Networking with Rafiki

Am I writing as much as I need to? No. But I'm progressing. And I have new goals and resolve. Same old story. Looking to affix a new ending. You know how it goes.

Here are some thoughts on networking.

They (yes, "they") say that it's not what you know, it's who you know. I've learned long since that it is very much both. You could be really well-connected and know squat about filmmaking, and you're not going to make a movie. You've got to know something. And you've got to have some talent and be willing to work hard. Only then will "who you know" matter at all.

So what about this idea of networking? It's always been a bit of an intimidating concept for me. I get overwhelmed. I think I've got to somehow meet everyone, know everything about them, and make them love me.

This is not true.

It's been my experience that if you proactively meet people and search for those who might share some of your passions, you'll find them. And as you find people with whom you seem readily compatible, you'll remember them, because they interest you. Then all you've got to do is stay in touch. Keep the relationship alive. Make sure that the both of you remember that you want to work together. Then, as opportunities to benefit from these people arise, you'll take advantage of them. And then you'll return the favor.

It's actually pretty simple. The hardest part is being the kind of person other people will want to know and work with, and then being outgoing enough to prove it to them--not obnoxiously, but confidently.

I met this guy named Chad. He's pretty stellar. It didn't take long to figure out that our senses of humor were similarly bizarre, so I sold him on Quiet Dignity, and now we're actively working toward turning out the first Quiet Dignity video from Boston. Here's the script I just wrote (as in, minutes ago):


INT. DINING ROOM 


GARY and JOHN pour out bags of candy onto a table. 


LATER


Gary and John are eating the candy, busily preoccupied with their binging.


Gary holds a Kit-Kat, and notices its chocolate melt between his fingers. 


He pinches his fingers together a few times, still chewing. 


He looks up at John, who is still pre-occupied with his own candy. 


Squinting in concentration, Gary reaches up slowly, and John looks up just in time to see Gary’s chocolate covered thumb land on his forehead. 

JOHN

What--

Gary slides his thumb down the bridge of John’s nose, still chewing, candy stuck to his teeth.

GARY

Simba...

Gary takes his finger away and stares at John contemplatively.


John wipes his face roughly.

JOHN

What the crap, man.

Gary resumes unwrapping candy.

GARY

I been watching a lot of Lion King lately. 

JOHN

Oh OK.

CUT TO BLACK.

***

We're hoping to shoot it this weekend. You'll get to see pretty soon whether and how it turns out. Wish us luck.

Le Mime (a teaser)

As of several minutes ago, I completed the first draft of the first script I'm writing for my MFA. There will be many, many more (drafts AND scripts), but I figured I should celebrate this as a significant milestone anyway. To that end, here is a single scene... (Please forgive the sloppy formatting--Final Draft doesn't copy and paste well, I found out.)

EXT. POLICE STATION - NIGHT

A FAT GUARD sits in a chair outside the door of the station. He’s reading a magazine and chewing on something.

He notices a Mime approaching and watches him suspiciously. He watches everyone suspiciously.

The Mime appraises the guard and rubs his stomach thoughtfully, taking the stance of a fat man.

FAT GUARD 

Hey get outta here.

The Mime holds up his finger, high, like he just had an idea.

He pushes up his sleeves, ties on an invisible apron, and goes to work “cooking an omelette.”

The guard wrinkles his nose at the Mime, but sits up a little straighter to watch.

FAT GUARD 

Whataya doin?

The Mime pauses, looks at the guard, holds up his finger, and then goes back to work.

FAT GUARD 

You makin somethin?

The Mime nods and smiles at him as he moves the invisible frying pan back and forth across the invisible burner.

FAT GUARD

Whatcha makin?

The Mime flips the omelette a couple of times and then brings the pan over to the Guard.

He makes a little bow as he offers the invisible omelette to the man and waits for him to take it.

FAT GUARD 

Heh. No thanks. I’m not hungry.

The Mime stands up straight, shrugs, and tips the "pan" to drop the "omelette" into his own hand.

He smiles at the guard as he takes a bite and chews with a “you don’t know what you’re missing” expression.

FAT GUARD

Well look at you, gettin all

cheeky!

The Guard smiles as he watches the Mime finish the invisible food.

FAT GUARD

Alright, I get it, yum yum yum. Now

get outta here.

The Mime licks his fingers and then promptly brings the invisible pan up and conks the Guard over the head.

FAT GUARD

Ahh!

The Guard clutches his head in surprised pain and looks at the Mime in disbelief.

FAT GUARD

What in the--

With a worried frown, the Mime bashes the Guard’s head again.

This time, the Guard lurches forward in an attempt to tackle the Mime, but the Mime gets in one more blow before he reaches him.

The Guard lies motionless on the ground. The Mime, pan at the ready, peers warily at the body.

Satisfied, the Mime gives a quick nod, tosses the invisible pan, which clatters loudly as it hits the ground, and steps up to the station door.

