Muscle Memory

You know what is so funny?  I went a very long time without writing.  I think it was maybe the year after I graduated from college that I simply checked out creatively.  

I chose screenwriting for film and television as my major, and from that moment on, I was in a seemingly endless cycle of writing and rewriting.  While I loved the process very much indeed, I'll admit that I struggled with the most simple aspect of storytelling: what to write about.  

Some of my classmates made this look so easy.  I envied their ability to concoct wild stories of rescue or political satire.  I would read over their work, look up at them, then back to the page and think; Where the hell did that come from??

I have always had a very natural ease with writing. Whether a poem, an essay, a short story, a screenplay or even something in iambic pentameter, the words have made their way to page without much thought or mental editing.  

But when I sat down to write a screenplay for the first time, I was absolutely stuck.  Instead of just writing one scene, I would get caught up in how that scene would somehow affect the entire script and as a result, I would just sit there in bewilderment at the blank screen. 

Another problem I encountered with screenwriting was chopping out entire chunks of descriptive pros.   You have to switch off that part of your brain that desperately wants to dazzle the reader with delicate and beautiful sentences.  In fact, my professor would often tell us that screenplays should have mostly white on the page.  

So, with that in mind, I began strength training this muscle that I hadn't even known existed before.  It was an exercise in setting up meaningful and effective dialogue.  Writing for a visual medium, means that all those pretty little descriptive pros are actually replaced by everything you see on camera: courtesy of the cinematographer,  the actors and director.  

So when I graduated college, I felt numbed by the process of the rewrite.  Not only is writing challenging enough when you are having to consider its future offspring of film and television, but the aspect of a seemingly endless cycle of rewriting is enough to make any writer want to crawl into a hole and hibernate for about five years.  And so naturally, that is precisely what I did. 

Well, seven years to be exact.  I guess I needed to live a little and gather up some new material.   

And now, all these years later, sitting down to write is so natural it is almost scary.  It is like a muscle memory.  Without much thought at all, I sit down with my laptop and write.  Before I am even half-way through my first cup of coffee, I am more than half-way finished with my daily writing exercise.  

But I have to admit that I am still mesmerized by these writers who sit down and tell an entire story.  That is where I fear that I am a little... stuck. 

The past seven or eight years have provided me with a treasury of new material.  And that may be the very reason I began writing again a few months ago.  I had to put into words some of the harsh lessons I have learned.  And as I often do with most everything in life, I frequently opt to put a comical spin on it.  

But telling an entire story is something entirely different.  It is much more daunting than my daily challenge of writing something new just as soon as I wake up.  A novel? A screenplay? A plot? A theme? A hook? Red Herring? Chapters?? Act 1... Act 2... Act 3... Eh, I don't know...

I may not be ready to sit down for that quite yet, but I do feel that each and every day I write... I am sneaking up on the story that is just sitting up on top of my dusty shelf of a brain, just waiting to be told.

Until then, we'll just have to wait and see what happens next. 

Today:

Hemingway Special

2 oz White Rum

1/4 oz Maraschino liqueur

1 oz Grapefruit Juice

1/2 of a fresh squeezed lime

  

 

Connecting the Dots

From as far back as I can remember, I've always had a different way of getting the job done.  Didn't really matter what the task at hand was, nor was I really trying to do it differently from everyone else, but I couldn't help it...  The earliest memory of this 'do it yourself' attitude, probably goes back to when I first started kindergarten.  

We were introduced to those "connect the dots" assignments; you know, the ones where the dots are numbered and you follow each one with your crayon or pencil until you reach the end and reveal some kind of animal, vehicle or other basic shape? Yeah, well, apparently I even did that... eh, differently. 

The teacher (bless her heart) stood over my right shoulder and studied my methodology.  I held my pencil steadily in my right hand, without moving an inch.  Then with my left hand, I guided the paper from dot to dot... So I was still completing the picture, just not the way everyone else was.  

"No, no sweetie, move your right hand to connect the dots, not the paper..." 

What's the problem lady? As long as I get it done, why do you care how I did it? Jeeesh!

And so began my plight with formalized education. See, I realized that I do NOT possess that brain cell that is the most adept to short cuts, or common sense...  In fact when I see these types of people who bust out crazy one handed, multi-tasking trickery, I stop and stare as if they are a magician. If left to my own devices, I oftentimes take a more creative, outside the box approach.  But if you put a book in front of me and say, 'study the history of the universe,' I will...

