tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-87233424184174542962024-02-18T19:33:38.678-08:00Off In La-LA LandAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15739583026750048543noreply@blogger.comBlogger21125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8723342418417454296.post-2161564932027944532014-06-12T08:00:00.000-07:002014-06-12T08:00:01.500-07:00SlateFor those of you not in the film/TV industry let me explain slates. There are two types of slates in this world. There are the clappers with the Director, DP, shot, take, angle...etc...<br />
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This is not the type of slate I am going to be talking about.<br />
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Slate is also a code word for the stuff in development. There is never just ONE project in the pipe. Because really if we just made one film, one TV show, one of anything at any time--there would be exactly one hour of television a night on each channel and there would possibly be a single film for the summer movie market.<br />
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To make more than one thing at one time, studios have a slate of films. Generally--well ok there is no generally in this. There are just lots of things. I would say there are probably at any given time 10-12 films in progress at one time. As for TV think about it like this: in a given pilot season 300 pitches for shows are heard, 70 scripts are considered and 7-10 pilots get made. Then roughly 7-8 pilots get picked up to series.<br />
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And that's just at one studio.<br />
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When I was in school, my first TV professor gave us one interesting piece of advice. He told us writers in the room needed to sit up and pay attention to this. We were to never, ever have just one project in the works. Okay so I am exaggerating this. Slightly.<br />
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His theory is based on this. When you go to pitch a show, that you love, that you think is the bomb dot com, the network execs will probably hate it. Clearly, because I used the outdated phrase, bomb dot com to describe it. They will then ask this question:<br />
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What else do you have.<br />
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Because we are writers and not all of us are Stephenie Meyer or Suzanne Collins---although to both of their credits they have very successful other series. I am also a fan of both. Take that for what you will. But they have no need to write ever again. Which as a writer is a sad thing to think about. Never having to write again. Never getting to sit down and try to write before a deadline, only to really shove it into a week of coffee and caffeine filled days where you walk around like a zombie.<br />
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We are not just a hit show. Or a hit book. Because what we hope might be a hit-anything, most likely won't be the next flash in the pan and so we must go back to the drawing board. Again. Return to the white page. Again. Stock up on coffee for that week of hell that is no longer known as finals week.<br />
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In that meeting where you've suddenly been asked to share something else, it is not suggested that you spitball. TV People can smell bullshit from a mile away. If that was true, there would be more hit shows.<br />
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What should happen in that meeting, is that the brilliant writer pulls out two or three other pitches for shows. These may not be the dog and pony shows that TV pitches have become, but they should be well thought out, interesting, and as complex as that first idea. In some cases that idea may already have an outline or possibly even a script.<br />
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Why am I telling you this? Because Gretchen, this blog, in case you forgot, is about your book writing. It is not a place where you come to write about well this film/TV stuff.<br />
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I work on multiple TV projects at once. I work on multiple books at once. I have my serious book and my fun book.<br />
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This week I was trying to explain the idea of "the fun book" to a friend. I described it as writing down time. My friend, to her credit, did not laugh outright in my face. Oh she did chuckle and laugh and then ask if I was serious.<br />
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I was.<br />
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I write things for fun. I started writing because it was fun. This does not mean the "serious book" is not fun for me to write, but I have to be one point for that book. I have to think critically about that book. Is the plot there? Was that line really needed? How many more windows can I find to show off my characters?<br />
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That kind of writing is fun but really exhausting. <br />
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"Fun writing" is just fun. It's like doing NANOWRIMO. You write like a bat outta hell and you do not care what you do, you just do it. It's like living in a pair of Nikes---yeah that joke was weak. Who cares, fun writing time!<br />
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The important thing to remember is that your next anything is just around the corner and while you shouldn't abandon that serious project, it's good to start percolating the other ideas. You never know when an agent may say, hmmmm I like it--don't love it--what else ya got? If you stare at them like the men who stare at goats, you will get the same response.<br />
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Nothing.<br />
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This is why I like multiple projects. Now not all of them are at the same stage. Some are just jotted notes on postcards. They are such because I was an idiot and went out without a notebook in my purse and my phone was dying. Some are chapters---or a couple thousand words. The key thing I think to making a slate work, is not having every project at the same stage of development. That will hurt you and turn out nothing good.<br />
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I like being able to bounce from project to project. It keeps me writing, motivated and happy. Being happy may be overrated to some people, but I see it as an essential part to life. If you can't laugh, why go on? This is coming from a kid whose had well over 40 surgeries I have learned to laugh and giggle at the drop of a hat. I am a pity laugher.<br />
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But serious question time:<br />
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Do you have a "slate" of projects? Or are you a single project type of person? Tell me more in the comments.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15739583026750048543noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8723342418417454296.post-18977574814861495412014-05-30T09:44:00.000-07:002014-05-30T09:45:00.282-07:00Friday Flash FictionAnnnnd I'm back with more flash fiction for you!<br />
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This is also part TBT as what I am about to show you comes from the annals of my Random Scrivner File.<br />
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No inspiration today, just falshy fiction stuff.<br />
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<span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>It was spring, just on the edge of summer, although one could have said it was already summer, but one never said it was really summer until it was and so that is why is must still be spring. Either way, that evening, Miss Abigail Triste of 1456 Pennyworth Lane stepped out of her house with her mother to attend a concert. By any account it was to be dreadful. Not in any fashion due to the quartet playing, but due to the fact that Mrs. Trsite was in no way happy about being snubbed. </div>
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There was in fact a ball that night being held by Duchess Smithweston, the head of London Society and Mrs. Triste’s former close friend. We say former in that they grew up being very close, but upon debb-ing they experienced a breaking as it were and have sense kept in touch only through the faintest of notes. It was however an understanding between the two old friends that when Mrs. Triste’s daughter debb-ed, Duchess Smithweston was to help Abigail along.</div>
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Abigail sighed as the hired driver helped her into the carriage, careful about the ruffles on her dress. It was a gift from her father for her return from school. It was pale blue with ruffles of cream at the hem and sleeves. It was by no means extravagant, but she loved it all the same. </div>
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She wore, much to her mother’s dismay, a small watch-like contraption pinned to her breast. The small time-teller, was at once a clock, as well as a great many other things. Most which Abigail had yet to discover. </div>
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The time-teller was a gift from her headmistress upon Abigail’s graduation. <i>It will be a puzzle for years to come</i>, the Headmistress had told her. Having already tried several times to figure out the complex set of locks and hinges, the only thing that Abigail could say about the time-teller was that it told time. Quite accurately at that, it hardly ever needed winding. </div>
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There would be no escaping her mother tonight. None at all, and Abigail had so been looking forward to the music. Lady Worthington had promised her that the finest mechanical pipes would be in use. Abigail was so fond of the strange machines that produced a lovely music all their own. </div>
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“How will we ever expect you to find a suitable match at a <i>concert.</i>” Her mother said the word like it was a vile word of the four-letter variety, which Abigail had only heard at the docks where her father worked. “Your grandfather was a Count! No, we will not go,” Mrs. Triste declared, even as she settled herself into the carriage. Her dark gown of blue with black net overlay, seemed to squash Abigail into a small corner of their conveyance.</div>
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“Mama,” Abigail said soothingly. “We have already hired and paid the driver. Not to mention you promised Lady Worthington that you would be in attendance tonight. What sort of people would we be if we did not live up to our word?” </div>
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Mrs. Triste considered her daughter’s words carefully. “Of course we will attend, darling, but we must consider that we are somehow above this all. It’s our duty, I suppose, as peerage.” </div>
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Abigail fiddled with the small buttons on her gloves. Buttoning them and unbuttoning them. Her mother liked to constantly bring up her father’s peerage. Yes, her father had been a count, a penniless one at that. Mrs. Triste had married Abigail’s father because he was a wealthy merchant and she was a girl with no dowry to speak of. Let us make no mistake, however, there was money involved but it was in fact a love match. Mr. Triste was the only one who seemed to not only understand his wife, but also cajole her into submission. A trait which Abigail tried to learn, but had never quite perfected. </div>
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“Exactly,” Abigail breathed. </div>
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The gas lights glowed brightly in the growing dark. Abigail watched the world outside her carriage as her mother prattled on at who was likely to be there. Technically speaking, Abigail was not ‘on the market’ yet. The season would not officially begin until summer and then she could be shuttled from ballroom to ballroom in the hopes of making a suitable match. </div>
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She wanted nothing to do with it. </div>
