1844 is a finite number
So while I've been struggling with all the things Birthday Writing Group tasked me with fixing, the unofficial (I wish they'd decide if it was official or not, but so it goes) announcement of an impending crisis has broken here at House 1844. Jeff and Briana seem to have decided Briana's hometown sounds tempting enough to draw them in, its proximity to L.A. and its lack of rent being two factors as I gather. That is to say, they haven't yet decided but they "may be" moving away -- this October. Not only is this taking away one of my closest friends of the last couple years and a valued collaborator both as an actor and as a listener/consultant on script ideas, but it's also kind of yanking the floor out on the good living arrangements here, as I've come to really value living with and being surrounded by creative people.
The dilemma becomes: do I (and Andy & Christina, for whom this presents a much bigger crisis, as this will all occur one week after they've returned from honeymoon... awkward) look for a new roommate of the caliber that will keep me sparked creatively? Or, do I take Mr. Blubaugh up on an offer and move in with him, assuming they go the month of September without finding a replacement for their departing roomy?
I would really love living with Andy (Blubaugh), I think. It would keep me productive, and "honest" (about time consumption/discipline) and on top of that, he's another of my closest friends in the last couple years. So in the plus column, all of that. In the minus column, Andy and Christina are really low-maintenance fun roommates too, and I just spent months IKEAing this house into usability, including building myself a room I'm comfortable and productive in. I don't really want to move. I like the location, I like the house, I like the routine I've built myself here. The ice-from-Circle-K, the guilty-pleasure Fire on the Mountain, the walking distance to Lloyd Center or downtown. I hate moving. I don't want to do it. Plus, new roommates, even ones Andy gives his blessing about: new people make me anxious. It's all a toss-up. When I moved in with Colin and Link, two guys I already knew and liked, I found myself all pulled into my snail-shell avoiding them, not as a personal thing but just in general. I hid in my room or (because my room wasn't inspiring) spent all my time, overnight even, at the studio.
But, especially with this Gradual Exodus (Brie is also leaving; Jon and Jess are talking of NY; now Jeff and Briana?) of my collaborators and friends, turning down the opportunity to live with someone who sparks work out of me... that could be a really bad move.
And so: conundrum.
Not entirely unrelated, obviously: I dreamt last night of a combination of all my anxieties: I had to move out and choose between two places -- only my choice would either help Tressa find love or help Tressa keep her diner (this is the crisis I'm currently working over trying to solve in the story, setting up exactly that choice for her: Luke and Chia, or the Diner). Also, bug exterminators were there and featured prominently. (I watched Schizopolis with Jeff.) And I think it took place in the 60s. Like Mad Men that I've been watching, and of course The World of Missing Persons is also set in the 60s.
I woke up (late! 1pm) with what I thought was a single song stuck in my head, a phrase -- "I'm happy, I hope you're happy too... I'm happy, I hope you're happy too... and we all go down together." A little bit of research revealed that this is two songs, neither of which I had the words right to. One is Marilyn Manson's "Apple of Sodom," which sings "I'm dying / I hope you're dying too" in just the cadence of my dream-song, and the other is the Decemberists, "We Both Go Down Together," whose titular line is obviously not exactly how I remembered it. I mashed them up in my head, had Colin Moloy singing it all as a single song. Weird. Whatever.
Right, anyway. Back to writing. I'm close a solution to Tressa's Act Two Troubles. We'll see if I can figure it out before this. Tomorrow, I write Act Three and finish the thing. Then: a whole lot of scenes to rewrite and trim, as per Birthday Writing Group. Superhero Dave is giving me three days more freedom and I will use every minute of those, focused like a laserbeam, and my script will be so much better for it. Dave is awesome. Otherwise, I'd be working long stressful (enough) days at Laika and not able to concentrate, not able to really keep 110-120 pages of material, three protagonists, and a Russian novel worth of recurring themes and subplots, straight in my head. Right, anyway. Back to it.
The dilemma becomes: do I (and Andy & Christina, for whom this presents a much bigger crisis, as this will all occur one week after they've returned from honeymoon... awkward) look for a new roommate of the caliber that will keep me sparked creatively? Or, do I take Mr. Blubaugh up on an offer and move in with him, assuming they go the month of September without finding a replacement for their departing roomy?
I would really love living with Andy (Blubaugh), I think. It would keep me productive, and "honest" (about time consumption/discipline) and on top of that, he's another of my closest friends in the last couple years. So in the plus column, all of that. In the minus column, Andy and Christina are really low-maintenance fun roommates too, and I just spent months IKEAing this house into usability, including building myself a room I'm comfortable and productive in. I don't really want to move. I like the location, I like the house, I like the routine I've built myself here. The ice-from-Circle-K, the guilty-pleasure Fire on the Mountain, the walking distance to Lloyd Center or downtown. I hate moving. I don't want to do it. Plus, new roommates, even ones Andy gives his blessing about: new people make me anxious. It's all a toss-up. When I moved in with Colin and Link, two guys I already knew and liked, I found myself all pulled into my snail-shell avoiding them, not as a personal thing but just in general. I hid in my room or (because my room wasn't inspiring) spent all my time, overnight even, at the studio.
But, especially with this Gradual Exodus (Brie is also leaving; Jon and Jess are talking of NY; now Jeff and Briana?) of my collaborators and friends, turning down the opportunity to live with someone who sparks work out of me... that could be a really bad move.
And so: conundrum.
Not entirely unrelated, obviously: I dreamt last night of a combination of all my anxieties: I had to move out and choose between two places -- only my choice would either help Tressa find love or help Tressa keep her diner (this is the crisis I'm currently working over trying to solve in the story, setting up exactly that choice for her: Luke and Chia, or the Diner). Also, bug exterminators were there and featured prominently. (I watched Schizopolis with Jeff.) And I think it took place in the 60s. Like Mad Men that I've been watching, and of course The World of Missing Persons is also set in the 60s.
I woke up (late! 1pm) with what I thought was a single song stuck in my head, a phrase -- "I'm happy, I hope you're happy too... I'm happy, I hope you're happy too... and we all go down together." A little bit of research revealed that this is two songs, neither of which I had the words right to. One is Marilyn Manson's "Apple of Sodom," which sings "I'm dying / I hope you're dying too" in just the cadence of my dream-song, and the other is the Decemberists, "We Both Go Down Together," whose titular line is obviously not exactly how I remembered it. I mashed them up in my head, had Colin Moloy singing it all as a single song. Weird. Whatever.
Right, anyway. Back to writing. I'm close a solution to Tressa's Act Two Troubles. We'll see if I can figure it out before this. Tomorrow, I write Act Three and finish the thing. Then: a whole lot of scenes to rewrite and trim, as per Birthday Writing Group. Superhero Dave is giving me three days more freedom and I will use every minute of those, focused like a laserbeam, and my script will be so much better for it. Dave is awesome. Otherwise, I'd be working long stressful (enough) days at Laika and not able to concentrate, not able to really keep 110-120 pages of material, three protagonists, and a Russian novel worth of recurring themes and subplots, straight in my head. Right, anyway. Back to it.