get writer's paralysis. 

(via)

I'm neurotic already, but pursuing writing as a career has cranked that up to eleven.

(via)

And sometimes I feel like if I don't write I'll crawl out of my skin, but if I DO write I will suck as hard as anyone has ever sucked at sucking. So why bother? Misery either way.

A couple of days ago I was checking Go Into The Story (which is invaluable for anyone looking to become a screenwriter.) There's a feature called On Writing, and the quote posted that day helped me out big time. So here it is, for anyone who's ever felt like the writing task ahead of them is too big. Too complicated. Too. Damn. Hard.

“One thing that helps is to give myself permission to write badly. I tell myself that I’m going to do my five or 10 pages no matter what, and that I can always tear them up the following morning if I want. I’ll have lost nothing—writing and tearing up five pages would leave me no further behind than if I took the day off.”

– Lawrence Block

(via Go Into The Story)

Give yourself permission to suck. I am.

Getting The Words Right

Interviewer: How much rewriting do you do?

Hemingway: It depends, I re-wrote the ending to “Farewell to Arms”, the last page of it, thirty-nine times before I was satisfied.

Interviewer: Was there some technical problem there? What was it that had stumped you?

Hemingway: Getting the words right.

(via Daring To Live Fully)

Back On Track

I have a terrible habit of getting off track. I have the best intentions (don't we all), but you know what they say about the road to hell (hint: that it's paved with them.)

(And adverbs, per Uncle Stevie. Listen to Uncle Stevie.)

But something clicked this year. I realized that time is short. You don't get to say "in my next life..." blah blah blah. There is no next life. This is it. I should've realized it long ago, but I'm kind of a bonehead sometimes and things fall into place when they do. So I made some major changes.


I cleaned up my diet. Started exercising regularly. Started posting again (if sporadically.) Threw myself into various writing projects, and now The Writing Partner and I are on the verge of some very big things in the screenwriting world that I'll hopefully  be able to share soon!


I've also decided to finally finish writing a book. The Writing Partner and I brainstormed a solid set up that I'm very excited about, and I think I'm finally focused enough to see this through to the end. To not give up when I'm frustrated, or wander off when I'm distracted by shiny things on the internet.

(like lolcats!)

Stephen King is one of my favorite writers, and he writes 2000 words a day. If it's good enough for Stephen King, it's good enough for me. 


As one of my favorite screenwriting websites says "The Only Way Out Is Through."


So here's to writing through the good days, and writing through the tough days, and writing writing writing 'til my poor little fingers beg for mercy.


Because writers don't spend their time talking about writing. 


Writers write. 

Joss Whedon Is My Hero

(via Go Into The Story)

*slow clap*

Anna and the French Kiss

Y'all.


Y'ALL.


THIS BOOK.




Let's talk about things I love:


Paris (so what if I've never been there?)
Boys with British accents.
Endearingly flawed protagonists.


I actually laughed out loud at this book (numerous times!) because it was so. Dang. Charming.


So, I'm late to the party on this one. No matter. It's a must read. In fact, I recommended it to one of my best friends and here are the two texts I got from her:


Tuesday night - "So far Anna is about movies, boys with accents, travel and teen angst. No wonder you love it!"


Wednesday morning - "You are an asshole. Now I can't do any work until I finish the damn book."


SEE! 


So excited to dive in to Lola and the Boy Next Door. It's got a guy named Cricket. I'm so there.


PS - I would like my own personal Etienne. Thank you.
PPS - Can I please live in this book. Thank you again.

I Got The Fevah!

And the only prescription...is more cowbell!

KIDDING.


Seriously, though, I feel like writing is like a fever sometimes (to be dramatic about it).


When I'm sick, I can't get comfortable. I feel like I'm crawling out of my skin. And by day three or four I'm so sick (pun intended) of lying on the couch that I feel like I will literally die if I don't do something active (more dramatics).


Back when writing was a hobby for me, it was easy to take it or leave it. Mostly leave it. Because writing is hard, y'all!


But now I've fallen in love with it. Writing is what I want to do forever. I want to be able to call myself a writer and not feel like a fraud, or like this is some temporary diversion until I  buckle down and get a "real" 9-5 cubicle job, complete with fuzzy fabric walls and terribly unflattering fluorescent lights. 


So these days, when I'm plowing through a chapter, or a treatment, or a script, I get that same antsy, uncomfortable feeling if I'm not working on it. 


It's a nagging at the back of my mind that won't let me rest. A shouty voice telling me to get my booty off the couch and back into that desk chair.


Maybe that's what they call passion. I call it The Fevah!

I've Got Issues

Over on YA Highway they're asking: "what's your numero-uno reason for writing?"


I love to write because I'm restless. I didn't realize it until the Writing Partner called me on it. It's true though: I'm always looking for the next thing.


I've lasted about two years at my last three day jobs, and the timing runs like clockwork. I get antsy. I get bored. There's nothing new to learn and I can feel the seconds of my finite time on this planet ticking away with nothing to show for them.  