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The streets of London were particularly busy that evening, but then again they had become this way with the discovery of werewolves and vampires. Not to mention all the other <i>others</i>. Ghosts, witches, and some even whispered the undead—although all those with a practical mind knew better than to believe in the walking dead— all made their lives in the night. Abigail was looking forward to her debut in the hopes that she might attend a ball and dance with a werewolf or perhaps even a vampire. Then she might be able to inquire about the transformation process. It had been lightly touched upon in her education, but certainly not discussed at length. Even a proper education respected private matters. If not the transformation, then perhaps what life had been like decades ago. That would be splendid, she thought. A history lesson from someone who actually lived it. </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15739583026750048543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8723342418417454296.post-70273644088398145732014-05-27T09:07:00.002-07:002014-05-27T09:07:34.991-07:00Music Monday: SoundtracksI'll keep some of the old stuff. Resurrecting Music Mondays! Because I love alliteration. <div>
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This week and really for the past two months, I've been addicted to soundtracks. This really came about when I hear Joss Whedon talk at school. Yes, he came to my college where I was studying for my MFA. He shook my hand. For a good five seconds he knew my name. It was epic. </div>
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Anyway, his advice was: listen to soundtracks. Since then, I think I've purchased four or five soundtracks and am contemplating the Newest X-Men one. </div>
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So a few quick hits: </div>
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Ramin Djawadi: Falling Away (game soundtrack: Metal of Honor) </div>
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Patrick Doyle: Crewe and the Soldier (A Little Princess) </div>
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John Ottman: The Attack Begins (X-Men Days of Future Past)</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15739583026750048543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8723342418417454296.post-29480122069496963372014-05-23T09:00:00.000-07:002014-05-23T09:00:06.899-07:00Friday Flash FictionSooooo, I love flash fiction; pretty much every book I've written has come from a flash fiction piece.<br />
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The process goes something like this: Write 5k on a whim, sometimes more sometimes less. Leave that nugget in my rando file on a computer. Like something about it and dig it up roughly six months later. Write book.<br />
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Take a break from book to write more flash fiction.<br />
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Flash fiction doesn't have to be long, doesn't have to be complete, doesn't have to be more than a flash in a pan. It's just fun. It's a great way to start the weekend. :)<br />
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Today's flash fiction is inspired by this pic:<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://fc02.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2011/001/d/8/fallen_angel_by_michael_c_hayes-d366b6o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://fc02.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2011/001/d/8/fallen_angel_by_michael_c_hayes-d366b6o.jpg" height="320" width="244" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's by Michael-C-Hayes (http://michael-c-hayes.deviantart.com/art/Fallen-Angel-191770656)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
You can find this pic and more of my random inspirations over on<a href="http://www.pinterest.com/gretchschreiber/randoms/" target="_blank"> pinterest.</a><br />
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The old bones of a destroyed church arched high over Lo's head. The inky black sky loomed over her punctured by tiny stars. She didn't look at them. There was no point in asking questions of the stars. They were as they always were: silent.<br />
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She ducked under the yellow tape line, nodding to a uniformed officer there. People would start to gather soon, the press, the neighbors, the dregs of a leftover society. Since the angels came life had been clinging to the facade of normalcy.<br />
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Police officers wore uniforms and tried to keep peace where there was only chaos. Lo was a detective, plunged into the role when no one else wanted it and the department desperately needed one. That's why she was up under the blanket of stars, staring down at the newly dead angel.<br />
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Dead. Angel dead. No one knew exactly how they died. There was even a theory that they couldn't be killed. Impossibly strong, miraculously fast, heavenly charged, these winged creatures were not the stuff of dreams. They were the spawn of nightmares.<br />
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Lo squatted next to the corpse. No blood. Just a long set in rigor mortis. No pulse, but did these things have a pulse anyway? Snapping on a pair of gloves, Lo took the angel's pulse. None. The skin was rock hard. How long had it been dead? Months? Days? Minutes?<br />
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She lifted the edge of the elegant gown the angel had on. Lines spread down her side. Old script written in scar tissue. Lo pulled out a camera and snapped some photos. That was interesting. These things could be scarred. By what? When angels came down, the world had tried everything save for nuclear war. Slowly the world fell, super powers humbled by heavenly force.<br />
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Society had stabilized, if you could call it that. Mostly people just tried to go on living. No much else to do. Either get busy living or get busy dying. She'd forgotten who'd said that, but it always stuck with her. A leftover bit passed down to her from her father.<br />
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A whoosh of air that made her short hair flap around her face, made Lo pause. She didn't need to look up. The calvary had arrived. The iron fisted angel government. An Arch maybe? Perhaps someone higher. Perhaps not.<br />
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Slipping the camera into her pocket Lo stood up. She stretched tired muscles. It had been a long day and a short sleep of a night.<br />
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"I'd like the photos, Ms. Riley." The voice was smooth cultured, and completely void of an Earth accent.<br />
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"File the paper work and they're yours." Paper works. Systems. Hierarchy. The angels lived by it. Sometimes what you lived by could turn on you.<br />
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And that's all folks! Join me with some Flash Fiction!<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15739583026750048543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8723342418417454296.post-60585273664561104682014-05-20T11:21:00.000-07:002014-05-20T11:21:21.353-07:00On Happiness...Bitterness...and stuff.<br />
Remember how I said this blog is changing?<br />
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Well this is change number one. Please be advised there is some mild cursing present.<br />
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There is always a question of how to perpetrate characters with disabilities. It's a question that I often get asked because well I have a disability. I'm not an expert and I don't try to speak for a whole population, because as a population we are a diverse group. Our experiences are not the same and in some cases we're so different we can't even relate to each other.<br />
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I am however an expert in my experience. I was born disabled and have lived as such for the past 25 years. Also, I will freely admit that there is a level of privilege in my life. I went to a premier medical facility as a child. I saw the best of the best. I have high expectations for doctors in the medical field. I am what might be termed a prima donna patient.<br />
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For years I have searched for a character who is just and was just as messed up as I am currently/was as a teenager. While not completely fucked up as a kid, I did have a fair amount of anger and bitterness to the world. It's at this age that I finally realized the world isn't fair, and it's especially, heinously unfair to me.<br />
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The one thing that is always discussed is the amount of bitterness a character is allowed to have. I've seen people on twitter request that we stop using characters with disabilities who are bitter. That if perpetuates unrealistic stereotypes. The story of these characters is always how quickly can we--meaning the author--fix them. Take away those nasty feelings and replace them with self love and happiness. Remove the intrusive looks and back-handed compliments and make the character fit perfectly into the world.<br />
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Every story, I've read involving a character with a disability tries to remedy them that way. Mostly because most of those stories are about those who become disabled. They are bitter and angry at the world. They are different and the world looks down on them because they now fail to live up to that impossible feat of normalcy. Slowly, usually through a boy or girl--a love interest--they heal. They become a whole person by joining someone else. Their half life is grafted onto someone else in order to make them a bearable part of society. But that's a lie. How do you heal bitterness?<br />
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You don't.<br />
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I'm bitter. I can say that after twenty-five years, a year of therapy, happy drugs, and more issues than you can shake a stick at. I am bitter and please, don't take that away from me.<br />
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Now, am I going around, verbally lashing people with my extreme hatred 24/7? No. Do I perpetually languish in self-pity and self-loathing and general anger at the world. No.<br />
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Still, I am bitter.<br />
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I am not 100% bitter, just as I am not 100% anything. Think of it like this: I am 10% bitter and 90% everything else. This 10% is not always alive and kicking. Somedays its buried so deep beneath everything else that no one, not even me, notices it. Then somedays, it rears its ugly head and I am a pill. A horrible, dark cloud of doom and gloom who will verbally take you all the way down town. Then somedays still, I am a pleasant mix. One part bitter to two parts happy--stir until frothy and serve over ice.<br />
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You might wonder, Gretchen, how are you bitter? You don't seem bitter. You're a happy person. I have even been called a bubbly butterfly. And again for the most part, I am a happy person. I do love my life and I do have a great time, but it's those times where I stumble and the world around me stumbles that I struggle.<br />
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I struggle because as a person with a disability, I experience a different world than most people. I'm told not to be bitter. The working theory of society-and by society, I mean literature--seems to be that I can magically erase these feelings and never have to deal with it ever again. That an ounce of self-love and a boy by my side will change the world. I've read the fairytales, and as my mother used to remind me as a child: I am not a fairytale princess and this is not a fairystory.<br />
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For years, I shoved my bitterness away. I acted happy because I was expected to be happy. Society doesn't like unhappy, bitter disabled people. Much like the virgin/whore dichotomy for women, disabled people have a similar dichotomy: you can be "the saint" or you can be "the angry bitch." There is no middle ground and when you try to find that middle ground you get slapped.<br />
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No middle ground for you.<br />