The Mime looks around, then disappears into the station.

***

What do you think? 

Bad Writer, Bad Writing

I had two choices:

1. Continue to avoid writing a new post because I technically don't have a new scene to share this week.
2. Admit my failure and post anyway, favoring consistency over humiliation (and cowardice).

I am now hiding behind door #2. 

It's not that I haven't been writing at all, but what little time I have spent writing I've sunk into the short, for which I'm supposed to be turning in the first draft this coming week.

Wow, what a sentence. I can actually feel myself getting worse at putting words together. It's becoming a neurosis. You are witnessing a slow, excruciating collapse of a once-creative mind. What's it like, from your perpective? This is what it's like for me: sinking into a pit of loose, soft sand. I'm panicking, of course, but what can I do? It seems like the more I struggle, the deeper I sink, and plus there's all this sand, which, even if I get out, is going to be all up in everywhere ok I think this analogy is breaking down.

And now here's some venting:

I frequently (and unfairly) blame my failure to stake out more time to write on my job as a TA. Specifically, of late, grading papers. Like I said, it's unfair, because if I was more dedicated, I'd get my &#!+ together and quit whining. I'd have plenty of time if I'd stop wasting so much of it.

But that's not what I want to vent about. I want to say that the level to which we, as a nation, have allowed our standard, public education to sink is unforgivable. I don't blame the freshmen coming into a prestigious college for their utter inability to write coherently (I'm one to talk)--I blame the system that so recently regurgitated their ill-served brains. The sad fact is this: public high schools are failing utterly to teach the vast majority of their students to write at even the modest levels of competency. 

This is the pen I use to grade. I know, right?

Is writing really that important? 

Have you ever heard Lewis Black scream the word "YES" in an explosively incredulous rage? Well, that's my answer. 

Not only is an inability to write clearly and effectively an indication of a poor education, and a terrible handicap in the professional world, it is also, alas, directly related to stunted critical thinking. Writing is thinking, and vice versa. The two are inseparable. Learning to write well facilitates much better thinking. Without the one, the other stagnates. 

And so most of us are coming out of high school barely functional. It's not an age thing, it's a systemic failure thing. If our eighteen-year-olds are well-meaning idiots, it's not because they haven't seen two decades, it's because they have seen one decade of "no child left behind." 

I'm going to stop now, or I never will. 

This blog is supposed to be a place to talk about being a film student/maker/person. So I've typed out my passionate plea for better writing with fear and fury, and now I want to ask you, am I overstating it? Am I alone in my anguish? Are there other perspectives outside of mine? I tend to assume there aren't, which, I recognize, is a problem. Help me fix it.

A Scene

I really like Blogger's new format. It feels less like an unfortunate collection of misplaced html. I approve of Google's new branding and design efforts. I know, Google, it was a long time coming, but I'm finally giving you the validation you were so craving. Now stop blubbering and get back to work.

I'm not very good at writing consistently. I know, this isn't news. So here's a development: I'm getting better! Further, the rate at which I am improving will ensure that I finish the first draft of my next feature sometime in 2018. Of course, I'll have to pick a story first, but that's a small detail in light of such unmitigated triumph.

But seriously. I had this idea. I will write a random scene every day. I will never spend more than one hour on this scene, and it does not have to relate to any particular project. It'll be sort of like writerly jamming. See what I come up with, remove the neurosis that typically accompanies, well, all of my efforts.

To nail this commitment into place, I now promise to post one scene here, right here, on this blog, here, every week. In keeping with the loose, calm atmosphere I'm trying to implement, the only guideline I'll make for myself is that I won't post anything I didn't write within the preceding week. Keep it fresh...Jeff. (I just made that up.)

To start: "Two-Man Job"

(HINT Click on the link to see the scene.)

Also, in the time since I last posted, those quietly dignified rock stars back in Provo graced the YouTubes with another video. It's funny. And short. In fact, very funny, and very short.

Bam:

Et Cetera

Here is the direct transcription of the pertinent task on my Wunderlist task list:

Blog! Sick, focusing, academia, QD, etc.

In an effort to keep things simple:

Sick

I got sick on the very first day of classes. Felt it coming on, then fought like crazy to keep it from getting bad. A few days later, I was feeling mostly fine, so I tried to jam way more into my days, and ended up getting sick again, but much worse. Took a week to find the end of it, where I found a sinus infection waiting for me. Getting rid of that was a pain, and now I'm...mostly ok. Still teetering, but trying to treat myself right with fear and trembling.

Also, herbal remedies. The next time you find yourself with a sinus infection, try this (apple cider vinegar tea). It works. Several times a day, for several days. It'll clear you out and allow your body to do the heavy lifting of actually getting rid of the infection. Seriously. I did it. It was great.

Being sick, by the way, is horrible. Not that you didn't know that, but I was reminded very forcibly of this most fundamental truth after the year (almost) I spent forgetting it.