Which leads me to the much dreaded/feared U.S. constitution exam in the eleventh grade.  It was legendary and 'impossible.'  Or so everyone thought.  But I, the weirdo, locked myself in the basement of my house with flash cards, highlighters and way too much candy, and didn't come out for almost four days.  I went to school, took a deep breath, and was the last person to finish the exam. 

By the next class, everyone protested that test.  It wasn't fair.  It was too hard. They all failed miserably...  Then the teacher said, "Well I know for a fact it was possible to pass this test, if you all had studied the material. Because there is one student in this class who not only passed, but she got an A."  He looked at me and I immediately slid down into my chair.  When he held up my exam to class and then walked over to my chair, he set it down in front of me with the most subtle grin I'd ever seen; "Well done. Very well done." 

Oh God, it's going to be a mutiny.  You should have seen the way those kids looked at me; like, 'thanks a lot bitch.' 

My score completely blew their collective protests right out of the water.  There was one other girl in the class who passed and she looked at me like we were the most awesome geeks ever!!  She actually was kinda nerdy though, so I knew she was loving every second of this academic torture.  

I had ruined it for the rest of the class.  But you know what? I'm glad.  It kind of made me feel like a super hero or something.  Because the memory of being "corrected" that day in kindergarten for the way I had completed the assignment always bothered me.  I remember feeling so confused and embarrassed.  I didn't understand why I had to be called out for the way I was connecting the dots.  Especially since the end result was still the same... 

And if my way was harder, why not let me figure it out on my own?  Oh gosh, I can't help but laugh at the image of my pint sized self, moving the paper around and not my right hand... Awww... Bless my heart.  

Those two scholastic memories are obviously the ones that made a huge impact on me.  I learned from a very early age that I might have a different way of doing things... not exactly wrong... just different. And that one day, doing things my way, would pay off in the long run.  

I think there are probably a million ways to connect the dots in life.  It may not be the most obvious or standard approach.  But it's not only okay to be different, it may just be the very thing that separates you from the rest of the class.  And that's not such a bad thing after all.  

I suppose I just need to remind myself every now and then of that girl who has managed to get by just fine by connecting the dots in her very own, unique way.  Who knows what that picture will be? Maybe, when I connect that last dot, what I will see, is just me... 

Or an A+... yeah, that would be okay too. 

Today:

Teacher's Pet

1 1/2 oz Blended Whiskey

1/2 oz Dry Vermouth

1 Tsp. Sweet Vermouth

2 dashes of Bitters

Stir on the Rocks

Garnish with a cherry and orange

Pick Me! Pick Me!

Remember those games we used to play in school at recess?  We would line up across the lawn in a long row and wait anxiously to be called.  We were at the mercy of the person choosing the teams and I never much cared for this routine.  How lame do you have to feel just standing there, waiting to be chosen? Pick Me, Pick Me, Pick Me... Those are the words I would chant under my breath while standing at attention.

I was the name usually chosen midway.  Especially if it was Dodgeball.  The team captains always sized me up and chose the bigger, tougher kids first.  I was just girly enough to be called into question...  Every. Damn. Day.  You're gonna make me just stand there at the mercy of the other team?? Really?? Didn't I prove my athletic abilities at lunch yesterday?? 

Regardless, I would stand and wait for my name to be called just like everyone else.  The worst part was getting into the bottom three.  I'm pretty sure this only happened a few times, when the team captain was my ex boyfriend from third grade.  Catch up everyone, we were in fifth grade now, and he is on some kind of power trip.

So I'd wait...

Day after Day, the process would start all over again; and in one way or another would continue throughout the course of my life. High School dances, Equestrian competitions, college crew races and post grad job hunting all left me with that similar feeling of hoping to be the chosen one.  Pick Me, Pick Me, Pick Me.     


Perhaps that is why so many people fresh out of college are in such a rush to nail down a spouse, a home, a career and a family; the feeling of standing in line, hoping to hear your name called is simply exhausting after so many years.  So you declare yourself team captain and decide that there is no more waiting around.  Hmmmm... I wonder...