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I was forced to choose between bitch and saint and for years; I chose saint. Now bear in mind this is not a real question. There was no person standing over me asking me whether I wanted to be this or that. It was simply an expectation by people around me and by society. I don't blame them for this expectation, but it is an unfair expectation all the same. It makes me ashamed of my bitterness, of the anger I had at an unfair world. And so when I'd have these feelings I'd shove them down, hide them away.<br />
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I was perfectly happy going 120% just to be considered normal. When I failed, it struck me big not because everyone fails, but because so often I felt I failed because I could not be better than everyone else and therefore judged on the same level. It was hard and when I let my feelings out, when I showed my friends my bitter side, I got slapped back into my position. So I did what I do best, I compartmentalized! </div>
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People, especially friends, don't like to hear that you are unhappy and unhappy in ways they cannot change. Most of this comes to boys--men, people of the opposite gender, who I happen to find attractive. Because, well society works against me finding a date, finding love. I don't look normal, and trust me in the dating scene, as much as society would like to pretend it doesn't matter--it does. </div>
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When I would start to break down, my friends would say things like: you'll be the girl who at 30 finds the love of her life and then gets married and we'll all be jealous. Or, oh, god, she's starting this again. Or Gretchen, you just need to love yourself. </div>
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I do love myself. I do. But let me break this down for you: this is not Penelope, an act of true self-love does not make you a perfectly normal Christina Ricci. I love my fingers and my missing bones. I even love the cadaver bones that have been implanted in me. I love me. But loving me, does not make me attractive to a society trained to think supermodels are the norm. The discussion of beauty culture is for another post, so back to bitterness!</div>
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Playing the saint is tiring. I have listened to people tell me, it's impressive that I work. That I'm their idol. That I'm so strong. For doing what? What am I supposed to say to that? I shelve books for a living, that is not a feat worthy of idolatry. </div>
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This year, I started breaking down my sainthood, letting the cracks in my armor show, being vocal about stupidities in society. It's been hard. It's meant talking very seriously with a people close to me. It's meant being vulnerable in a whole new way. It's meant becoming, at least in part, a bitch.</div>
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And I hated myself all the more. </div>
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For 25 years, I was the happy child. The child who could do anything, who didn't mind the constant uphill battle for approval. I am still, mostly, a happy adult. Are there things in my life I would change if a genii suddenly appeared with three wishes for me. Ab-so-fucking-lutely. A new job. Getting rid of my student debt. Healthcare. Notice me not saying I would change who I am--or as society sometimes likes to think of it--what I am. I don't want to change me, I want to change the world's perception of me. To fight this battle, you can't be the happy go lucky girl. You have to have some bitterness, some anger to last in this fight.</div>
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I started my road to being a bitch, and that opened up fissures I wasn't sure I could handle. I slipped back into old ways of faking happiness and sinking further into depression. Why couldn't I just be like everybody else? I tried to cover up my new problems, the taste of power that came with anger and bitterness. It wasn't until my therapist told me: it's okay to be bitter and you don't have to let it go, that I began to feel comfortable in my new self. </div>
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Finding the middle isn't always easy. I can slip back into happy-go-lucky Gretchen easily, but bitterness will not leave me. It gives me passion to change the world. Fire to keep telling new and interesting stories. Lives to change, including and most importantly--my own. </div>
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I am 10% bitter and damn proud of it. </div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15739583026750048543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8723342418417454296.post-72081130230657612462014-03-31T08:00:00.000-07:002014-03-31T08:00:00.277-07:00NewnessI've always been very PC when it comes to what I put out onto the internet. And that has led me to one strongly held belief: I am bland--at least on the internet. Personality lobotomy.<br />
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Well today I am joining the two halves of my brain back together. No more well buttoned-up, toned down Gretchen. To follow a wise sage's advice it's time to take chances, make mistakes, and get messy.<br />
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Yes, I just quoted Mrs. Frizzle, because she is awesome and I would take her class any day of the week.<br />
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I'll still probably go on being my happy charming self, but things are going to be different, because well I'm tired of not saying my opinion from fear of backlash. It's always said that you have to be careful what you say, so as not to insult a future employer.<br />
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To this I say: if you can't take a valid critique get out of this industry. Get out of the arts in general. Art will be critiqued and not everyone will like the shiny objects I create.<br />
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This change happens to coincide with a new project I'm doing with my friend Hannah over at (wineandmarble.com) She's awesome and I am very lucky to have met her. It's been through her blog that I've noticed, I've been too safe.<br />
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Too guarded.<br />
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I have opinions darn it. And a point of view and this point of view and these opinions are going to be aired starting today. I'm not going to stay quiet anymore because I am afraid that someone someday might be offended by what I write or how I think.<br />
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You don't have to agree with me. In fact, let's discuss. Let's engage. Let's wrestle with ideas that scare and frighten us. To quote another wise woman: You're not even required to like it. You are required to consider it.<br />
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Mona Lisa Smile--everyone check it out. Fantastic movie.<br />
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I'm going to start ripping open some subjects that I think the YA community should start looking at. I'll be looking at subjects, I'm looking at. Things that interest me. Things that give me passion. Things that make me irate. Things that make me feel, because at the end of the day art that doesn't move you in some way has failed. <br />
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Welcome to the new La-LA Land, people. It'll probably be a bumpy ride and there will most definitely be some touchy subjects and posts that will be *trigger warned* in the future. <br />
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There'll be feminism and discussions about disability, writing, vlogging, and job hunting. Also probably a healthy dose of me talking about my travels around and out of La-LA Land. Fashion and television. And of course fairytales--for which I have a passion.<br />
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Opinions start today. Hope to see you around the blogosphere. If you want, check me out over at: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC47z6TFrkIBzNArDUrmwnNA" target="_blank">The YA Wallpaper</a>. I'll be vlogging there once a week starting April 14 about YA and feminism, but I'll tell you more about that later. (but go ahead, click through, subscribe and watch us tackle books head on.)<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15739583026750048543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8723342418417454296.post-88200663705182829322013-06-07T08:12:00.001-07:002013-06-07T09:44:36.917-07:00Twitter asks the best questionsOkay so this week the very excellent Ms.WendyDarling posed a very interesting question to Twitter:<br />
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The answer is, frankly, not many. And the fact that the "magical cure" button exists is the reason I usually refuse to read books with disabled protags, because I find this type of plot device to be offensive.<br />
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Does every book do this? No, but the rate at which I see it occur puts me off these titles.<br />
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There are even fewer protagonists who are born with disabilities rather than acquire them throughout their life. It's a very different role in your life. As a person who is born with a disability, I have no feeling of loss of "normalcy." Having nine fingers is normal for me, I can't imagine what you people do with ten... That's just one too many.<br />
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(Yes, that was a joke. Please chuckle)<br />
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For me there is no urgency to return to a normal state. There is simply a wish to accept that my normal-ness will never be the universal normal. It's not easy, and sometimes it's not fun. Although sometimes you tango up and down hospital hallways, and that my friends IS fun. <br />
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On the flip side, from my understanding--and I would like to be clear that it is my understanding and in no way fact, the journey of someone who gains a disability is different. Many of my friends do have a desire to return to their previous state. A desire which I get, and I understand, but is not something I want for myself. I will even admit that there are friends I have who were born disabled and want to attain this "universal normal."<br />
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The one thing I think both struggles encompass is that is it a daily question. It's not something that you magically accept one day and poof you're happy with who you are forever and always. There are good days, when I'm like 'yeah I rule the world!' and there are days where I am like 'it really sucks to be labeled disabled. I'm going back to bed.'<br />
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Now back to the "magical cure" plot-line. This plot devices proposes two things that at there are core are offensive:<br />
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One, it supposes that I need to be fixed and am somehow not like the rest of the world and thus am bad/wrong/unlikely to succeed without being like everyone else...<br />
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Not true. I am perfectly happy (most days) with where I am in life. All of my "cures" if you will, aka the 40 some odd surgeries that have kept my original parts in working order, were great and have kept me going. They were, however, not a cure.<br />
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I will also say this: there is no need for a cure because there is nothing wrong with me. <br />
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For most people with disabilities, whether acquired or not, this is the truth. There is no cure. Supposing there is a cure, means that somehow, I am a lower class of citizen without it. The "magical cure" automatically assumes there is something wrong with me and that I must be in want of fixing.<br />
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Two, a "magical cure" can often take the form of the protagonist accepting themselves and their different state and then they are "magiced" into a perfect "universal normal" version of themselves. The reward for accepting yourself as "different" is getting to be like everyone else.<br />
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I would like to say that the perpetuation that this kind of acceptance exists is mean. I grew up on many stories who used this and it took me years to realize there was never going to be that one magic moment of acceptance and then, poof, I would never have to worry about it again. <br />
