Down to Business

There is a musical meme specifically for writers that is going around the blogosphere. I did mine on my other blog and tagged 5 people as the meme suggested. I got a couple of people to do them so far. It’s only been up for a day now and that’s a good return, 2 responses out of 5.

While memes can be a pain (I don’t usually do them) it is not good sense to write on your blog how you got this meme from so-and-so and you don’t want to share these things. That you don’t want to play. There are other ways to handle the situation.

Writing is a business. It involves networking. I have run a successful business (still do) so I’ve been around the block when it comes to that area.

The stupidest thing a writer (or any business person) can do is burn a bridge. We need every single contact we have to help us sell our product. Every single one of them.
I know a girl who got a book deal, yes, a fucking 4 book deal by bailing a friend out of jail. This friend was an old one from high school, they hadn’t spoken in years. My bleeding heart struggling writer friend was the jailbird’s last resort. My friend also gave the jailbird (JB) a place to stay while she got back on her feet. While up talking one night, my friend tells JB that she is working on a book and pitches it to her.

Turns out JB had a friend in the publishing business and she called that friend. Voila, a foot in the door. The first of the four books is now in print, the second at the publisher and ready to go, and my buddy is typing up the third one as I write this post.

I have a friend in England whom I visit regularly. Been doing that for years. Recently we both joined Facebook. I never thought she had any “movie” friends, I’ve been knowing her long enough to call her my sister. She does. In fact, she was once an au pair to a kid who grew up to be an actor. He has been in several movies and has a deal on the table in which he will direct and act in a film he wrote. Who would have thought??? And this dude is on her Facebook friend page. Since she has been telling me about him for years and him about me for years. She plans to “introduce” us, finally.

See? Bridges. Anyone can be The One to help you break into whatever it is you want to do with your “business.” Even someone you bailed out of jail.

Posted By: KillerDollie

A Review? Thanks But No Thanks.

The question is this: how do you review someone’s piece of work when your honest opinion is that it lacks in every way.

Here is how it goes. A couple of days ago a friend asked me to read and review a script she wrote. She knows I’m no pro, she is no pro either. But she knows that I write also and she needed an honest opinion.

I read it. From the beginning all the way to the end. All 97 pages. And right from the beginning I knew I was reading a script written by someone who, well, needs improvement. A whole lot of improvement. In my humble (and not professional) opinion, the script needed a lot of work. From scratch. I could not see the main character, I could not see the goal that drives the protagonist to do whatever it is that he’s doing, I could not tell acts and plot points, resolution was so vague it did not feel like resolution at all.

And then I’m thinking to myself “Oh, boy, what do you say to that?”. I write too. I know the feeling of frantically anticipating to hear how your pages read across, what others think of your script, I know that feeling of numbness when what you get as a response starts with a “oh, well…”. A review is supposed to be honest, sometimes it even has to be strict and harsh in the name of progress and improvement. But I know, man I do know, that if I am honest to this friend, her feelings will be trully, really hurt.

I decide to think through it for a couple of days before I respond. I re-read it. I’m doing my best to spot all the positive parts of her script so at least I begin my review with them. I do not want to lie to her for I know I would get seriously pissed if I was lied to about my pieces. On the other hand, I do not want to hurt her, I do not want to disappoint her. I do not want my non-professional review to shatter her wings. I want her to be motivated, I want her to dig her heels in it and try harder because I am positive that she can do it. But, gosh, I know that she does not take criticism well, even when she’s asking for it.

And today I get an email from her. She is asking for my opinion. She is pressuring me for an immediate answer because, as she says, this script is very important to her. I do not even know why on earth I aggreed to this. Me, who is more nervous when reviewing than when being reviewed. Who would shake hands with devil if that would save me from reviewing anyone ever again. 

I guess this is another lesson I am to learn well. And another item I should add to my never-again list. From now on I’ll stick to my workshop duties and if I am ever asked for such a “favor” again, I believe that I already know the answer. Thanks but no thanks.

Posted by HoneyBunny

I Don’t Care What You Did Last Summer

It has been raining all this week, perfect writing weather, but starting the motor this week was like trying to start a VW that has sat in Aunt May’s lawn since 1973 like a giant garden feature.

So alas, I slumped on the couch and watched cable. Namely, the movie channels. 

One particular channel this week had a feature on the “I know what you did last summer” films.  Yes, films.  The little ’s’ tacked on the end makes it plural. 