As for me, I've rather grown accustomed to repeating the words 'Pick Me' silently to myself over and over again.  As I watch the Emmys, the Academy Awards and various Special Bonus Features on my favorite films or television series, all I can think of is how badly I want to be chosen to play with them.

The actors, screenwriters, producers and directors all run around the set, playing tricks on each other and are having a blast.  They are living the life I have dreamt of since as long as I can remember.  And I just want for them to call my name more than anything.

Pick Me!!!!!! Pick Me!!!!!!!! Pick MEEEE!!!!! 

I want so badly to join their team.  It is what motivates me to keep writing each day.  It is my way of sending a message in a bottle every morning, hoping that one day my name will be called to come out and play.   To write, direct, act, produce... please, one day... pick me!!


Today:

Hollywood Martini

2 oz Vodka
1/2 oz Black Raspberry Liqueur 
Splash of Pineapple Juice
Shake and Strain into a martini glass

Someday...

My favorite Actress

Grace Kelly

Rear Window

My favorite film. 

Ditch Days and Making A's

Somewhere along the way, I became a front row kind of girl.  Upon entering a classroom, I would take a quick inventory of the seating options and more often than not, would gravitate to the seat closest to the professor.  Of course, it wasn't always this way. 

From kindergarten through my freshman year of high school, I didn't see much of a point in making the grade.  

Whether making an A+ or a D-,  it just didn't seem to matter either way.  Math class was a perfect opportunity to exchange notes with my friends, and in history class, I would stare off blankly at the wall for a solid hour.  I'm sure some of the major bullet points stuck with me, but the overall day in and day out academic process was nothing short of a giant snooze-fest.  

One day, I was called into a meeting toward the end of the ninth grade.  My academic counselor asked me what I was interested in doing one day for a living.  He asked which colleges I was interested in and so on.  At that time, I recall having a keen interest in animal sciences and thought that someday, I might want to be a vet. 

After letting me go on for about twenty minutes about my love for animals and how I thought I would be a good vet one day, he took a long pause and read over my report card from the previous semester.  C, C, D, F, C... My bright future was looking more and more like an eternal rainy day.  And my options, well... let's just say they were dwindling.

He informed me that if I was going to have even the slightest prayer of getting into college in three years, I was going to have to turn things around really quickly.  I didn't have much time to make up for the first year of high school, whereby I goofed off and simply did not try.

I am happy to report that eventually, I was able to successfully balance studying with having a good time.  And I figured out that if I made straight A's, I would actually have more leverage when it came to  doing things on my time.  

For instance, if I saw an opportunity to take a detour on my way to school and accidentally end up at the beach for an early lunch: who could punish me, if I was making the grade?  

It was one of the most valuable lessons I ever learned.  I call it the honors loophole.  When I graduated with honors from LMU, no one seemed to remember the ditch days that magically went off record.  

But I can honestly say, I'm not sure that I would have been able to keep my sanity throughout my entire academic career, if it weren't for those few days where I went off the grid, so to speak.  If you earn enough credibility and honor, you're then afforded certain exceptions.  

It has been many years since I sat in a classroom.  But I can tell you that I ended up with quite an education.  At the end of the day, I really did value my academic studies.  And becoming an honors student gave me the kind of self confidence I didn't even know was possible. 

But I am also grateful to those people who let me do it in my own way and in my own time: my mom especially.  

My mom is the zen master of balancing work and play and is single-handedly the most instrumental person in my life.  She had faith in my ability to put myself back on track if necessary.  I remember her slick way of gently re-directing me to that aim.  It was so subtle that it was almost like a Jedi mind-trick.  She would take me to school, but somehow, if the weather was just right, we would keep on going.  She could tell when I was getting burnt out and needed a break.  

A good ditch-day never hurt anyone, when not abused or taken to excess.  Staring out the window of the front seat, I would think, Uh oh, I'm going to miss something important today at school.  And as if my mom was reading my thoughts, she would tell me to not worry, I would make it up and get back on track.  

I do believe life works in a very similar way.  Take it seriously enough to want to do your very best.  Serve your potential and make the grade.  And if you are truly doing your best, have enough faith in yourself to allow for a few ditch days. 

The balance of work and play doesn't go away upon graduation.  It is a lifelong struggle.  Feeling guilty for taking a nap, or the occasional ditch day is not so healthy.  