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Acceptance of ones body is like everything else a spectrum of good days and bad days. Somedays, I am totally a ten. I have no qualms with whatever I am doing. Life is great. Then there are days where I'll admit it, I am not so accepting of myself. I get angry and frustrated, I'm at like a two those days. And sure there are days in there where I'm mildly aware but mostly don't care because I am too busy with my life. Those are my five days or if the classification exists on this spectrum: N/A. <br />
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Acceptance is a road that like life doesn't end. It continues and there will be ups and downs along the way.<br />
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Now, I will make this final mention, as a writer and a reader, I understand the reason this literary device works. These are stories and at their ends, we want our characters to feel happy and like they've achieved something tangible. Acceptance is emotional. As a filmmaker, I am always trying to find new ways of outwardly showing the interior problems/emotions/beats. So yes, the "magical cure" is in itself a great way to express that happy acceptance-filled ending. It's the fairytale sort of end that everyone wants.<br />
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But when you start to think about what the ending really says, it's not that nice. It's not inclusive. It's deceiving. It's letting people believe that people who are different need to be "fixed."<br />
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Now, I am a writer and I can soap-box about this topic all day. The typical follow up question I get to my conversations, is: Then Gretchen, you clearly have passion for this, why don't you write a book/a TV show about a disabled person. You could fix this!<br />
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Well, that would be really cool. Sure. I mean I am all for more people with disabilities in the media--and if its televised, it'd really be cool if those characters were actually <u>played</u> by people with disabilities. If that happened, I might not soap-box as often as I do on the subject.<br />
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Yes, I've considered it. Yes, I've tried it. But what it comes down to is this: disabled characters become bounded by the disability to which they have. Very rarely, if ever, are they free to run around in stories or live lives, that have nothing at all to do with their disability.<br />
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Since they are disabled, their journey and story <u>must</u> be about their journey to over-come it. Their journey is always a desire to return to a "universal normal" which is not my desire at all. They can't just exist autonomously from what they are. I've spent my entire life being told exactly what I am, and what I have, and what that means for me. I do not want to create a character, set them in a story, and then proceed to be all doctor like and tell them what they are. <br />
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Especially in SF/F, characters with disabilities are typically born on planets or exist in societies that look down on people who are disabled. They ara then set on a path to prove the world wrong. <br />
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Now do I think the world we live in is perfect in regards to people with disabilities? No. I mean please my civil rights are younger than I am. Do I face discrimination? Have I faced it? Yup. So can these stories be relevant? Sure. Absolutely, they can be. But so often, disabled characters become touch stones for a larger audience and fail to be real characters/ real people. They are completely defined by what the author has chosen they have. They do not exist without being disabled.<br />
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Trust me, when I say if you ask me to describe myself, the last thing I will say is disabled. The last thing I will mention is that I have nine fingers, am missing parts of my spine, have had over 40 surgeries, and could go on listing the "disabilities" that I have. But as you can see that is not me. That is what I am, that is not who I am. It is in answering the "who are you" question that drives literature.<br />
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Shakespeare even drove an entire play with that question. "Who's there?/Stand and unfold yourself." That's Hamlet people, a question of who is there and who are you? Will you be will you not?<br />
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But so rarely is the "who are you" question answered without using disability for characters who just so happen to have them.<br />
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I think it's time to abandon the idea that disabled characters can only exist within stories where they serve to enlighten the world of their attitudes toward disability. Because that is the change we want to see in the world. That people of all races, abilities, sexual orientations, and I am forgetting some so everyone, can be seen for who they are and not what they. They are not defined by pre-existing ideas of what that person should be. <br />
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Stop using characters with disabilities as a means to an end. Stop defining a character with a disability by their disability. Because as long as I am not in the hospital, I do not live my life being defined by what I am, because I am too busy defining who I am to be bothered by what I am.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15739583026750048543noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8723342418417454296.post-31785811663531024902013-04-17T08:45:00.004-07:002013-04-17T08:45:40.425-07:00Hello World!I'm baaaa-ahhhhhck.<br />
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Oy, and it feels good, although not as creepy as Flynn Rider in that gif. What has kept me away? Well, as my last entry may have hinted: thesis. But guess what?!?! </div>
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After doing this for a month: </div>
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I have completed my graduate thesis, all 220 pages of it. (script, budget, marketing plan, cast/crew, and END NOTES--which are the worst)</div>
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(this is all six copies I had to turn in)</div>
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Now, I just have to wait for my oral defense (in two weeks). In the mean time, I'm on the look out for a job. So if you see one laying around, send it my way. </div>
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In the meantime, I'm flirting with like 6 projects (2 features, 2 pilots, 2 books). As I've mentioned before, I've got commitment issues.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15739583026750048543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8723342418417454296.post-7635767733731295252012-08-24T08:00:00.000-07:002012-08-24T08:00:12.032-07:00Thesis.If you've ever had to write a thesis you know pure and absolute joy and pure and absolute pain. Wait, no one told you thesis writing wasn't the most fun thing you've ever done in your life?<br />
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WHAT!?!?!<br />
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But seriously now, I'm in grad school and I'm almost done! (my last year) But before we break out the confetti and the cake (or rather cupcakes) there is this big bad thing called thesis. Thesis in my program while a complete pain is also sort of completely and totally filled with awesome. It's what happens when you got to film school.<br />
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Our thesis projects must either consist of a TV show or a Film (if you choose film you may not write it, TV however you may). So of course I've chosen TV. One because I absolutely LOVE it. I probably watch more TV than is healthy. In my class and at my last internship, the name of the game was find a TV show Gretchen does not watch. It's hard. But it can be done. Two I absolutely want to write TV and work in TV and sort of just surround myself with books and TV.<br />
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It's a great thing that my TV does not take up that much room. The same cannot be said of my book obsession, even with e-reader Saira on the job. <br />
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But like any good type-A personality, I've already started my thesis. I'm knee deep in stuff. TV Bible. Outline. Leave-behind. Outline. Marketing ideas. Outline. Character bios. Did I mention outlining?<br />
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Oy outlining. For those who know me well you know I've never EVER been one to outline. I'm more of the ocasional post-it kind of girl. TV however is not done with the ocasional post-it. No ma'am, do not pass go do not collect $200 until you have outlined.<br />
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I sort of want to pull my nails out. And then again I sort of don't. <br />
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Outline is one of those things that's a lot like writing, in that everyone must find their own way of handling it. There are ways of outline just like there are ways of writing. I've been smacking my head against the outline until finally my friend suggested I outline the "procedural" plot and build around that.<br />
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It worked like Pixie Dust, I was up and at 'em before I knew what happened. Now I'm back with the other plots and am about to start digging through all of the other scenes ferreting out all of the other plots. You see TV shows are strictly divided up into four basic plot lines in every episode. So I've tamed one--mostly. Now it's on to the other stuff, luckily it's all falling into place.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15739583026750048543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8723342418417454296.post-67090742720345535992012-08-21T20:50:00.000-07:002012-08-21T20:52:06.660-07:00I am a....writer....oy.So I've been a writer in the sense that I think things up and then commit them to paper for years. Like years (code for I have forgotten the exact time this started.) But what's funny is that I've sort of kept it in a box. Like a box you bury deep in the back of your closet so no one has to see the stuff you keep in it sort of box. <br />
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I wrote things down but I did not tell anyone in my "real" life that I was busy writing things down. It was always that thing I did late at night or in notebooks or in places where people who knew me could never see it.<br />
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That is all a changin'. <br />
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Because my career goal to be a TV writer or a novelist, or a feature writer. Basically what I am getting at is that I am going to be a writer. It's not just a dream that will someday happen it's got to happen.<br />
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Now that the "career" part of my life is out of the way, it's time to make the second step. Taking that box out of the closet and letting out that thing I've kept closed up. <br />
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It's a strange thing to go to parties with my family or talk with my old friends. Strange because I'm now telling them, I'm going to be a writer. I used to keep everything all boxed up because I didn't want people to think I was foolish. I grew up in a small town and people from small town Kansas, just did not become writers of any kind. We became teachers, and farmer, and maybe there was the odd doctor or lawyer, but we did not become writers and we certainly did not move to California with the intention of becoming writers. It was a fine dream but there was always the practicality of living to consider. More often than not, practicality won out.<br />
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The strange thing is that fear and anxiety I thought would happen. And more importantly that feeling that people would think I was dreaming the impossible dream, did not happen. I have officially been introducing myself as Gretchen Schreiber--writer for several months now.<br />
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I've broached the subject with my parents. It was sort of like telling them I'm not going to medical school all over again. And surprisingly (to me at least) they were like "Duh. Of course you are."<br />
