Long lists of interests were always easy to come by when exploring the caverns of my brain. I had too many to tend to them all. Too many it seems to pay special attention to any particular one of them. So many, that my interests went un-pursued never to become full-fledged talents or abilities. I didn’t ignore my interests all together; I had a few that stood the test of time. I had a real interest in music and singing for a long time but never had the courage to fully pursue it. I sang with friends, I was quite comfortable singing karaoke; I took voice lessons and guitar lessons and practiced often. I was confident with my abilities (to sing) but I wasn’t confident in becoming part of a band. If I sing in a band, I would be demanding to be heard. I would have to have something real to say and to say it with poetic grace.
Even with my lack of confidence I managed to attempt the answering of a few classifieds. One audition (which went quite well) and a few calls to various lead guitarists ended in nothing. I began to get distracted and ignore my abilities. I worried about who I was and what I wanted to accomplish. I thought of my interests and the importance of each one. I had too many interests to feed. I’ve always wanted to do so much that I’ve neither accomplished nor mastered anything. I needed to concentrate on one. The heavyweights were singing and writing. The latter ended up weighing more.
Film was an interest for which I went to school. This interest stemmed from my desire to write. Visual stories run through my head all the time, it was a natural progression to have an interest in screenwriting. Film school was a great experience for me to learn the art of getting the pictures out of my head. I sucked at it while I was at school but I’m glad I learned how to write a crappy scene with crappy dialogue so I can recognize it and avoid it now. Having gone to film school left me with a subconscious feeling that I needed to get out there and work in film. I spent time and money on school; I should get involved in the industry. It didn’t seem reasonable for me to get a regular 8-hour day job and work on my writing. I worried that I would have a script and no connections to get it out there. Fuck. At least I would have had a script. Probably several.
Instead I worked my way through the non-union shows to a film office. A year there earned me two back-to-back post-production gigs getting me the necessary connections to the union. After that I had 3 very fun years working with a lot of great people in the Toronto film industry. But I was really just falling back. I had a career as a support worker for someone else’s stories. I was distracting myself with a career as an A.D., something I enjoyed doing for a time but had no passion for. Here I was, fully involved in the film industry leaving myself no time to master the craft that brought me there.
My decision to take a break from the film industry coincided with my move to Vancouver. I had ignored my writing too long and constant walkie talkie use was taking it’s toll on my ears and brain. After spending more than a reasonable amount of time getting settled as an excuse to avoid finally getting my shit together and writing, I ended up back in the film industry. I had become unexpectedly in need of a job and the Vancouver film industry was (and still is) starving for Production Assistants. With my name on the union list, I was getting regular calls for film work. I found a job simply by answering my phone. This did nothing to cure me of my newfound lifestyle of complete and total laziness.
Here I was again spending all my time at work. I had a lot of downtime while working but the distractions were too numerous and frustrating. I could not write in this environment. All day long on the walkie I listened to people get shit on for doing their job. Why show people respect for their hard work when you can belittle them and keep them ever searching for approval. Why treat people like human beings when you have a delicate hierarchical structure to maintain? It wasn’t so negative in Toronto but I was working on kid shows and more homegrown productions. I was also an A.D. rather than a P.A.
Not only is the job painfully boring and unchallenging, it seems that P.A.’s are not worthy of respect and need to be reminded of their insignificance on a daily basis. I was ususally reminded by other's actions but I was also told several times that I was "just a P.A." I made an effort and smiled my way through it. I continued to treat everyone with respect and do whatever I could to help on set and off. But the day came where I’d had enough. I was tired of being treated like a lesser being. That morning after several displays of disrespect from various crew members, my outlook changed fast. The instant I let myself get angry was the instant I stopped smiling and closed up shop for catering to assholes.
I managed to keep my anger in check whenever I was reminded of how little I mattered. I did however perfect an expression that says, “You are an idiot and an asshole. I have no use for you. Get away from me.” I also managed several smart-ass comments without any backlash and the privilege of being avoided by the disrespectful party. Clearly I called them on their unnecessary contempt of me. Even clearer was my newfound hatred for the film industry and my inability to survive in it with this attitude.
The longer I stayed in this environment the more my creativity suffered. My ideas stopped flowing, my muse abandoned me because I had abandoned her. My brain was turning to oatmeal and my work ethic was suffering. The negative environment I had lazily drifted back into was the culprit in the case of my missing magick (see first posting). My attitude turned to shit and I became laconic to acquaintances and possible new friends. All that wanted to come out were angry complaints. I avoided talking to people when I could; I had become disinterested in them anyway. With my positive outlook gone and my newly developing anti-social personality, I was beginning to lose my mental defenses for dealing with the world’s sorrows.
My P.A. job finished two weeks ago. I can now rest comfortably with my decision to leave the film industry permanently. Luckily I discovered how awesome comics were a few years back and shifted my writing interests. In comics I can write visual stories without having to deal with actors and the politics of film. I know there will be politics wherever I go but I have hope that they will be a little less immature and self-centered than the film industry.
I’m working on repairing my negativity and developing my interests. It starts here with emptying my brain of it’s thoughts and getting into the habit of writing. Further repair will come with a day job and being treated like an equal to my fellow workers. A little respect goes a long way. I’m also looking for work that challenges me and keeps my brain too busy to mellow into negativity or inactivity. I have a job interview tomorrow for a position that will teach me skills that should prove valuable to my writing. Hopefully enjoying my day job will help me to enjoy people again. This in turn should lighten my spirits and call back my muse. I have notebooks full of ideas that need to find their voice. I also have a singing voice that refuses to come out to play and remember her full potential. Time will tell.
Write first, sing about it later.
I have a crush on this man. Is this odd? I've never read any of his books. I just happened to attend one of his events at the Vancouver International Writer's Festival and now I lust. I've never crushed on a man old enough to be my father. Yes Patrick Stewart has a certain appeal but it's more of an angular composition thing. The eyes, the brow, the baldness. You know, like a captivating painting.
I seem to have misplaced my magick. I suppose it's still there, I've just misplaced the means to extract it. I've always been out of place, on the fringe, slightly off-kilter from the rest. I've always rather enjoyed it, but being misplaced seems to offer no joy. My magick seemed to disguise itself in my out of place nature. It came out when I spoke. It would spill over people, taking them aback. They would point thoughtfully at me and smile like I'd given them something rare. Sometimes it was what I said, sometimes it was how I said it. Sometimes it would be a simple gesture or expression. Whatever it was, it gave them a new perspective, a new way to appreciate something or someone.