TV Watching Hours 10; Pages Written 2

It was a fairly decent catch for the TV watching tour de force this week. Best things were:
--Breaking Bad - Some stellar acting and writing, as always. Was I the only one who had flashbacks, when Jesse went in to deal with the meth heads to that episode a couple of seasons ago, "Peekabo," where he entertained the little boy while his insane, meth addicted parents killed each other with an ATM machine? That had to be one of my favorite episodes. This one wasn't quite as emotionally charged, but it was still nice to see Jesse being the reluctant hero, yet again. I think he surprised the heck out of the jaded Guss, who seems to be taking a shine to him as an actual protege or something. Walt definitely seems jealous of losing Jesse and tried his best to get him and keep him for himself. And what about Walter, going all Heisenberg with his "I'm the bad guy, they fear me, not the other way around" BS. Skylar should have known not to call him a nice guy. Nothing will piss a guy off more than calling him "nice" (loved her last line btw, "Someone's gotta save this family from the guy who's saving this family.") Walt, not being able to admit that he's scared and in over his head, instead came back swinging with his braggadocio hangin' out. Even though Skylar was right about pretty much everything, it was cool to see Walt back on the offensive. Nice comeback, and nice tush too Apparently, good ol' Heisenberg's been working out while waiting for the meth to turn blue.

--Torchwood-- I haven't always been so sure about this newfangled American approach to Torchwood. It's been a little too straightforward and not the usual kinky, wacky, British alien thing that I'd grown to love about the series and somehow, Jack Harkness, with his American accent, Tom Cruise smirk, and Kirk Douglass chin always stood out as from another country, surrounded by all the Brit and cockeny accents; now he's mortal, in LA, just another handsome, aging gay dude in a military coat he could've gotten off the rack at a vintage shop on Melrose, on his way to his next acting gig. But low and behold, things get a lot more fun and freaky, in this episode, written by the fabulous Jane Espenson, my Cal alumni sister in sci-fi fantasticness. Aside from an salaciously hot flashback, with Jack once again wooing a sexy foreign guy, fresh off the boat, in need of a shower, with his otherworldly charms, we get some insight into how this whole "undead" thing started and you know aliens have to be involved, FINALLY... and the two are tied together, in a blast from the past that leads to Jack being the cause of this whole thing in some way. Okay, that works for me. I'll take some more of that, thank you very much. Can't wait until next week.

--True Blood - I've been enjoying this season a lot more than last. Maybe it's because putting Sookie with Eric and making Bill the king who still pines after the love he let go away appeals to the romantic in me and nothing boots up a love story like unrequited vamp love, I guess. Then again, maybe I just prefer witches with serious sorcery to hedonistic undefinable devil worshipers as an antagonist. Call me crazy. I thought the whole dream sequence with Sookie, Bill and Eric was a lot of fun and nice way to tie both hunky vampire dudes into the situation. They ended the episode on a note of true suspense, although you know Bill's going to make it out okay in the end, so is Eric, for that matter. And Sookie, well, she might as well be immortal. As for the subplots, they've wrapped up the weird ghost with the Aunt Jemima headwrap taking over Lafayette's body to kidnap Darlene's devil spawn thankfully. First Lafayette is a vdealer, then a v slave, now he's a medium... uh, gee can't the poor guy get a break. All in all though, it's still one of my favorite guilty pleasures and I'll miss it when the season's over. Thankfully, they've been picked up for another one.

Ah, better get back to work. Boo hiss.
Bluesy

Rolling in the Deep

Come on, you know you'd rather watch Adele sing "Rolling in the Deep" and "Rumor Has It" in her cool, artsy, angst ridden video than write anything. I know I would.

The more I listen to Adele's new album, the more I like it, and I bought it first day it came out. She's just amazing. Perhaps her first album was more solid, in that every single song was a keeper. But there's so much great stuff on 21. And it's got that retro sound that also is so contemporary. Really, there's no one like her.

Hello, Again, Hello

So you're probably wondering what the heck happened to me. I haven't posted in ages. Well, simple answer, I've been -- gasp -- writing. Yes, I know, it's so unlike me. After all, this is a blog about procrastinating from writing, so I don't want to sound hypocritical or anything. I like to practice what I preach. And don't get me wrong, I'm still a practicing procrastinator... why look at me right now. Besides, there's been TV to watch in between the beads of blood pouring from my forehead and fingertips... and you know how much I like my TV shows. Breaking Bad's been as amazing as ever. I don't know how they consistently can churn out such well written scripts, but they're doing it. Watching Walter White's transmogrification is always a trip. I've also been enjoying True Blood. Kind of like a guilty pleasure. Well, not exactly kinda. And there's a steady stream of junkfood teen paranormal and sci fi TV shows that are usually on in between taking breaks from... gasp... work. You know which they are, I don't need to mention them here. (okay, so I'll mention a few: The Nine Lives of Chloe, Teen Wolf (yay, Vlaming), Switched at Birth, Alphas, Torchwood, Game of Thrones repeats,) You know you like them too, don't give me those looks.