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"...." that was my response. Actually the more accurate response would be this: o_0. My parents were completely chill.<br />
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My friends? Did not think I was some sort of freak. They thought it was "cool." That I was having some sort of mad adventure that they wanted to be apart of...<br />
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Suddenly, my entire fear network, because that's what it had become in my mind. A network of fear. Fear that I might have to tell people I want to write things down. That I might have to admit that I was more afraid of admitting this to myself, than of admitting it to my friends. I was just displacing all that fear of my own failing to other people. So much self-examination....it's good for the soul.<br />
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Anyway the point of the story is: Hi, my name is Gretchen Schreiber and I <strike>want</strike> am going to be a writer.<br />
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Oy. Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15739583026750048543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8723342418417454296.post-47429461487475925102012-08-07T21:38:00.000-07:002012-08-07T21:38:01.289-07:00Pie BakingDigging. Drill down. Go deeper. These are all words/phrases/things I've typed in critiques. It's my short hand for: you're only scratching the surface, but there's big oil reserves down there.<br />
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It's also something that I myself have had to come and face. Not just in my writing but in a personal level. <br />
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There were some not so good days this week. They are not writing related, and I've come to term/dealt with them, so I'm cool. Am I going to tell you the gory details--of course not. However, I have learned not to shy away from unpleasant emotions. Just because something makes us unhappy does not mean we do not talk about it. Not that every subject needs to be full of negativity, but everyone stumbles and has a weak moment. This week has been mine. (It's only Tuesday I realize--that tell you something about how my week has been?)<br />
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But I will say these words, drill down/digging/go deeper are a better way of dealing with/discussing anger/fear/hatred/frustration/love than anything I have yet to find.<br />
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I was busy trying to explain my situation to a friend via gchat and he stops me to ask what made me type some of the things I've said. I give him some of the answers, but he stops me again and says, no that's not what I meant. Why do YOU say these things? Why do YOU feel so strongly about this?<br />
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My friend forced me to go down past the surface level emotion--anger, and delve into why I was angry. Not the situation, but my emotions that led to me being angry. I feel that I'm mucking this up. But what I have learned is that most of these surface layer emotions are always backed by deeper more personal emotions. I wasn't just angry--oh I thought I was--but I was not. I was hurt, I'd lost something I dearly wanted, I felt betrayed. All of these emotions were baked in a pie and covered by a crust of anger. Without that tasty filling, the pie crust doesn't have legs on which to stand.<br />
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He also forced me to look at a lot of my own "demons" surrounding the subject. As I started to sit down and write I find that I too am starting to unpack/drill down into my characters emotions. Not asking what makes them angry--but what is that anger covering. That's where the real drama is. Because the filling is way more satisfying than the pie crust.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15739583026750048543noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8723342418417454296.post-35399336723677598052012-07-30T08:00:00.000-07:002012-07-30T08:00:00.960-07:00Musical MondaysMore ear food on this bright Monday Morning. Today's musical stylings are brought to you by the wonderful artist Ellie Goulding.<br />
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I sat here trying to remember how I came across this wonderful artist and it took me a good five minutes, because she's been in my life now almost two months. Her CD Lights is pretty much the only stuff I listen to on my commute to work in the mornings. <br />
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Then I remembered I discovered Ellie on facebook, because a random friend was listening to her on Spotify and I had nothing better to do than look her up on youtube and take a listen. Little did I know this would lead me to immediately purchasing her CD. <br />
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Today's number however (I should warn all of you Americans, this song is not available in the US, I know it's a crime) is not on Ellie's CD Lights. I should also say there are two version of a lot of her music. There is the acoustic and then the electronic. Both are fabulous, I am just showing you the acoustic version today, but look her up!<br />
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Title: Wish I Stayed<br />
Artist: Ellie Goulding<br />
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Why can't we speak another language, one we all agree on?<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />Why and when men look outside, do they see houses,<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />Instead of the fields they grew from?<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />We are constantly uprooted from them, making us tiresome and fearful,<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />Can you get up right now? Endeavour to free-fall.<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" /><br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />'Cause you can fall if you want to, it's just a matter of how far,<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />You've treasured your home town, but you've forgotten where you are.<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />And it will stay with you until you're mind's been found,<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />and it has been found wondering around.<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" /><br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />With that skipping rope, the trampoline,<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />The crafty smoke that made us choke,<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />But we didn't give up hope.<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />It's the simple ways of getting paid,<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />The carelessness of running away,<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />I wish I stayed,<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />I wish I stayed,<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />I wish I stayed.<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" /><br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />Patterns all arranged in my background,<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />It's pillars and posts keeping this country on form.<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />Letters were all sent with no addresses so that people can't discover.<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />We're always undercover.<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />Why do I always draw triangles instead of words this paper so deserves?<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" /><br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />'Cause you see,<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />I don't own my clothes but I own my mind,<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />And it's not what you've lost,<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />But it's what you find.<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" /><br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />We found that skipping rope, the trampoline,<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />The crafty smoke that made us choke,<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />But we didn't give up hope.<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />It's the simple ways of getting paid,<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />The carelessness of running away,<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />I wish I stayed,<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />I wish I stayed,<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />I wish I stayed.<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" /><br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />'Cause you can fall if you want to, it's just a matter of how far,<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />You've treasured your home town, but you've forgotten where you are.<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />And it will stay with you 'til you're mind's been found,<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />and it has been found wondering around.<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" /><br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />With that skipping rope, the trampoline,<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />The crafty smoke that made us choke,<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />But we didn't give up hope.<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />It's the simple ways of getting paid,<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />The carelessness of running away,<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />Now, I wish I stayed,<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />I wish I stayed,<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />I wish I stayed,<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />I wish I stayed,<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />I wish I stayed.</div>
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</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15739583026750048543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8723342418417454296.post-85143736259932170432012-07-25T08:00:00.000-07:002012-07-25T08:00:10.975-07:00Finding CenterSo I love the film Center Stage. Yes I know it's cheesy, corny, and the acting can sometimes be questionable, but I love it anyway. It's one of those films that makes me stop whatever I am doing and sit down and watch. No matter what, I will watch this film if it is on TV. <br />
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One of my favorite scenes, besides all of the dance sequences, comes at the end of the film. Eva, who's bad attitude at the beginning of the film put her on bad terms with the artistic director, is alone practicing. She's frustrated because she didn't get the big part, that her director hates her, that she'll never get a job. Then enters her teacher, Juliette Simone. Eva complains and Juliette tells her something important. A good dancer will always come back to the barre. Other dancers will complain, they didn't like, I should have gotten this, but good dancers come back practice because it is one more time they get to dance.<br />
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I love this scene, it can be corny but I love it because I feel that's how you need to describe yourself as an artist. No matter what you return to your art. You get a bad review, you come back to the blank word document. A CP doesn't like something, you re-evaluate and try to see what they see. An agent sends you a form rejection, you take it and write another day.<br />
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I'm not saying it won't hurt like hell, because I can tell you it feels like a punch to the gut. It feels like you might be a failure. It feels bad. And no one likes to feel bad about a piece of their soul.<br />
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The important thing is to come back. Nothing should keep you from opening that word document, scrivener, celtx, finaldraft. Not anyone's comments because believe it or not, you wrote something and it was probably really good in some spots and probably could have been better in others (yes, we must admit our failings). <br />
