By William Zinsser
Keep it simple. Keep it clean. I start today.
Posts under ‘Reading and Writing’
Will I ever write a book?
When people find out that I’m a writer, the question that invariably comes after ten minutes is: “So are you going to write a book?”
Almost as if writing a book is what makes a writer a real writer.
I usually reply with:
a) No. I’m not long-winded enough.
b) No. I haven’t found a subject I’m passionate enough about or have enough to say about.
c) No. I don’t know.
Even Y asks me this from time to time and I tell him the same thing. I’ve never been able to see myself writing a book, even if I did complete Nanowrimo in 2005, but that has started to change recently.
The only (or most likely) way I can see myself writing a book these days is if I write a biography. Not an autobiography, but a biography. It would allow me to combine my love for meeting interesting people and hearing their presumably interesting stories, and solve my dilemma of never having enough to say. Because it’s not my story, it’s theirs. And if there’s going to be a biography of them, they better have a lot to say.
I wonder if I’ll ever write a biography. And who it would be of.
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Back to reality
The house is clean. The piles of paper on the dining table have been sorted and cleared. The laundry is done. My email is checked. I am ready for work tomorrow.
How bloody depressing.
So the script writing course that I’ve been repeatedly blogging about is over. I have managed to juggle both work and the course for a fortnight, admittedly not very well in the second week. Work, a short course and a social life is impossible to maintain all at the same time, so I’ve found.
At least I’ll get to see and hang out with the rest of the Potatoes again.
I’ve learnt a lot from the course, both in terms of script writing and about myself. I’ve met some really great people, some of whom I’ll likely never see again, all of whom I’d love to keep in touch with. And to think that on the first day of the course, I walked into the room knowing nobody. But isn’t that what this is all about? Meeting new people, learning new things, establishing new friendships. Isn’t it amazing?
I’ve had a beyond brilliant time, both during the course and outside of it. Being in a classroom has reminded me how much I love learning. Being surrounded by so much talent has inspired me to push myself and think about where I want to see my writing take me. Watching the tutors and their passion for their work has me asking: what about me?
Detailed thoughts to come when I sink back into reality.
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I’ve officially written my first ever short film script
Friday night.
It’s been an amazing week. Tomorrow marks Day Six of my script writing course and I’m already dreading the day it ends. I’m expecting withdrawal symptoms. We’re only just settling down and becoming really comfortable with each other, forming friendships that go beyond, “Hello, how are you?”
I’m counting down the hours till tomorrow morning.
Today was sort of D-Day for the script writers. Each of us had to present our short film scripts and out of 16, five were chosen for the directors and actors to shoot. Mine wasn’t one of them, but that’s okay. I was really just kind of hoping it wouldn’t be the worst – which I don’t think it was. It definitely wasn’t the best either, not by fifty miles, but we were reminded – several times – that the final scripts were chosen not just based on merit, but on the availability of characters from the acting class and from a logistical standpoint.
We were also told that there wasn’t a single dud script among our lot and that this year’s scripts were better than last year’s. For that, I’m proud of us. Yesterday morning, we were freaking out. We had nothing. And today, we had 16 stories to tell. It’s kind of amazing if you think about it.
Watching the reactions of my course mates as the final five were announced was interesting. I’m not going to lie and say I don’t wish my script was chosen, but considering I came in simply hoping I don’t fall flat on my face, I wasn’t exactly devastated. Besides, I had my favourites of the lot and they didn’t include mine.
A few of the others probably felt the same way – I know at least one other person who did; but some of them seemed to take it really hard. They were visibly disappointed, they looked as if the air had been let out of them, they asked questions like, “What now?” and “Can we go home since ours didn’t get chosen?”
I don’t get it. It was as if they had joined the course solely to see if their script would get chosen and when it wasn’t, they were ready to throw in the towel and go home. What about tomorrow? And next week? We’ll be learning so much more stuff, didn’t they care anymore simply because what we do next week won’t be shot during the course?
I know people who’d really wanted to get in but weren’t selected. And today, when I saw some of my course mates, I wanted to smack them because I could think of other people who would have been so thankful just to sit in that room.
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Script writing is scary fun!
Today marks day two of my NIDA script writing course and it’s turning out to be a really challenging, exciting ride.
I feel like I’m back in uni again, attending lectures about cinema, learning about writing, picking up new terms and phrases and concepts. I even have homework which I (still) do in front of the television every night. And I’ve been taking public transport because the short course is held at Central Market and parking costs a small fortune. Actually, even going to the toilet costs a small fortune, comparatively, but we’ve been given special pass cards so I don’t have to dig for change every time I need to pee.