It was a painful nine hours. 

I really don’t know why they decide to spend millions of dollars to make a sequel based on a mediocre blueprint.  To me it’s like trying to build an empire out of Play Doh.  That’s not to say the first movie was a dud, it wasn’t, aimed at the teen demographic it grossed $125 million worldwide and held top position for three consecutive weekends in the US, it was just a little bleh.

Sure it had monetary success, which would have kept studio types happy, but that didn’t change the fact the movie was soft and far from a solid foundation to start rattling off extensions of it. 

The first sequel made Play Doh resemble concrete.  It too made a fair amount of pocket change but was hit pretty hard with a batch of ordinary reviews, which basically says the team that cut the trailer earned their coins on this one.

 And again, they made another.  The mind boggles.

I guess what I am trying to say, in short is, we all know what you did last summer but we really don’t give a shit what you did there after.

Posted by:  The Kid

Loved Bad Habits

We all have habits. Nice habits, bad habits. Irritating habits, funny habits. Healthy habits, hazardous habits. Habits that make people laugh, habits that make people spit nails. No matter what those habits are, they are part of our personality, they define who we are and we are closely related to them.

This morning, I am in a bus coming home. The bus is pretty packed, so I’m standing at that front corner, my mind is drifting to thoughts. I’m putting chores in order, I’m listing must-do’s for the day, I’m noting phone calls that have to be made. All of a sudden the vehicle shakes badly, all passengers grab poles and handles not to fall flat on their face. The bus halts so abruptly, the sound of the shrieking tyres is defeaning. Everyone starts cussing at the driver for being so careless. But since I’m standing close, I can see what really happened that made him step on the breaks like a maniac.

A middle-age man had just stepped down the pavement, only inches from the moving bus. The driver had two choices: to either run the man over and liquidize him or to freeze the bus and become the recipient of the passengers’ “blessings”. He chose the latter.

 So, as I said, everyone started yelling to that poor driver. Everyone but me. I suppose I’m the only one who smiled in that bus. For that inattentive middle-age man reminded me of my father. My father used to do the exact same thing. I always used to joke that he had signed a contract with civil engineers to never step on their sidewalks. He would always walk on the street, sometimes even in the middle of it. Drivers had called him names numerous times, my mother would always go mad at him for being so heedless, I always smiled and made fun of his habit.

One thing to say here is that my father is not among us anymore. He “left” one morning without a warning, I never got the chance to say goodbye. And that middle-age man brought to my mind so many familiar pictures. Of my father and his habit. That habit that used to scare me, but which I also adored at the same time. That habit that I miss. Badly. I put my shades back on so that noone could see my eyes (hey, I may carry a gun but I do have my weak moment, okay?).

My train of thoughts slowly glided on its rails and took me to the station of the next best man in my life. My husband. My significant other and his habits that most of the times make me wanna hit the roof and sound like I’m one step from a mental institution.

Generally, my hubby is very careful around the house, he is not messy and he always ALWAYS lifts the cover of the toilet, bless him. But there’s that one small thing that he does which irritates the hell out of me. He will never close a drawer or a cupboard all the way to the end even if his life depends on it. I know that it doesn’t seem like a big deal. As a matter of fact, no, it isn’t. But, on the other hand, it’s maddening to have to shut drawers, closet doors, cupboards, anything that has a door to be opened and the closed back, because someone else just didn’t care enough to do it.

So, back to the bus scene. I think of my hubby and his habit. And it suddenly hits me. If anything happened, if one day he “left” just as unanticipatedly as my father did, if I ever lost him… that habit of his would be one the things he does I would miss the most. Because it’s a part of who he is, because it defines him, because it’s one of those things that I love about him.

I got off at the next bus stop. My house was two bus stops away. But I needed to walk. My shades could not cover my face any longer. I needed to breathe.

I hurried home. I tossed my bag and my jacket… somewhere. I did not care. All I wanted was to grab the phone and call him. My hubby.

Just as I expected, he was utterly surprised to hear my voice so early in the morning. It’s most unlike me to call him at that time of the day. I did not hello him, I did not ask whether he was busy or not. “Baby, will you promise me something?”. His long pause was a sign that he was totally clueless of what I was talking about. “I want you to promise me that you will never stop not shutting the drawers, baby”.

I made him promise. I did not explain. I only wanted him to promise. Honey, thank you. For keeping your drawers half open. For making that promise. For being you. I love you.

Posted by HoneyBunny