Focusing

Back in the Utah, I divided my time between so many and such varied activities that I never really got good at anything. By now, I'm sure it's clear that I came here to focus on writing. I told myself that I needed to pick something, focus on it, and stick with it until I really developed the talent. Easier said than done, just like everything. It turns out that I still want to do all the stuff I was doing, and not doing it feels a little like giving up on life.

Of course, that sentiment is only exacerbated by my failure to write as often and as consistently as I VERY MUCH NEED TO, so that has been, or is becoming, my primary focus, as it were. I must write write write write. More on that later.

Academia

I'm not used to this. I feel like I spent a couple of years being a semi-professional, not getting paid, but doing all kinds of project-oriented things. I was doing things I loved, and things for which I would have been paid had I been out in the real world, but now I'm back in classes. Homework is hard, I'm rediscovering. Going to classes. Following syllabi. Frankly, it sucks. But I've only got a couple more years. They'll go by quick, and then it will be, quite literally, over for good.

QD (or, Quiet Dignity, for the uninitiate)



So proud of these guys for keeping it going after I left. I've been putting out feelers for how to go about setting up a coordinating group here in Boston. If you're a Bostonite, and you're reading this, and you're interested, let me know.

Et Cetera

Life is busy, and it's good. Quality. Full of good work and shining possibilities. But I'll admit I miss my old life pretty desperately sometimes. OK, often. But I brought it on myself by getting so close to so many wonderful people. And here I go again, trying to do the same thing here. I'll never learn.

Well, anyway. Check. Time to move on to my next task.

A Story about Taking Pictures of Married People

I wrote this post over a month ago and forgot to post it. Look at me go. I promise a more current set of thoughts very soon. 

Last week, I had my first experience with wedding photography. It turns out I'm...well, about how I expected to be. Not great. Not terrible. Out of 1,060 pictures, I forced over 200 of them to be useable in some way, so I guess that's something.

I did it for free, because it was for a couple of dear friends, and it was my first time. I figured a practice-run photography gig was a suitable wedding gift. And while I most certainly don't regret doing it for free, I doubt I'll be able to afford the same generosity to anyone else in the future. The event went from 4 to 8pm, approximately, and then sifting though the seemingly endless pictures I had taken, and editing the ones that were salvageable--I think I clocked in another 8 hours. I will never begrudge a photographer his or her fees.

One of the reasons I was so eager to do this, though, was that I knew I'd learn a whole lot, and I was right. For instance, I found myself phobic of closing the aperture; for some stupid reason, I kept it stopped down as far as I could get it--all day long, in blinding sunlight. Instead, to limit the exposure, I throttled the shutter speed between three and eight hundred. If you know anything about cameras, you can go ahead and laugh at me now. Here's the other part: keeping the aperture open decreased my depth of field to the point that I had a devil of a time keeping anything in focus, particularly for a lot of the candid shots I tried to get.

I also ended up underexposing about half of all the shots I got, having failed to adjust appropriately for drastic lighting changes. Listen. Photography is hard, it turns out.

But it's hecka fun. I did learn a ton, and I think my friends will be happy with some of what I give them. Here are some of my favorites:

And Now I'm Here

It's been a long time, I know, and I'm sorry.

Here's what's been up:

I moved to Boston.

Undergoing such a huge move turns out to be psychologically, physically, emotionally, spiritually, and creatively draining. It's sort of like going into survival mode, where all I could really focus on was making it through the whole thing in one piece.

And now I'm here, in one piece. And classes have started, and I'm still a wretched writer, in that I almost never actually sit down and write. That's going to change, though, you'll see. Or, probably you won't see, but you'll hear abou--er, you'll read about it here, when I decide I deserve to let off some brag steam. But no such steam exists at present, so that'll have to wait.

Here's the deal with BU: it's different than BYU. Like, a lot different. I won't say it's better or worse, because I think it's an impossible comparison to qualify. They are different worlds. I guess there is one qualitative thing I can say--different is good. I love these buildings that are hundreds of years old, with dust on the windowsills that I'm willing to bet is older than my grandparents. I love the way everything in this city is crammed together, or was, a hundred years ago, and everyone has to just sort of shoulder past each other to get around.

I love that yesterday, it was so hot and muggy I thought I would drown when I walked outside, and today it's cold and rainy enough to be November in Utah.

I...well, I really hate that I have to furnish my own room in my new (very, very old) apartment, and I have no car to help me do it. But I LOVE that as soon as I step out of my door, I'm in Davis Square in Somerville, which is at least fourteen times cooler than any square in Provo.

I love living here. I'm so glad to be back. Immediately, I want to claim this as my home. I know that I need to put in some time before I get that right, but I'm willing to put that time right in.

So those are my thoughts right now.

And here's my "expert film student" advice for the day: Love where you are, or move.