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When I studied physical theater in undergrad, they always focused on the importance of your center of gravity. For women, it's right above the hips. If you focus on this spot while trying to balance, it makes balancing easier. For me the freedom of a new project is just like finding my center. No matter the stuff I've dealt with that's tipped me over, or made me lose focus, I can center myself again by focusing on a new story, a new set of words. My writing life is not built around others reactions to my work, although I love to get the good reviews, but there are also the critiques of what I need to work on. So find your center, your barre, your blank page, the one thing that makes you focus back to your writer and makes it easier to deal with all of the crazy stuff.<br />
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Do you have a center point for your creative self? Something that helps you deal with all of the crazy stuff? Tell me about it, leave a comment!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15739583026750048543noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8723342418417454296.post-73695897431894246062012-07-23T08:00:00.000-07:002012-07-23T08:00:00.777-07:00Musical MondaysShuffling through my iPod I thought this week, Musical Monday, would feature a song that has had a TON of impact on my current MS <i>Infected. </i><br />
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The story behind this song is really simple. I heard it in a film trailer, looked it up, fell in love. I pretty much am in love with every song I own, so this saying will populate Musical Monday posts like no body's business.<br />
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This song I should mention is like one of five on <i>Infected's</i> playlist so I hear it a lot. I like it because I feel this is a conversation my characters would have with each other. Every time I listen to it, my characters just wake up and start moving about so I always love songs like that.<br />
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Song: Dead Hearts<br />
Artist: Stars<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/nfYK8wvvU90?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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Lyrics (azlyrics.com)</div>
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Tell me everything that happened<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />Tell me everything you saw<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />They had lights inside their eyes<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />They had lights inside their eyes<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" /><br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />Did you see the closing window?<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />Did you hear the slamming door?<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />They moved forward, my heart died<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />They moved forward, my heart died<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" /><br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />Please, please tell me what they look like<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />Did they seem afraid of you?<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />They were kids that I once knew<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />They were kids that I once knew<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" /><br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" /><i style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">[Chorus]</i><br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />I could say it, but you won't believe me<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />You say you do, but you don't deceive me<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />It's hard to know they're out there<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />It's hard to know that you still care<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />I could say it but you wont believe me<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />You say you do but you don't deceive me<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />Dead hearts are everywhere<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />Dead hearts are everywhere<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" /><br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />Did you touch them, did you hold them?<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />Did they follow you to town?<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />They make me feel I'm falling down<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />They make me feel I'm falling down<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" /><br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />Was there one you saw too clearly?<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />Did they seem too real to you?<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />They were kids that I once knew<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />They were kids that I once knew<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" /><br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" /><i style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">[Chorus x2]</i><br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" /><br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />They were kids that I once knew<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />They were kids that I once knew<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />Now they're all dead hearts to you<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />Now they're all dead hearts to you<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" /><br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />They were kids that I once knew<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />They were kids that I once knew<br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />Now they're all dead hearts to you</div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15739583026750048543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8723342418417454296.post-72817863258320831952012-07-20T12:43:00.001-07:002012-07-20T12:43:11.326-07:00Lucky Seven Meme Award<br />
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<strong>The Lucky 7 Meme Award Rules are as such:</strong><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px;">1. Go to the 7th or 77th page of your work in progress.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px;">2. Go to the 7th line of the page.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px;">3. Copy the next 7 sentences or paragraphs. Remember, they must be as they are typed.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px;">4. Tag 7 authors.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px;">5. Let them know they’re it!</span></div>
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Ok so this is like ratcheting up the lift hill on a roller coaster, because this is a NEW sekrit project. Only not so sekrit now because I just told you all. Well anyway, it's tentatively entitled:<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The Nightingale</b></span></div>
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The Unseelie Court is in search of a new Nightingale, and the Queen has her sights set on musician, Artemis (last name TBD). Her life thrown off kilter and a faery named The Rover on her tail, Artemis might find the only way to escape is to be captured in the first place. (You can see all the images I've collected for this story <a href="http://pinterest.com/gretchschreiber/fairytales/">here</a>)</div>
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Now as they say on NPR "the rest of the story" or at least seven sentences from the 7th page starting at the 7th line:<br />
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She winds the car through the passes and lanes. Dad used to tell people our was was easy to find, you went to the middle of nowhere and turned left. Aunt's new to the middle of nowhere and her diving makes me want to tell her to pull over I'll drive. Only summer residents and tourists drive the speed limit.<br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: "MS 明朝"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast;"> But
I let her drive and I stare out the window. Trees and underbrush whip past at
the speed of light, blurring into a muddy landscape of snow and brown. A dash of red pops out and has me sitting up.</span><br />
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And that's all you get folks! Sorry it was mostly dialogue, but that's the way it goes sometimes. Now on to the tagging!<br />
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This may seem haphazard because I'm not sure I know seven people to tag....sooooooooo I can't tag 7 people so feel free to volunteer for tags and I shall come read your stuff! <br />
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1. <a href="http://www.helpimarriedasocialist.com/">Emily Hendricks</a><br />
2. <a href="http://asquirrelamongstlions.blogspot.com/">Dana Elmendorf</a><br />
will you be the first to claim a spot? (Please?)</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15739583026750048543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8723342418417454296.post-31121305288029580902012-07-16T08:00:00.000-07:002012-07-16T08:00:00.346-07:00Musical MondaysWelcome back to another addition of "Musical Mondays" where I tell you what's playing in my ears.<br />
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Like most songs I listen to, this one also comes with a story. When I am not getting music from friends, I'm probably getting music from TV shows. I watch a lot of TV, because I can count it as homework. Not a joke. Welcome to the life of a film student. <br />
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The band this week is Sleeperstar and I first heard them on The Vampire Diaries. Yes I watch this show; the storylines are phenomenal. I highly recommend if you like anything to do with Vampires, Supernatural, Teenager-y dramas. Watch it.<br />
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One episode featured a Sleeperstar song and I went to youtube and listened to it until my ears almost rejected me. The song this week, however is not the song on the Vampire Diaries, but another one of their equally amazing songs called "Everything Must Find Its Place."<br />
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Sleeperstar<br />
Everything Must Find Its Place<br />
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<object class="BLOGGER-youtube-video" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0" data-thumbnail-src="http://3.gvt0.com/vi/kpajgnz_GDc/0.jpg" height="266" width="320"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/kpajgnz_GDc&fs=1&source=uds" /><param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF" /><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true" /><embed width="320" height="266" src="http://www.youtube.com/v/kpajgnz_GDc&fs=1&source=uds" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object></div>
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Lyrics (maxilyrics.com) </div>
