Quick Link for Wednesday

I just came across this in the New York Times and thought it was interesting:

http://www.nytimes.com/2007/12/19/education/19physics.html

A professor at M.I.T. has the lectures from his intro level physics course made available online. They're hosted by M.I.T.'s Open Campus program, but they're also available on i Tunes U, and some are available on YouTube. He's pretty phenomenal, and after reading a bit into the article, he appears to be gaining quite a following - both in Cambridge and beyond. I'm a big advocate that writers should be avid learners, and that includes the left side of the brain, too.

**On another note, I love that some of his lectures are appearing on YouTube. Given that most of the TV and movie companies have taken pains to remove any and all episodes/scenes/clips/references to their properties, it's promising to see that there can and will be engaging, original content that's worth searching for.***

Write on...

Finally, Waiting

Last Wednesday after work, I FedExed the supplemental materials for my graduate school application to the University of Iowa. It was the last of such materials to be sent in this bizarre journey, and with the exception of forwarding some transcripts (which should have been received, but haven't been), all I have to do now is sit back and wait until mid-March.

The entire fall can be lumped into "applying to grad school," and no matter how minute I try to fashion my memories, the truth is that the process has consumed my entire being since August, when I first made the decision to apply. It make sense when you consider that I had to study for the GRE's, work on my manuscript, secure transcripts and recommendation letters, and finally complete the applications themselves. It gets more complicated when you consider that each school requested that certain materials be sent to the english department, while others needed to go to the admissions department of the arts and sciences/humanities school...and some things could be uploaded to the application while others needed to be mailed, and some recommendation letters could be uploaded, while others had to be hard copy and needed to be accompanied by forms -- in short, it required much more organization than I expected, and that organization required a painstaking attention to detail. I ultimately developed a system that worked for me, but it didn't happen overnight, and left me double-checking (read: second guessing) myself every step of the way.

I find it difficult to express how frustrating the process was, and I can't help but think why? There's no logical reason for it being so complicated, yet it was. And I just can't figure it out. I'm going to go ahead and assume that if I have to reapply next year (and if all of this turns out to be fruitless, then I will be reapplying), it will considerably less...taxing. I'll have another year's worth of material to submit, recent teachers from whom I can request rec letters, no GREs to take, and the applications themselves will be familiar (and those statements of purpose...well...they'll be on file). I honestly wonder if universities require so much as a means of keeping down their applicant pool. It would make sense - back when I considered applying in 2006, it was intimidating enough to make me reconsider my "plans." No one bends over backward for something their heart's only half-into.

I chose to work on my novel and submit the first two chapters as part of my applications. I completely broke my writing habits in that I wrote my opening over and over and over again. I lost count of my drafts, for better or worse, and while I'm quite happy with the finished product, I'm looking forward to writing again and not having to perfect any one thing. I'm looking forward to writing a rough draft, and I've been rolling a short story around in my head for months. I'm really, really excited about writing it, and I finally have the chance again.

There was plenty of good. I loved having to write as much as I did. It was good to get back in touch with the left side of my brain in having to go over all that math for the GRE. I got in touch with some old professors, and if nothing else, the whole process got me excited about being a writer. I wasn't seeking motivation, nor was there much of a doubt, but I really want to do this with my life, for the rest of my life.

I just turned twenty-five, and it feels like so much is changing. I have no idea what, but it's like when you're driving, and you're making this really tight turn on one of those on-ramps that's shaped in a wide loop. You're going so slow, but you keep teasing the engine because you know the road's about to straighten out. And you've got to fight against the force of gravity pushing against your body, and your foot just gets heavier and heavier, and the wheels keep gripping, and you keep pulling and the anticipation is just right there...

...until next time.

Are we De-Sensitized

I was heading home from work the other day and saw flashing lights and a throng of people outside of the subway station I had to enter. My vision is really not very good, so I stopped to put on my glasses. I was curious about what the commotion was over, yet I was more concerned that whatever it was meant that my subway station was closed.

My vision cleared, I was able to see that what looked like a bus was parked in the middle of a street that had been cordoned off by police. I walked a little bit closer, my curiosity peaked, my mind settled after having seen that the subway station was, in fact, still open. So, like any rubber-necker, I approached the congestion to get a better look.

I soon wished I hadn't.

My knees went weak. My stomach turned. I felt my hands shake.

The bus was parked diagonally across the street. There were clothes scattered by the door to the bus, and take-out bags strewn across the pavement. A sizable portion of a bicycle frame was wedged under the fender over the front, passenger side wheel of the bus. One of the bike's wheels was lying about ten feet away.

There was no indication of the person who had been riding the bike, but I cannot imagine that, if alive, he or she was in anywhere near good condition.

People, especially media types and educators, like to blame video games and movies/television for desensitizing us these days. Young generations are believed to be much more violent and blood thirsty because of the images they are exposed to through entertainment. Yet, I can tell you this now: I have seen people hit by buses and cars and shot, stabbed, bludgeoned, burned, and torn apart in movies. I've chopped off heads, grenaded, shot, stabbed, and punched all sorts of people and monsters in video games.

But at merely the prospect of seeing the aftermath of such a horrible accident the other day, my legs went weak. I saw the bus and the clothes lying in the street and hesitated, not knowing if I actually wanted to look closer and take in more. I decided to. I don't know why. But I seriously had to think about it.

And I could not watch for long.