Some of the greatest innovators of our time were the kids who sat in the back row.  I for one, am proud to have fallen somewhere in the middle.  But the honor loophole is under constant construction and care.  It's a fine line.  

Tomorrow I head back to work. After a few ditch-days away, I can honestly say I feel refreshed and ready to slap on a smile.  It is important to do my best at whatever I do; including having fun.

I will forever have my mom to thank for that.   

Today: 

Birthday Cake Martini

1 1/2 oz Pinnacle Cake Vodka or Three Olives Cake Vodka

1 tsp. of dry cake mix

1/2 oz Bailey's Irish Cream

1/2 oz of Half and Half Creamer

Shake and strain

Rim glass with whipped cream and rainbow sprinkles.

 

Writers Un-Blocked

Why Write?

It must seem random, sudden and perhaps a little overwhelming to read whatever happens to pop in my mind each day.  And I suppose, on some level, it could be a bit uncomfortable too: having access to the very thoughts that are passing through my brain each morning as I sip my coffee.

It is as though I have a URL attached to my fingertips. This is what is on my mind.com.  I never intended to set out on some public pilgrimage toward enlightenment. Sorry.  This is neither a journal nor a soapbox, though I admit there are certain elements that may feel ultra personal or even a little preachy at times. Whatever. It’s just me. 

I am a person.  Like you, I go through each day and face a certain number of obligations and responsibilities.  I encounter people I have never met and won’t ever see again on a daily basis.  I think that makes my life kind of interesting, if only in some small way.

Over the years, I have developed certain perspectives that I’ve only recently decided to pontificate in some sort of mass level. 

I’d like to think that I am contributing something greater to society than my own petty details of my existence here on earth.  Perhaps even inspire other people who might also find themselves faced with similar thoughts, fears and dreams. 

Looking back at the writings that have poured out of me these past couple weeks, I realize just how much I needed this.  And based upon certain comments I have received from close friends as well as total strangers/neighbors in cyberspace, it has become apparent that other people needed something from it too.  Different reasons for different people, but reasons all the same. And that, is one of the most gratifying experiences I have ever had. 

Writing is a natural and necessary part of my existence.  It has been my oldest and most loyal friend.

My personal journals are not what I consider to be great examples of literary accomplishments: rather, entire volumes of hand-written rants more or less.  A journal is where I go to flesh out the various phases I am in. They portray an image of severe highs, lows and the blah-between. This form of writing has been necessary for my overall sanity and I don’t really know what else to say about it other than that.

When I sat down and created this blog a few weeks ago, it was my intention to release something that had been brewing for about thirty years: my point of view.  What began as a play on words, illustrating a bit of a metaphor of Serving Time behind a bar, grew to encompass so much more; everything from dating, dreaming, working, writing, traveling, friendships, money matters, diseases, morals, traditions and so on, to just a plain old cocktail recipe. 

It is a release. It is my way of gently nudging myself in the direction that feels true.  And it is really fun to share it with you.

There are so many things I would love to be doing for a living.  I will never forget the moment in college, already halfway through my junior year, when I decided to change my major to Screenwriting.  It was a leap.  And I knew I had a lot of catching up to do.  I spent the next year and a half completely absorbed. It felt right to write again.

And then, my heart imploded, and a number of personal obstacles zapped the creative energy I had so carefully stowed away.  And in my most heartbroken moments, the poetry I wrote stung the pages, as well as my bloodshot eyes. The work was wrenching and survivalists in nature. Then one day, the creative flow was blocked. 

Poetry stopped. Creative writing stopped. Screenwriting was but a distant memory. And the only safe haven for my thoughts were within the blank pages of my journal. But journaling is solely for my own selfish release.  It is not a form of self-expression that I wish to share. And although I do not consider this blog to be at all similar to a dear diary, I imagine that you are, oddly enough, actually getting to know me pretty well. 

Behind Bars is for me, a bit of a catalyst of my entire love affair with the written word. It is my way of looking in the mirror and reminding myself that I am serving my dreams by serving others. But more than that, it is also a metaphor for my life: the journey of a dreamer, a wanderer and writer un-blocked. 

Today:

Chocolate Tini

1 1/2 oz Vodka

1 oz Godiva Chocolate Liquer 

Splash of Cream

Shake and strain into a martini glass

Swirl Chocolate syrup in glass to garnish