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<span style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 19px; text-align: center;">This has gotta stop</span><br style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: small; line-height: 19px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><span style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 19px; text-align: center;">This has got to be the end</span><br style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: small; line-height: 19px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><span style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 19px; text-align: center;">This has gotta die</span><br style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: small; line-height: 19px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><span style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 19px; text-align: center;">We will find our end</span><br style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: small; line-height: 19px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><span style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 19px; text-align: center;">Oh</span><br style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: small; line-height: 19px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><br style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: small; line-height: 19px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><span style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 19px; text-align: center;">Everything must find its place</span><br style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: small; line-height: 19px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><span style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 19px; text-align: center;">Find someone to fill the empty space</span><br style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: small; line-height: 19px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><span style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 19px; text-align: center;">Everything must find its place</span><br style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: small; line-height: 19px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><br style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: small; line-height: 19px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><span style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 19px; text-align: center;">Let it be, let it be my fault</span><br style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: small; line-height: 19px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><span style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 19px; text-align: center;">This is you, this is me</span><br style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: small; line-height: 19px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><span style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 19px; text-align: center;">Caught in between these cold lies</span><br style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: small; line-height: 19px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><span style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 19px; text-align: center;">Saying oh my</span><br style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: small; line-height: 19px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><span style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 19px; text-align: center;">Let it be, let it be my fault</span><br style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: small; line-height: 19px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><span style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 19px; text-align: center;">This is you, this is me</span><br style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: small; line-height: 19px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><span style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 19px; text-align: center;">Stuck in between these old lies</span><br style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: small; line-height: 19px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><span style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 19px; text-align: center;">This is all I can take</span><br style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: small; line-height: 19px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><br style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: small; line-height: 19px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><span style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 19px; text-align: center;">All of this is wrong</span><br style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: small; line-height: 19px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><span style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 19px; text-align: center;">All of this I now regret</span><br style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: small; line-height: 19px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><span style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 19px; text-align: center;">The lonely never sleep</span><br style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: small; line-height: 19px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><span style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 19px; text-align: center;">She's always in my head</span><br style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: small; line-height: 19px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><span style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 19px; text-align: center;">Oh</span><br style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: small; line-height: 19px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><br style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: small; line-height: 19px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><span style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 19px; text-align: center;">Everything must find its place</span><br style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: small; line-height: 19px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><span style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 19px; text-align: center;">Find someone to fill the empty space</span><br style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: small; line-height: 19px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><span style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 19px; text-align: center;">Everything must find its place</span><br style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: small; line-height: 19px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><br style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: small; line-height: 19px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><span style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 19px; text-align: center;">Let it be, let it be my fault</span><br style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: small; line-height: 19px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><span style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 19px; text-align: center;">This is you, this is me</span><br style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: small; line-height: 19px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><span style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 19px; text-align: center;">Caught in between these cold lies</span><br style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: small; line-height: 19px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><span style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 19px; text-align: center;">Saying oh my</span><br style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: small; line-height: 19px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><span style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 19px; text-align: center;">Let it be, let it be my fault</span><br style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: small; line-height: 19px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><span style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 19px; text-align: center;">This is you, this is me</span><br style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: small; line-height: 19px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><span style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 19px; text-align: center;">Stuck in between these cold lies</span><br style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: small; line-height: 19px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><span style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 19px; text-align: center;">This is all I can say to you</span><br style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: small; line-height: 19px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><br style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: small; line-height: 19px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><span style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 19px; text-align: center;">'Cause time is short</span><br style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: small; line-height: 19px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><span style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 19px; text-align: center;">Only love will make this run on</span><br style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: small; line-height: 19px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><br style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: small; line-height: 19px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><span style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 19px; text-align: center;">Let it be, let it be my fault</span><br style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: small; line-height: 19px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><span style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 19px; text-align: center;">This is you, this is me</span><br style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: small; line-height: 19px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><span style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 19px; text-align: center;">Caught in between these cold lies</span><br style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: small; line-height: 19px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><span style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 19px; text-align: center;">Saying oh my</span><br style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: small; line-height: 19px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><span style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 19px; text-align: center;">Let it be, let it be my fault</span><br style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: small; line-height: 19px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><span style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 19px; text-align: center;">This is you, this is me</span><br style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: small; line-height: 19px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><span style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 19px; text-align: center;">Stuck in between these old lies</span><br style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: small; line-height: 19px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><span style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 19px; text-align: center;">Saying oh my</span><br style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: small; line-height: 19px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><span style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 19px; text-align: center;">Let it be, let it be my fault</span><br style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: small; line-height: 19px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><span style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 19px; text-align: center;">This is you, this is me</span><br style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: small; line-height: 19px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><span style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 19px; text-align: center;">Caught in between these cold lies</span><br style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: small; line-height: 19px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><span style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 19px; text-align: center;">Saying oh my</span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15739583026750048543noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8723342418417454296.post-81630043776949160022012-07-13T08:00:00.000-07:002012-07-13T08:00:08.635-07:00Film FridaysApparently I am all about alliterations on this blog. Musical Mondays and now Film Fridays. It's something that I really can't run from because I'm getting my MFA in producing. Let me say this producing is not production. They have the same root word but they are not the same thing. Not the same thing at all. It's also not a difference in paycheck. <div>
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Production students focus on the making of film/TV. The camera, the lights, writing, directing and the like. </div>
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Producers can and do some or all of the following: writing, hiring crew/writers/actors, budgeting, marketing, getting financing, finding material, finding a distributer, filling out festival paperwork, dealing with studios, dealing with networks, often times dealing with both at the same time, making sure the who crew has everything they need to make a film, making sure everything is running smoothly, making sure we get the shots we need...it's really a long list of things. Basically if it's going to happen, producers make it happen. <div>