Mind you, I didn't actually see the individual who had been hit by the bus. The remnants of the food delivery and the bike were enough to shake me. On the big screen, I'd probably have even been a little bored with the image, wondering if we were going to see a flashback of the actual event. But in real life, that was all it took to rattle me.

So tell me, are we desensitized?

Hopes and Fears

In order to avoid writing last night, I started scrubbing the bathroom. It’s always a bad sign when I prefer to get on my hands and knees and pull weeks of hair out of the drain rather than write, but hell, I was even ready to do the dishes, vacuum the floor, balance my book, AND call my mother to stall the enviable need to open Final Draft. Yet denial can only last for so long. Bathroom cleaning only takes 20 mins tops. While washing out the remains of Scrubbing Bubbles, the sense of dread I blocked returned.

The forced I used in pouring out the bucket of water must have been filled with displaced anger, because it promptly knocked three tiles surrounding the tub off. Along with the tiles, grout showered down into my newly-cleaned tub. Where the tiles have once been is a section of soft, black, moldy wall. I stared at it for a moment, then went and wrote, trying to block out everything else.

I wrote more than usual. It was a very productive night.

A New Sense Of Space

Every writer knows how crucial it is to have his/her own space. We need to be able to get away for a bit to where it's just us and our characters. Any small intrusion on that space during times of creation can prove disastrous for our characters and our worlds. The experience can quite jarring, like being woken up at the climax of a great dream. I've gotten better at having my space molested by the sub-creatives of society, but there was a time when it would make me feel like Jack Nicholson in The Shining.

Back home one of my daily assignments was to make the salad for dinner. I know, it's a pretty lame chore. (FYI, 8 years ago “lame” would have been “gay”. I'm glad I've outgrown that.) Anyway, it would end up working out that I would be doing some of the best writing of my younger years shortly before dinner. I can't count how many times my soldiers have been ready to charge the enemy, or my unsuspecting villain has been in the crosshairs of a rifle, or my likable but expendable character is about to say his last words when all of a sudden my mom shouts across the house, “Make the salad!” “Dude, are you serious?” says my expandable character as he laughs at me from the page.

So here I am in New York, things working out pretty good at a glance. I find myself staying either at my brother's or my girlfriend's, but whereas I've always had some space to call my own, I now find myself to be the awkward molester of other people's space. I have experienced some of my worst writing droughts during this time. The solution isn't as simple as being alone, as I thought it would be. Being alone certainly helps, but there's something about having a location that you are completely familiar with, a location in which you are aware of every creak and slope and shadow, that incubates the creative mind.

My next big goal is obvious. I have to find my own space. And when I do I will certainly have a new found appreciation for it, because I've learned something about myself. I can make it in New York City (and probably any other city) without a space to call my own, but I can never be a writer of any kind until I find my home.

Thanksgiving Aftermath

Happy belated Thanksgiving, everyone!

I'll tell you, it's been hectic these past few weeks. We haven't gotten much new writing done recently, but we've been pushing one another to get re-writes of earlier things done. It's actually been quite helpful for me. There's a project I've really enjoyed working on in the past (and is the thing I've spent the most time on, over a year and a half).

Still, it's not something that I felt I was ready to jump back into yet. I believe I posted back in March about having listened to a particular song, which put me in the mood to attack this script again (if I didn't write that, then I felt it nonetheless). Despite that motivation, I never got back to the script.

However, Onyx and others pushed me back into it. I wouldn't say that I was reluctant, but it wasn't first on my mind. They put it there, and I have to say, I'm very grateful to them for that. I'm pleased with the end result (as much as I can call it the "end" for now) and am still psyched up about it.

Sometimes, I guess others know what's best when you're stuck. I'm not saying that's something we should go by all the time, or that I plan to do that. But I wasn't sure what I was going to write; The League suggested strongly that I work on this particular thing, and I think it turned out well.

...Oh, and enjoy the comic.

Good Question

I was reading an article on CNN.com yesterday about movie theme songs. The article was basically pointing out the fact that movies used to have theme songs: "Titanic" had "My Heart Will Go On," "Top Gun" had "Take my Breath Away." Now, the article claims, filmmakers tend to select old, tried and true songs to heighten emotion rather than seeking out new songs, which would be eligible for the "Best New Song" Oscar and gain radio play.

But that's not what I'm concerned with here. What caught me about the article was the following sentence:

"'What movies used to do,' [Jesse Harris, the Grammy-winning songwriter of Norah Jones' hit "Don't Know Why,"] said, is 'create a nostalgia that was specific to the film itself, and the only way to do that is to use original music.'"

I really liked this quotation. Not so much the notion of using original music to achieve the goal he talked about -experiencing something in the context of the fil alone and not on a larger pop culture scale- though that is important, but the sense of a "nostalgia...specific to the film itself." (I had to use the exact phrasing again because I thought it so poignant.)

Think about that, defining your film in terms of emotions and sentiments belonging entirely to itself. That, to me, seems to be the ultimate goal when creating a film. Yes, you want it to be part of Hollywood legend, perhaps. You want it to be an essential part of the box set that bears your name years from now.

But you want it to stand alone.

At least I do. I don't really want to write "just another action flick." I want to write something that can be compared to others in its genre, but also has such a life and feel of its own that it can last apart from the crowd. To me, "Last of the Mohicans" stands apart. It has a look, a feel, and yes, a sound to it that no other film does. It affects me in a way, stays with me in a way that no other film does.

I hope, when my career is passed, people will look back and say of me, he "create[d] a nostalgia that was specific to [each] film itself."