As far as reading goes, I always have two or three books going at a time while I'm "indisposed." Right now, I'm enjoying the hell out of The Borrower, and crazy loving Jennifer Egan's A Visit from the Goon Squad.. Goon Squad is definitely my favorite book of the year. It's one of those books I love so much, I am savoring it and reading it super slow because I don't want it to end

I read a whole ton of YA recently, but unfortunately, much of it's kind of wasn't really great enough to stand out. Only a few really knocked my socks off. Like Rebecca Stead's When You Reach Me and Jay Asher's 13 Reasons Why. The latest dystopic, futuristic offerings (my favorite genre) have to be Lauren Oliver's Delirium and Before I Fall (I loved Delirium so much, it made me get her earlier book, Before I Fall, which I liked even more. Also, had another look at the classic, The Giver so, so good. So see, just when you think you won't find another book you love as much as The Hunger Games trilogy, you do.

I've been thinking about going to the gym quite a bit lately. I do realize that my penchant for procrastinating about writing has now moved to that of going to the gym, as my growing ass and hips will attest. I rather like my gym though. It's got a fabulous pool, even more fabulous jacuzzi, one of those cardio theatres, which, let's face it, were designed for media junkies like me -- sure they always play movies I've seen already, but it doesn't matter. I'll stay on a recumbent bike or treadmill for 2 hours just to watch the end of Salt again, (which I liked more second time around), or Oceans 11, 12 and 13 (I think they're up to 13, who knows, they're all kinda like the same movie but who's going to walk away from George Clooney... not I certainly. The person who programs these movies for my gym has great insight into the female psyche, that's for sure). In any case, these days I'm spending more time reminiscing about the gym rather than pumping up. Blame it on the damned writing. Blasted. Too bad you can't lose weight just by thinking about working out. I'm not talking about just thinking about it for a second or two; I mean, really putting yourself out there. But NOOOOO, you actually have to do the exercise for it to have any affect. Pffft!

Anyway, until next time.

Bluesy

PS.. you know I spent at least an hour playing with the new blogger template designer with all its cool customization settings. I mean, it's hard to pick one background from all the cool offerings and then it has to be something easy on the eyes so you can read the actual post and not be distracted by all the eye candy (I mean, you wouldn't find me putting George Clooney in the background, because while I'd probably get a much higher readership, no one would actually read anything I had to say... not that I'd blame them).

All this to say, don't tell me I haven't done my job in giving you many ways to avoid writing in this post, reading all these books, watching all these cool TV shows, movies... of you could go to the gym for me, I wouldn't mind.

Who By Fire

Hope we all make it!

Happy New Year Everyone.

More great reasons not to write

I realize I've been procrastinating lately about writing my procrastination blog and the guilt won out (that and I really don't feel like working yet this morning). Here's a really interesting interview with Anne Rapp... Anne Rapp's 10 Rules of Writing.

One of her top tips to being a good writer is to be a really good reader and not just magazines and shlock. Real books. Really good books. She even recommends a few, none of which I've read yet so I'm immediately going Amazon to get all of them... yes, that's a favorite past time of mine, one-click has seriously ruined my life and my bank account. I'm avoiding buying a Kindle because then I'll really be in trouble and never get my writing done. Anyway, I'm always reading about 3 books at a time, depending on my mood. Ever read a book that you keep thinking "Hmm, this book seems familiar," and it takes until about a third of the way through to realize you've read it already? I've done that. But I try to keep current and inspired as well. I'll read a popular, well reviewed YA book, a science fiction book and a damn well written recent novel going in my "reading room" at the same time. What can I say I'm fickle, nerdy and often constipated. I get a lot read that way.

In any case, I haven't read any of Anne's stuff yet, but now I think I will. Anne writes short stories and has written movies that Robert Altman directed... so you figure she's really close in the chain to Raymond Carver, who wrote Short Cuts - Criterion Collection that Altman made a pretty decent movie out of (though I'm not sure I can ever get my head around Lyle Lovett playing "the baker"). I love Raymond Carver's stories; therefor, by loyalty lineage, I love Anne Rapp already.

More advice has to do with putting your desk facing the wall, not the window. I totally agree with her on that one too. Every desk I've ever had faces the wall. I learned a long time ago that a writer like me with ADD will get painfully distracted by anything but a blank wall.

She also recommends a clean house/workspace and getting rid of clutter... in theory I totally agree but in practice, not exactly. I find it very difficult to manage my clutter on a daily basis. Instead, I save it for those day long projects where you start "straightening up" and end up with 5 garbage bags full of papers and stuff you thought you absolutely needed but have no room for and are feeling too lazy to file. Great procrastination method, lousy for actually writing though.