With writing, each new idea is a new start. I'm in love with that burst of adrenaline that comes when you know...just KNOW...that you have a great idea. And then you can just sit down and start writing! You don't need anyone's permission! Nobody can stop you!


I think I just discovered that I have a problem with authority. Thanks, YA Highway! 

Laini Taylor Makes Me Want To Be A Better Writer

Seriously. Inspiring.


DAUGHTER OF SMOKE AND BONE is easily the best book I've read all year. Lyrical prose that's full of impact without being heavy handed. Characters that I want to befriend and have adventures with. A world that somehow manages to be fantastical, yet grounded.


And now I want blue (or pink!) hair.


Love love love this book. Read it, y'all. That's an order. I do this for your own good.

Cover Judger

Judger: maybe not a word? I'm okay with it.


Over on YA Highway they're asking: What are your all time favorite book covers?


I'm drawn to two kinds of covers: super pretty and super creepy. Pretty makes me want it. Creepy gets me intrigued. 


So! Here are the ones that scare me:




The looming windows remind me of jaws, and I don't get the sense that this kid is going to escape unscathed.



Cover matched with the perfect title. So good.



Drood. Dread. Coupled with the fact that it's about a dark double life? Yes, please.



It doesn't seem like much, but if you look closely you can see a blueprint-like pattern in the black. Match that with the fact that this book is about a house that's bigger on the inside than it is on the outside (and the fact that it's the most unique, unsettling book I've ever read) well...total creep-fest.

  

I couldn't decide which of these I liked better. So, both!


Now, for the pretty:








These books could be blank on the inside and I'd still want to own them.

And for the last...one that's stuck with me for quite some time. I haven't read the book, but something about the shades of blue they use...or maybe the lonely figure...I don't know, but this cover won't let me go:

I Heart New York

So proud of my home state.

I Don't Do Moderation

TWP pointed something out to me a few years back: I don't think that I'm better than anyone else, or more talented, or that I work harder. In fact, I can be outrageously lazy when I want to be. But when I work hard at something, and I mean really put in the work, I have absolutely no doubt that I will be successful. 



It's silly. My certainty is immovable, impenetrable, and unfailing. Is unfailing a word? Well, there it is, anyway. So yeah. Is that slightly off-kilter? Perhaps. But it keeps me going when I get down.


I bring this up because TWP and I are near a breakthrough on something we've been working very hard on for a very long time. I can't be more specific (though I will when I'm able - trust me, I'll shout it from the rooftops, my blog, and my facebook page.)


And TWP has been incredibly subdued about it all. He doesn't have that unflagging optimism that I cling to, right or wrong as I may be. His reasoning is that if you don't get your hopes up, you won't be as disappointed if things don't pan out. I counter by saying that yes, if you get your hopes up and things fall apart, the lows you feel will be lower. You may even be crushed for a while. But don't you want to experience the highs that come with the potential greatness you may achieve? Don't you rob yourself of that joy, however temporary it may be?


So, I don't do moderation. Sure, the potential is there for things to fall apart. But I don't care. I refuse to temper my happiness with "what if's" that may never come to pass.


So! Lets bring this on home with two of my new obsessions: Dr. Who and gifs! Because my joy will not be contained! 

Treatments & Tombstone

...And you must be The Treatment. Look, darling, The Treatment. What do you think, darling? Should I hate it?...There's just something about it. Something around the second act...No. I'm sure of it, I hate it.





Who needs one of these? y/y/y/y/y/y/y/y/y?

Hello There, Harry Connick, Jr.

 Over on YA Highway they're asking: "So, if you got to choose a celebrity narrator for the audio book of your WIP or your favorite novel, who would it be and why?"


My WIP would need to be voiced by a girl, and my goodness, that choice is tough. 


I have a bias, and it's always been this way: I prefer the sound of men's voices. I HAVE NO IDEA WHY. In music, I listen to very few female artists; I always gravitate toward male singers. I feel guilty about it. Like I'm not giving women a fair shot. But a preference is a preference, I guess. *Still feels guilty*


Anywhozlebees, though I loved loved loved The Hunger Games to the point of obsession and absolute depression, my favorite novel of the past year or two was The Passage by Justin Cronin. It's epic, and amazing, and all good things. TWP is listening to it now in audiobook format, and it's read by Scott Brick.


People of the internet: you need to know Scott Brick. He's AMAZING. Perhaps not a celebrity, though? 


So my choice for reader is Harry Connick, Jr. THAT VOICE. Deep, husky, with that slight Louisiana drawl? Forget it. Game over.


                

HC, Jr! So suave!

Don't Be A Self-Fulfilling Prophecy

Just remember:       


                

TWP and I are about to embark on our third script together. The first helped us discover what we each brought to the table, creatively. The second landed us a manager.

The third. Oh, the third. I can only speculate, but this might be what writing the second book in a trilogy feels like. Or the second book after you've been published.

That gnawing fear that now people are paying attention to what you do. The absolutely certainty that they're judging you with their judge-y little judgments.