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So what is a producer? We make movies/tv/web series happen. This is why producers are awarded the Best Picture Oscar.</div>
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We also often don't share the spotlight, we make it happen and then we let others take the stage. For example do you know who Emma Thomas is or Kathleen Kennedy? Thomas produces the Batman films and Kennedy work as a producer for Steven Spielberg and now has her own company and more recently was named co-chair of George Lucas's company. </div>
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I think it's interesting how the public doesn't normally know these people, but they are highly influential when it comes to making TV and film. Not that this is a bad thing, until I got interested I didn't know many producers. I feel we're sort of like book editors, we make things happen but unless you're in the field you often don't even know to thank them.</div>
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Out of curiosity what is your favorite film and who was the producer? (Check out IMDB.com for help looking up crew)?</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15739583026750048543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8723342418417454296.post-7917168274990827742012-07-11T10:30:00.001-07:002012-07-11T10:30:21.421-07:00YA Highway- Movie topping BookSuch a question I get everyday. Why because I am firmly straddling the line between the film world and the publishing world. I know a lot about publishing and I know a lot about TV and Film (which is good cause it's my course of study).<br />
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<span style="background-color: white;">This weeks prompt: <b style="font-family: Arial, verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; text-align: center;">What movie have you seen that actually (gasp!)<i> improved</i> on the book?</b></span><br />
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I actually have an opinion on this and I have to say, The Lord of the Rings. Now hold on before you kill me. I have read both the trilogy and seen the films. And while I am glad Peter Jackson reads the books every year, I could not. I barely made it through once.<br />
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I love a good fantasy as much as the next girl, okay probably more than the next girl, because I heart pretty much all things fantasy/paranormal/supernatural, but Tolkien about killed me with the details. The devil is in the details and Tolkien proved it.<br />
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But while is loaded-up prose made me want to jump ship, they made for a spectacular movie. I think what the movie was able to do was get at the heart of the story, cut away the not as essential parts and paint a world so rich that I felt Middle Earth was a real place.<br />
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So Lord of the Rings Movies improvement on the books.<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15739583026750048543noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8723342418417454296.post-78304355066842503812012-07-11T08:00:00.000-07:002012-07-11T08:00:06.872-07:00Muscle StretchingI'm sure if you're a creative person, you've heard the phrase creativity is a muscle. I firmly believe this. And like any muscle it must be stretched. Every day. <br />
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Does this mean I work on the same project everyday? No of course not. I recently took up a running program, and while I do run three out of seven days a week on the other days I do other things. Lift weights, bike, swim. All of this comes back to my running because it helps build endurance, strength, and the like. I believe the same goes for creativity.<br />
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Once you break it out and start using it every day it starts to work on its own. Writing becomes easier, plotting becomes easier, heck editing becomes easier. But since you don't have to be creative on the same project every day what are ways you can be creative.<br />
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I always like to keep a book of what I like to call false starts. They're quick things I do in like an evening. I might spend an hour at most on them. Sometimes I spend as little as fifteen minutes on them. They're sort of like a warm up, like stretching before a run.<br />
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Pintrest has become my newest creativity technique. Pintrest is an online pin board where you can collect images and group them together. It's been a great start to help me collect my thoughts on new up coming projects. Anymore, I like to begin with a Pintrest session. I'll look through recent pins and see if they fit in a story I'm currently working on or if they might inspire something new and different.<br />
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I like to idea mine. Which is what I do as I wrap a project. My favorite site is io9.com. It's a blog that curates all kinds of whacky and interesting articles. Sometimes it's fun just to browse through them and see what new things they can bring to my head. A simple article may inspire an entire short story or even the beginnings of a novel.<br />
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To keep everything organized I use post-its. Which I know isn't always the best thing. But on my desk there is a big (real) cork board, onto which I pin all of my post-it musings. Sometimes it's an idea for a plot twist in my WIP. Other times it's something interesting I want to remember, like rendez-vous camping--which is seriously cool, you should google it.<br />
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All of this idea grabbing, creative thinking all comes back when I work on my actual novel. Because my brain is used to thinking in a creative space. I can just sit and say yes it's time to write and my brain says "I know what to do!" Like any sort of exercise it takes work and consistency to keep my brain on track and saying it can do it. But the more I delve into creativity the easier it comes to me.<br />
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What are your warm-ups for writing? Or what do you like to do for creative inspiration?Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15739583026750048543noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8723342418417454296.post-22284911971177288902012-07-09T08:00:00.000-07:002012-07-09T08:00:01.044-07:00Musical MondaysSo one of my critique partners, does this thing called Sunday Downloads, where she lets people in on all the awesome sauce songs she listens to. (You can find her blog here: http://asquirrelamongstlions.blogspot.com/). <br />
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I thought in the spirit of sharing music, because my writing survives on the airwaves, I would share something I've been writing to for the past few days. I shall try to be regular about Musical Mondays because I love music, but I will be honest, I get addicted to a song and poof it's all I listen to for a month.<br />
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Anyway today's musical stylings come from a friend of mine, a different friend than CP friend. I've known this girl from high school and she's sort of my outlet into the indie music scene. We sometimes trade interesting songs. Last week I asked her to go on a music binge and recommend me some tunage. She gladly did this. I wound up with like twenty songs smacked onto my wall. I love most of them.<br />
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This band is call Hungry Ghosts (don't you just love that title? I do.) and they do all instrumental. The song is: "I Don't Think About You Anymore, But I Don't Think About You Any Less"<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/kS9SUmAyKWM?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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The picture is beautiful the music is hauntingly gorgeous. Hungry Ghost has an entire CD and from the samplings of iTunes, I'm pretty sure I know where my next CD purchase will go.<br />
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I hope you enjoy the music and write something fabulous today.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15739583026750048543noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8723342418417454296.post-64125859873428983512012-07-05T21:17:00.000-07:002012-07-05T22:28:24.217-07:00Begin....now.There have been a lot of famous words written about beginnings. For starters, "In the beginning...."<br />
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What a way to start a story. In the beginning there was a girl who wanted to blog. So she started to blog. She had been given reasons why she shouldn't, the prime one "The world does not need another blog." This is factual. The world does not need another blog; the world needs a lot of things, but rarely does it need something like a blog. A world needs nothing really. Thus the girl defied that world and gave it a blog. Her blog....take 2.<br />
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From her desk, to her blog, to you.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHwGqRlcuBfbp4Y80nc8EReBP6h_kekqj7ZhUjoJQ0rcKAF0RAz5JOZ15zDtScnZn6996gMNBvIbNHHu1GuKrjw9Mz3LMzFpMhT1axmmchY-BOr1gMwi2oIPLSq7aWxEuL-ktqqCVMiN4/s1600/2012-05-06_09-04-04_108.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHwGqRlcuBfbp4Y80nc8EReBP6h_kekqj7ZhUjoJQ0rcKAF0RAz5JOZ15zDtScnZn6996gMNBvIbNHHu1GuKrjw9Mz3LMzFpMhT1axmmchY-BOr1gMwi2oIPLSq7aWxEuL-ktqqCVMiN4/s320/2012-05-06_09-04-04_108.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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It has also been written that a beginning comes from some other beginnings end. This is also true. Off in La-LA Land comes from the end of Scribbling on the Page, which if you're here from there, HI! Sometimes things come to an end because of big long drawn out stories and sometimes the answer is really quite simple. In this case, it's the later. I wanted something a little more put together on one account. Before this blog, my twitter, blog, and other social media apparatuses were spread over three separate emails. For convenience sake, I made it all under one. Huzzah!<br />
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<span style="background-color: white;">Fun Fact Break. Most of my beginnings start with this: </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHPNZd2vNm29NiZMCzkhamXkiLv_vWi9NTrpbnWRirV9xzR_s5EFvbMaB4DuKFomD3-qCm9M_dYrRwXuy8m31XS6LFddAAfnKvXeKoLKr6koGtjUgAdaimPZzlTpZIeHd4L9ED2YcylFk/s1600/2012-07-05_22-12-58_109.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHPNZd2vNm29NiZMCzkhamXkiLv_vWi9NTrpbnWRirV9xzR_s5EFvbMaB4DuKFomD3-qCm9M_dYrRwXuy8m31XS6LFddAAfnKvXeKoLKr6koGtjUgAdaimPZzlTpZIeHd4L9ED2YcylFk/s320/2012-07-05_22-12-58_109.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br />Some famous person once said "beginnings are tough" someone buy that person a pair of shoes, because it is true, beginnings are tough. This beginning is tough, but I will make a bargain with you reader, you read, I'll write and together we'll find stories a plenty. For that is the goal of every beginning is it not, to find a story?<br />
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When the going gets tough, this blogger calls in back-up. These guys constantly guard her books:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf6feB1OxTUytglhVpYtsKwg6KcotU14_I6jvk6_yLw7t4Brsmosr5ztX4C6V7qzSQdXsesIQH9hsx-9g7AhFjyx_Byse6mN1Ic4EODiib-sgoFf8NTD2iGSJH8Qw4UQGcy7qunMoLnf4/s1600/2012-07-05_22-10-47_207.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="181" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf6feB1OxTUytglhVpYtsKwg6KcotU14_I6jvk6_yLw7t4Brsmosr5ztX4C6V7qzSQdXsesIQH9hsx-9g7AhFjyx_Byse6mN1Ic4EODiib-sgoFf8NTD2iGSJH8Qw4UQGcy7qunMoLnf4/s320/2012-07-05_22-10-47_207.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Don't mess with them, they're Roman Hoplite Soldiers. Also a glass octopus. Don't mess with the glass octopus.</div>
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Here is my begin--againing. Do you ever find yourself, beginning something again. Craft projects, writing, work out programs...anything really. Everything has a beginning care to share one of yours? Leave me a message.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15739583026750048543noreply@blogger.com2