Another tip is not to marry or live with another writer. Been there done that, she's right.... for SOOOO many reasons.

Then there's the "Room of one's own" tip that is totally accurate, though I wish she'd give credit to Virginia Woolf for first suggesting it, if not for any other reason than I totally LOVE Virginia Woolf's work (Mrs. Dalloway rocks... and don't tell me you saw the movie, I don't want to hear it). In any case, for crying out loud if you want to write anything you definitely have to kick everyone out of the house for a while to do it... or do it when they're all sleeping. Sleeping, I find counts very much like being gone... if they're unconscious or comatose, nobody's gonna bother you.

I'd also add a caveat to the "alone" rule to say it really helps a writer to have a dog, or dogs around. That is IF they're the right kind of dogs. No yappy, high energy hounds that want to lure you outside to take them for a walk. I'm talkin' lazy, lounge about furry creatures that are totally content to sleep at your feet, your side, somewhere near you to send comforting, loving doggie vibes without bothering you at all and will let you scoop them up and snuggle them for a minute if you're looking for a break or a reason not to work that won't last too long (if I hug too much, my Shitzu, Cuddles gives me a little growl to warn me to get back to work and let him get back to sleep... and yes, his name is Cuddles, you did read me right).

I guess I also like the idea that I'm not the only breathing thing in the house. That and if say a snake or tarantula should come crawling out of a hole somewhere, I could cower behind the dogs, or they'd distract it by barking at it while I ran for help (especially my mixed mutt, Daisy, who does a great keep away bark and also has the nifty habit of eating mosquitoes and other stray bugs straight out of the air like a lizard. Saves me oodles in insect repellent).

Tarantulas? Snakes? You think I'm joking here but I'm not. I live in Southern California near canyons where these things really do come out to play from time to time. First week we moved here, my husband stepped on what he thought was a big hairy spider, turned out to be a wicked big tarantula. Ever since, I'm on the lookout for other spider family members seeking vengeance.

If you live in NYC or Florida and don't need to worry about such things, you still have those cockroaches that are bigger than either of my dogs (and don't say I'm stereotyping, I've lived in NYC, they do exist in abundance there. I once stayed at a girlfriend's basement apartment for a year and we called the garbage under the sink "The Zoo." You can figure why, I'm sure).

Now I know some of you are wondering why I mention dogs instead of cats. Admittedly, I am a dog person. I have nothing against cats and yes, they are low maintenance and can be nice to have around... but you realize no cat will face off against a snake for giant bug for you. No way, no how. So what good are they in the long run, that's my feeling.

There are more rules, some things to avoid; books on writing except the ones by Ray Bradbury and Stephen King. I wouldn't run from anything Bradbury's written, though I'm not familiar with this particular writing book. I do know my Stephen King though and I absolutely adore On Writing and Danse Macabre -- she's totally on the money about reading those. I can't even say that reading them is procrastination fodder, so much as considering it as a work related read. File it under education, save yourself the time and money of going to a writing class and read those books. Of course, if you write screenplays, maybe that's different. In any case, you need to read my former teacher form UCLA and personal yoda, Lew Hunter's:Lew Hunter's Screenwriting 434: The Industry's Premier Teacher Reveals the Secrets of the Successful Screenplay . I wouldn't write a word without consulting Lew's tombe first. Screenplays are really about structure more than other kinds of prose, so bone up. I also might add Lamott's Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life to the list for inspiration, though it's been years since I've read it. Still, it's on my shelf. These are the only books on writing on my shelf by the way... so in theory I guess I'm agreeing with Anne about not wasting too much time reading every little ditty about how to write. Writing's not really like that, it's not a passive thing you learn from reading about... it's more a sport. You learn by doing and falling down a bunch and getting back up until it works for you, or not.

Anyway, you can now log in the 10 minutes or so it's taken you to read this blog entry into your procrastination log. Now, it's back to work or starve!

Best,
Bluesy

Why is this Blog Different than All Other Blogs

I've been blog surfing today, the only kind of surfing I'll ever do, despite living in the Beach Boy state. And I must say, I'm appalled at how much of a slacker I've become when it comes to this BLOG thing.

I have friends, like Ingrid Sundberg, whose blogs are so informative and consistent, she should get paid for being such a valuable resource. Other YA blogs are amusing and entertaining, Heather Kelly's blog "Edited Within an Inch of My Life" made me laugh in title alone. Her report on the latest NESCBWI conference aftermath was quite amusing.

And by the way, I also think Sarah Davies rocks. I've seen her speak at a few SCBWI conferences in NY and LA, and would also love to have her give me notes with that perfectly proper British accent. I imagine it the sort of comfort akin to Julie Andrews advising a spoonful of sugar in times of distress.

