somehow, this whiny little gem had snuck around dark corners of the book shelf until last night, when i finished it for the first time.

if i could write one book like this one - a gritty, sympathetic, unashamed meander into a troubled mind - i could hang up my red hunting hat.

i had a previous, flippant impression that holden caulfield was merely an unjustified chip on an innocent world's shoulder; maybe that was before i'd begun to discover the cracks in my own once-shinier veneer.

good job, j.d.

getting it together

it's time to start focusing again. i burned myself out writing the pilot for strays, and have been over-indulging in pseudo-unnecessary chilltime. also, trying to get in a creative mode usually takes me all weekend after working in a corporate atmosphere, and then right when i feel those stirrings again, i come in on monday morning and have to brainstorm on things like how to make convenience store ampm's brand image more 'fun and irreverent' which throws me off all over again. i'm starting to question if i have the discipline necessary. but since depression is a side effect of unproductivity in my chosen passion, i have no choice but to get it together. this weekend's trip to lake arrowhead is my planned catalyst.

spinning in all directions

good news! big gap between posts means I've been busy on actual work instead of ruminating on it.

-agent is calling me back again and likes the new bofc chapters. he's submitting to new editors.

-worked like, 14 14 hr. days on strays and hit the deadline for class. almost done with the pilot; will email them the rest.

-hipster continues to run thru my veins like bad blood. must bleed it out. soon. agent likes but warns, no one buys novels.

-short stories popping out at random intervals. they're so dark and pathetic that the strength and honesty just may shine thru and i think that's the lightest way to be.

reality check

of course, there's the other side to all this wishy-swishing around through the warm bath water of lavender-scented indecision and frothy ideas.

they come in the form of texts from my friend at william morris who just went thru a writer's bootcamp for agents thing today, and is taking it out on me:

dude, there are too many writers with motivation making money. grow up or stop claiming ur a writer.

ouch, and then...

too harsh for u. i mean i'm bored of postive reinforcement.

ok! followed by...

i mean seriously? ull be procrastinating till ur 40.

i hope they told her to do this to writers or something. and...

the strays idea. how many years u had that stashed?

ok, fine. back to work.

post-materialism, the aesthete and style

my mind is stewing these days with angles, edges, concepts and philosophies all converging aromatically like a big goo-ball at a reggae festival. which austere bun-lady over there would definitely not approve of my sampling.

i'm not sure where it's all going to end up, but i'm treading off into some social commentary land in my new novel, hipster. it's fun, a little daunting, and ultimately, very entertaining to live with ideas jostling through your veins like childhood building blocks.

Helpful Research Tool

This is a great website for television screenwriters.

RIP - the author of 'The Infinite Jest'

never surprises me when writers do this.

here's something he wrote in college:

You are the sickness yourself.... You realize all this...when you look at the black hole and it's wearing your face. That's when the Bad Thing just absolutely eats you up, or rather when you just eat yourself up. When you kill yourself. All this business about people committing suicide when they're "severely depressed;" we say, "Holy cow, we must do something to stop them from killing themselves!" That's wrong. Because all these people have, you see, by this time already killed themselves, where it really counts.... When they "commit suicide," they're just being orderly.