I’m freaking out now because I have to produce a short film script by 10am Friday and I have no idea how that’s going to happen. It’s been a seriously long time since I got this stressed out by a writing assignment (actually, I don’t remember the last time) and it’s really scary and thrilling at the same time. It’s going to be a crazy fortnight juggling the course and work but I’m loving this so much I really don’t care.
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I’m going to do the script writing course
Two days ago, I found out that I’d been accepted to do this script writing short course I blogged about last month. I didn’t really favour my chances of being selected, to be honest, and I’m thrilled at the opportunity. It’s going to be an incredibly hectic fortnight come December, what with the course, my work and the Standard Chartered run smack in the middle of it all, but I for one am really excited.
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Beginning Nanowrimo
An excerpt from my attempt at Nanowrimo so far:
The beggar woman clutched her filthy shawl closer to her body, as if by drawing it tighter she would be able to ward off the pain and cold of abandonment. It wasn’t the winters that were so hard; the weather she could take. It was the knowledge that she would be alone for yet another one of them. Some days she wished she could just go to sleep in a quiet corner and never wake up, she even prayed for God to take her while she slept peacefully; but other days, like today, she knew she would – she had to – do whatever it took to survive yet another morn.
Besides, she told herself, there was fat chance of her finding a quiet, peaceful corner in a city as big and bustling as this. When she finally found it – the place where she would lay her head and go to eternal rest, she would know, believed the beggar woman. Until then, she would do whatever she could to eke out an existence. And when summer finally came again, as it would, she would try to make her way down south, to the lands that her children once spoke of. To the lands that never tired of sunshine, where warmth would nourish her brittle bones and she would be able to feel her fingers at last.
The beggar woman lifted her head from the ground where she was kneeling. Lying prostrate served many purposes when you lived on the streets. It was protection against the cold, the body’s way of best preserving what meagre heat she could manage when hunger pangs struck, merciless like lightning. It made her look desperate to passers-by – perhaps if they thought she was near death they would spare her a coin or two, even a dollar if she was really lucky.
But most important, it saved her from having to watch the people as they hurried past her, each to their own day and the rest of their lives, pretending that they were too busy to stop or to notice her. Sometimes she tried to make eye contact, but the pity that reflected back at her was an image of herself she did not need to see. If they pitied her so, thought the beggar woman, why didn’t they put a coin in her outstretched palm, the fingers gnarled from old age, the ends numb from the bitter chill? Why didn’t they offer her a crumb off their loaves, the smells of which only made her hungrier as they scurried past, leaving the air fragrant in their wake?
The beggar woman rose slowly before the pins and needles took hold. She supposed she should thank the Lord that even though she was homeless, hungry and dirty, she was at least mobile and physically able. She could walk, she could use both hands, she could talk. She could feed herself and clean herself, she could – thank the Lord – beg.
She did not cough the way some did, as if their lungs would burst with each rasp and their voices would dissipate with each convulsive effort. She did not walk with a limp like others did, their knees eaten up with rheumatism. She had ten fingers and ten toes with five senses to accompany her shell, what more could she ask for? Except, thought the beggar woman as she stooped a little lower, hoping that someone would do more than just cast her a pitying glance, except perhaps, a home.
- Inspired by the many beggars that work the streets of Paris and Rome
I cannot for the life of me imagine how I’m going to write 50,000 words by the end of the month. The key to Nanowrimo, as we’re constantly reminded, is to keep writing. Even if it’s absolute crap.
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A chance to try something new
I am seriously thinking about applying for the script writing course here. It’s going to require lots of (unpaid) leave, but it’s a great opportunity that I may never have again. A little exposure and meeting new people can only do me good. Plus, the fact that I’m talking about it in my sleep must be some sort of sign, right?
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Inspired by Grey’s
Grey’s Anatomy makes me want to write better. It makes me want to push myself and what I think I can do. It challenges me to be more creative, to demand more of my talent and to never stop reaching for the new and seemingly unattainable. May I constantly be reminded and inspired.
I got started on Season Five tonight. And I am just completely blown away by the writing.
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Kitty and Marley & Me
R took this photo of her boyfriend’s cat checking out my Marley & Me. I loved the book but kitty doesn’t look too impressed. The novel has been adapted into a Hollywood movie starring Owen Wilson and Jennifer Aniston. And a golden retriever, obviously. Check out the website for the book here.
