Everbody Relax, I'm Here

The new stickers for my license plate came in the mail today!

TLF graciously loaned me her Scion six nights a week to drive to work but the arrangement was far from ideal for each of us. For a variety of reasons (e.g. I live in the sprawl capital of the U.S.), I am so very relieved that my hoopdie is once again fit for public consumption.

In other news, The U destroyed FAMU 45-0 last night. I know this is tantamount to a scrimmage game for the ‘Canes, but Jacory Harris looks may have a beastly fall campaign. I can hardly wait to watch them exact revenge upon OSU (a.k.a. the Cheating Cheaters of Cheatville) next Saturday. The Buckeyes are my least favorite college football team that doesn’t rhyme with “mortar shame.”

I should be more pumped up for CU/CSU tomorrow morning, but I just can’t get that excited about the Buffs until they fire Dan Hawkins. Out of a cannon, preferably.

I don't even think the game will be nationally televised. ::sadface::

And the Miami Dolphins, what's up with this lackluster looking squad? Is it time to panic? Not just yet. Say it with me, "the preseason does not matter."

Week 1 at Ralph Wilson Stadium will matter, however. And this season's success is dependent entirely upon Chad Henne's growth at quarterback. He has a solid running corp, a stud left tackle, last year’s most prolific wide receiver, and absolutely no excuses. If he can’t make the leap now, I'd wager he never will.

At the moment I’m cautiously optimistic. We can revisit my mood again after next weekend.

Setting down the pigskin, I haven’t written nearly enough these past few days. I missed a deadline for an album review and couldn’t in good conscience devote much time to my personal projects before making good on my external commitment. I finally sent out the review this morning, though, and I expect to spend most of tomorrow working tinkering with the current script. After I get my hairs cut.

While we’re on the subject of things long overdue, I just put a placeholder up at travisreilly.com. I haven’t decided whether or not to link that site to this one but stay tuned.

So kiddies, when some wild-eyed eight-foot-tall maniac grabs your neck, taps the back of your favorite head up against the barroom wall, and he looks you crooked in the eye and he asks you if ya paid your dues, you just stare that big sucker right back in the eye, and you remember what ol' Jack Burton always says at a time like that:

"Fuck ‘em up, fuck ‘em up, go CU!”

My New Project

The flow is good these days (insert your own tampon joke here (insert your own “insert your own tampon joke here (insert your own “insert your own ‘insert your own -- Arggh! Must. Break. Meta. Loop.))). I’ve been writing as much as time allows.

Sadly, a few obstacles prevent me from maximizing my time spent working typing up a storm but most of those are short-term in nature (I’m looking at you unregistered vehicle, absence of laptop, and Grandma).

A few of the guys I work at the bar with know people who know people who know someone who is theoretically interested in finding screenplays on the cheap. And, well, I’d sell just about anything I own for a fifty dollar Subway gift card.

This has me working hard and fast, though, and that’s good. I’ve been working on a treatment/outline for a new horror flick for the past two weeks or so and I’m just about ready to start pounding it out for real and that's exciting.

It’s high concept with a low characters/locations count and those are two of the three most important ingredients to successfully selling your first screenplay. (The third is “not being a hack” and the jury is still deliberating on that one.)

More to come soon.

Pro Tip #37: Pooping is only a waste of time if you aren’t multitasking. Right up until it's time to wipe you could simultaneously write in your journal, work on a crossword puzzle, rehearse your next sales pitch, or call your Grandma. The possibilities are endless!

All the Leaves are Green, and the Sky is Blue

I’ve lived in California for nearly 10 months now. That’s pretty hard for me to comprehend.

I’ve never eaten un elote or a Dodger Dog, I have no idea how to get to Glendale without my GPS, I still haven’t even swum in the Pacific Ocean. In many ways, I do not feel like a very accomplished Los Angelino.

Yet, here I am.

And my life out here is slowly coming into focus. I’ve developed a bit of a daily routine, for one. I spend a ton of time with The Lady Friend (very good), eat Subway nearly every day for lunch (good), work nights Monday through Saturday (less good), and split the rest of my hours between pooping, sleeping, and writing.

I’m happy (and I’m beginning to notice an increase in my productivity). But I can’t shake this feeling that I’m simply not getting enough out of L.A. There is so much untapped culture, history, and general depravity within a few miles of my house, I feel guilty when my routine doesn't allow me to make better use of my surroundings.

Nevertheless, I love spending time with my keyboard and my girl. Those are two essential parts of my life. And, sadly, I need my job. Or any job, I suppose. I can try cutting sleep and pooping out of my schedule but that doesn’t seem like a long term solution.

What, then, will give?

Maybe I should better combine my passions. For example, taking my girlfriend to a Dodger game and writing about it after. When one activity can accomplish multiple goals one saves a bit of time. Maybe I should get a job at Subway! On second thought, meh.

