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This is me, writing:<\/p>\n
Sprawled on the floor, blue pen, thick notebook. I write about how I’m unable to write. KUSC 91.5<\/a> plays and I wonder, does life have four movements like a symphony, three movements like a concerto or multiple, phasing movements like a John Digweed set? I begin a list of partial ideas. I worry on paper about all my smoking friends, for I feel there will come a day when I have buried them all. Is there a story in that?<\/p>\n I hear Elgar’s Enigma Variations<\/a>, each of them purportedly written for a different friend, the enigma being that the theme of the variations is never actually played within the piece. I wonder, is there an idea in that? To my list I add, “idea about a killer who encases his victims within a teeny-tiny space inside a large block of concrete.” I’m not sure how I get from Elgar to Claustrophobia<\/em> but I don’t question it.<\/p>\n Then after some daydreaming I write, “What if a Private Investigator is visited by a man who suspects his wife of cheating and then learns that he’s right, and that the other man is, in fact the P.I.?” It’s not a whole script, it’s just an idea for an opening scene. But I’m picturing the film to follow. It’s a nuanced, grown-up film–Chinatown<\/em> meets The Big Chill<\/em>. But since I’m in Hollywood, I add, “…and one of them is a ghost,” though I’m not certain which one.<\/p>\n I read a Mutts<\/a> cartoon in which a cat is selected by a little girl in an animal shelter. Overjoyed, the cat exclaims, “I’m a keeper! Finally, after all this time! I’m a keeper.” Tugs at the heart a little. I wonder if there’s an story in that?<\/p>\n
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