It's not all in my head, either, as much as I'd like it to be. 

This second script that we send out to the world...it'll prove that we're not one-hit wonders. That the first one that people sparked to wasn't a fluke. I know that our manager would never let us send something out that wasn't 100%. The market it too competitive to send out anything but your best work. So I guess, most of all, I don't want to let him down. I want to deserve his faith in us.

But you can't write out of fear. You'll never do your best work. You'll end up making choices that are safe, and safe = boring. So I'm going to do my best to write like it's just for fun.

Because writing is fun, and the only thing being scared gets you is a crappy script and a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Screenplays Are Not Written In English*

"Hi, my name is Jenna and I have a hard time elaborating."


  
                                       (via Matt-Richards / flickr)


I read through the first three (very short) chapters of my WIP yesterday, and while I like how it's flowing, I think that readers will have a hard time connecting with my main character. My screenwriting background is to blame.


To be a good screenwriter, you need to be brief. With comedy you can get loose. Play around with it a bit (thought not much.) With action / thriller / horror? Even less wiggle room. A scene might look something like this:


EXT. COFFEE SHOP - DAY

A cold wind sends autumn leaves skittering across the pavement.
STAN (20, All-American) exits, holding a steaming to-go cup. He holds the door for JULIE (20, bookish, adorable) who juggles her own cup and a backpack.
JULIE
Thanks again for the coffee. I can’t believe I forgot my wallet.
STAN
I’ve always been a sucker for a damsel in distress.
She blushes. Doesn’t see the man racing toward her.
ARNOLD (20’s, bulky jock) slams into her. She falls to the ground. Hot coffee scalding her neck and chest.
Stan snags Arnold’s arm. Spins him around.
STAN
What the hell, man?
Arnold looks behind him. Panicked. He’s running from someone. Or something.
He shoves Stan. Wrenches free.
Julie picks herself up. Dusts herself off with scraped palms, leaving small spots of blood on her tee shirt.
She gingerly touches the burns on her neck.
STAN (CONT’D)
Apologize to the lady.
Arnold stares at her. Fear in his eyes.
ARNOLD
You’ve been marked.
He unconsciously scratches his neck. He’s got the same angry red mark as Julie.
His eyes flick behind her. Terrified. He runs.
Stan turns to Julie.
STAN
What the hell was that?
Julie’s lip trembles.
JULIE
Let’s go. Now.


See how the eye kinda skims down? That's what you're looking for. The more white space on the page, the better.


Writing that way is so ingrained that I tend to race through the scenes in my novel. I don't let them breathe, or really let my character describe what's going on. This is going to lead to my WIP ending up at 45,000 words, and my breathing into a paper bag.


Elaborate. I'm gonna print that word out and staple it to my bedroom wall.


*I read that somewhere, and it stuck with me. It's absolutely true.

On Dreams and Ryan Gosling

I should just stop going to bed early.


I don't sleep longer. I just wake up more frequently. Though it is...interesting, I guess would be the word...in one way: when I fall back to sleep after waking up in the middle of the night, I tend to have more vivid dreams, and to have the good fortune of remembering them better.


Hence, the story:


Last night I dreamed that I was filming a movie with Ryan Gosling. Not only was I starring opposite him, I also wrote the script! Oh, joyful day.


Why Ryan Gosling? I say:


              


He's a solid actor, he's musically inclined, and he's more than easy on the eyes. So, boom, Ryan Gosling.


We were working out a scene, spouting off dialog that I had written. Some quick-fire banter that just sparkled with wit and emotion. You know how I do. 


The director yelled cut, and I woke up.


I stared up into the dark, and do you want to know what I was most excited about? What my first thought was? 


Writing crackling dialog > Acting in a fake movie in a dream starring Ryan Gosling.


Let's be honest. If I ever had the chance to act in a real movie starring the real Ryan Gosling, I'd probably just explode.


Writer 4 Evah. Nerd 4 Life.

Scars. Or, Why K-Mart Is A Death Trap

Over on YA Highway they're asking: What's the story of your best scar?


                     


Wrong Scar. I do have the overwhelming urge to watch The Lion King, though.


Let's talk about mechanical horses, shall we?


My best scar is a little inch-long nothing right underneath my chin. My mother (who has been witness to the majority of my boneheaded ideas) is probably the only one who even remembers that I have it.


I was young. Probably four or five? My mom, aunt, six-year-old cousin and I were about to do a little shopping at K-Mart when my cousin decided that she wanted to ride the mechanical horse outside the store. You know the rides I'm talking about. It's usually a train or a horse; you pop in a quarter and your kid gets to take the slowest gallop of their lives.


        


Well, I just had to ride with her. I climbed up there on the horse behind her and promptly slid off, hitting the cold concrete chin-first. I blame it on the fact that I was probably wearing corduroy pants. No traction on those things.


One visit to the doctor and a butterfly bandage later, I was good as new.


My best emotional scar is a subject for another post. Or three years of therapy.