Maybe I need to concentrate on organization. Buying a laptop will help. Writing in actual notebooks is comfortable and quaint, but a tad antiquated. And I'm never around my desktop computer enough to give my projects the care they require. I must join the tiny computer revolution, I suppose.

Going deeper than that, though, I just waste too much time. I’m constantly unfocused. My processes are muddled.

I need to implement a better system today. I’m making a few more industry contacts each day who are genuinely interested in reading my work which means I need to get some serious writing done. I need to produce some work that it is ready to read. I need to move quickly and finish everything I start.

Again, that's not the only entree on my plate.

As my relationship with TLF gets more serious, it will likely require additional time and attention. And money. My debt isn't just erasing itself. I need to find ways to work harder and more often and to spend less.

On a slightly less important note, the football and (later) basketball seasons are almost here.

Ugh, never enough time in a day.

---

Watch this clip from a wonderful film partially inspired by a California obsession:

My Mother is Not a Fish, Not Even Close

This week’s quote is pulled from the William Faulkner (supposed) classic The Sound and the Fury. I wouldn’t know, I’ve never read it.

---

“A fine dead sound we will swap Benjy's pasture for a fine dead sound.”

---

That vague excerpt from Western literary canon came at you a day late because I’ve been on the move all weekend and have had zero alone time with my keyboard.

Being tied down to my desk is so 20th Century, I know. I’ve resisted the calls for long enough but I am finally looking at purchasing a cheapish laptop. I hate using those cheap and undersized keyboards for typing but I spend more time at my girlfriend’s house than at my own apartment and it’s just too hard to write often enough that way.

At least now I’ll be able to bond with all the other underemployed hacks leeching WiFi and iced tea refills at every coffee shop in Hollywood. Those days of not being taken seriously as a writer are certainly coming to a middle!

Also, as I’m never above a few sentences of shameless self-promotion...

The August issue of RUKUS magazine is online—skim through it and read my review of the new Korn album.

Please?

Orson Welles made Citizen Kane at 26.

Well, I'm 27... What have I accomplished? What have I to show for it?

If you ask my Grandma B.: "Not a damned thing."

If I could cram all my half-arsed ambitions into a cardboard box and carry them to the Pack -N- Ship, the cost of postage would far exceed my solvency.

This blog is a tool. Writing needs to become my daily ritual. For me to realize even a fraction of my hopesdreamsgoals, new habits must be adopted. To paraphrase the vague and lazy introductory speeches of new NFL head coaches everywhere (I'm looking at you, Cam Cameron): we need to create a culture winning.

Writing, for me, is a labor of love. On those rare occasions when I feel I've produced a work to be proud of, the mental satisfaction that swells inside of me* is unparalleled. The feeling is always earned, though. Perhaps I haven't paid in blood or sweat, but you can bet, at the very least, everything I have previously seen fit to share with an audience represents an investment of my time. My writing process is very rarely as fluid as I would like. I can easily spend hours or even days trying to find the right word or phrase. My jaw clenches, my blood pressure rises, my vision blurs, and my deadlines usually go bye-bye** as I stare with irresolvable anxiety at that damned blinking cursor, trying to think of the perfect next word.

I envy and loathe those writers whose prose flows quickly and steadily, like Lloyd Christmas's oft-cited salmon of Capistrano. This fledgling blog hopes to serve many ends, but none bigger than allowing me to rise above my own artistic insecurities. In the practical universe, I know-- instinctively-- that I will rarely have the time to adequately tune the smaller details of my work. I'm becoming an old man. I've already missed my Citizen Kane window and no longer can I afford the luxury (no, "luxury" is not the right word, but as part of my new effort to forego waiting for the right word, I will use it anyway) of the prolonged inactivity borne from my paralyzing insecurities.

Sure, I'll probably still end up fixing the typos and grammatical errors in my posts. But I vow never to edit (after publishing, at least) for theme, content, direction, or word choice. Writers write (yes, I realize that sentence isn't even eloquent enough to be considered a cliché, but it's the only truth I know regarding the craft I claim to love). I need to write more. I need to write more frequently and learn to do it with greater ease.

I spend far too much time considering what to write, so my blogging goal is to simply entertain whatever whimsical inspirations creep into my head. My interests are varied and my taste and tact are questionable. So yes, be afraid,

---

*swells inside of me - That phrase requires some sort of meta-justification. I have none.

**My jaw clenches, my blood pressure rises, my vision blurs, and my deadlines usually go bye-bye - In elementary school, I was taught to separate all items in a list with a comma (even the one preceding the "and"). "Jane went to the market for apples, bananas, and prophylactics." I realize my comma usage may be dated, downright abominable perhaps. Get used to it.