I read Ms. Davies' blog regularly, and not just because I aim to send her my YA book when I'm done. Perhaps it's because I feel a kinship; after all, my precious daughter is also a "Sarah," I'm one of the few Americans who enjoy a good cup of tea and a scone slathered with lemon curd; not to mention what a huge fan of BBC serial dramas I am. MI5, Wire in the Blood, Being Human, Torchwood, Primevil, Dr. Who, Ballykissangel, Monarch of the Glen, Ashes to Ashes, Abfab -- need I go on?

Sarah, it's obvious we should talk, or at least email.

Also, one of my regular author blog haunts is Lisa Yee of "Absolutely Maybe" fame, and her fabulous "What's Peep up to Now?" pictures. Today she has her dog in lieu of Peep, but I figure everyone needs to shake things up once in a while.

I noticed everyone's extraordinarily helpful and kind in the YA field -- though I confess, I do miss the days of Miss Snark, who always made me laugh with her crap-o-meter and comments like "you send me something like that and I'll need to set my hair on fire with lighter fluid."

Oh sure, Hollywoodland blogs still have plenty of snarkiness. And from time to time, I get a kick out of checking out The Hollywood Temp Diaries, after spending my twenties working as a super star writer's assistant slave, getting coffee cups chucked at my head and being told how many other folks were dying to do my job for free (Memories, like the corners of my mind.)

But YA is a very kumbaya crowd.

Don't get me wrong, I greatly appreciate the time, effort and warm fuzzies I receive from these blogs. They're helpful, inspiring and there's oodles of them. I could spend all day reading these come hither words of what's hot, what's not, what to put in a query letter, when to write a query letter, how to approach a publisher, how to not piss off a publisher, how to be patient. In fact, I DID spend all day reading these blogs.

Only problem is, I kinda need to write. Even writing this blog is yet another excuse not to get going with those promised pages. Which leads me to the self realization about what this blog really should be about, if its to be a true reflection of the author.

So instead of telling you how to write, what to write, how I write, why I write, what I'm writing, etc. etc. I shall instead enthrall you, gentle reader, with my amazing, astounding suggestions and realizations upon the best ways NOT to write. That's right, I'm going to tell you the best ways to procrastinate and keep from writing.

For today's entry, let's say reading others blogs can be a truly fine way to spend the day and NOT get one single word written. You can walk away with the feeling that you've taken care of your writerly needs by doing all this fabulous research for what to do when you've finished your book/screenplay/graphic novel/autobiographical tomb.

Stay tuned for more fabulous, unique and fascinating ways NOT to get your writing done. And, if you have suggestions that you think are worthy of these pages, please post. I'd be honored to know that I was the one who encouraged your deep seeded need to clean the bathroom floor grout.

After watching "Invictus," I got all teary and not because of the movie (though I did cry during "Princess and the Frog," but that's another story altogether).

It just so happens that the poem which inspired the title (and Mandela, apparently) was my mother's favorite poem. She told me when she was in high school, the teacher's made her memorize a poem, and she had picked "Invictus," though she said it held no particular emotional sway with her at the time. Perhaps she just thought it sounded cool. In any case, she memorized it and then late, when life indeed gave her more challenges than most... challenges of health problems that plagued her most of her adult life and which nearly killed her several times over, be it by stroke, heart attack and coma... which robbed her of her ability to walk without pain... .she said she was glad that she had memorized the thing way back when and that it did indeed come in handy.

At that time, I was about 14 or so, I was on a poetry kick and decided to memorize it too... and when in my life I'd come across serious adversity, maybe not as serious as the kind my mother had endured -- until dealing with her death a year and a half ago, that is -- I'd always thought it was a most remarkable string of words. Inspirational, strong, determined and steadfast.

"Invictus" was written by William Ernst Henley, a victim of tuberculosis of the bone. A few years later, while a teenager, the disease progressed in his foot and he had to have his foot amputated directly below the knee. In spite of this, in 1867 he successfully passed the Oxford local examination as a senior student. He wrote "Invictus" from a hospital bed in 1875. Despite his disability, he persevered with one foot intact, leading an active life, and died at the age of 53.

No poem could be more appropriate for my mother, who could barely walk, when she went back to school to get her Bachelor's of Science in her early 40's. She continued and got her Master's of Science in clinical psychology from Cal State University Northridge and went on to intern at Camarillo hospital, helping disturbed teens and then opened up a practice in Westport, CT where she also had her own talk psychology radio show. She specialized in women empowering themselves and gave assertiveness training sessions. She died not that much older than William Ernst Henley, finally succumbing to the diseases that tried to overcome her most of her life.

I wonder if she thought of "Invictus" when she lay in her hospital bed, at the moment she knew she would die.

After she passed, it was the first thing that came into my head.

Any movie called "Invictus," based on that particular poem -- is a winner to me.

By the way, here's the poem:

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.