opera142: (crayons)
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1. Gargle all the Listermint. The nasty, gold-colored stuff.
2. Green tea with a water chaser. repeat until I slosh.
3. Sleep if I can, whine if I can't.
opera142: (Default)
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Tremors.

Essential ingredients:

Semi-forgotten b-levelish stars acting the hell out of unexpected roles. In this case, the dad from Family Ties as gunfreak survialist.

So bad it's fun dialogue: Broke into the wrong God damn rec room, didn't ya you bastard!

So bad it's fun plot: Giant burrowing creatures want to eat rednecks!
opera142: (Default)
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If I had been a boy, my name would have been Scott. I'm pretty sure that would have doomed me to a white trash, BTO-lovin' life. A career in roofing (for cash), a camaro, and skinny, methy girlfriend. Eeef.







On a related note, when I need to give my name at a restaurant or somewhere inconsequential, most times I give a fake one because no one ever gets my name right. Usually I pick something outdated. Florence, Henrietta. The other day, I wasn't inspired so I used "Laurie". The hostess asked "Corey?"

Moe laughed at me.
opera142: (whee)
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The State.

Firefly.

Arrested Developement.

Square Pegs.

120 Minutes.
opera142: (this shit is bananas)
The words aren't coming. I've been stuck on a description of a dick forever, and anything I think of clangs WRONGWRONGWRONGOPERA.
opera142: (Shane and Himmeleman)
Had all day to write, how much did I get done? About 3 sentences. Grr. I'm about 3/5th of the way finished with "Crows", and normally, 3/5ths done means writewritewritewriteyay!write. Not this time.

Images and words are not coming. Not even in tiny flashes. I can't even get tastes of words.. you know, where you're stuck on a description but you know you want a word that starts with W or something polysyllabic to balance the rhythm of the sentence or an adjective that sorta, kinda goes with the mention of being cold and sickly in the 1st half of the paragraph.

Very frustrating. All this wonderful time to write and I'm wasting it. I'm going to be kicking myself all day at work tomorrow.

So, anyways. For posterity, I made a list of reasons why I think I'm blanked.


--the stuff I have written is excellent. Sentence after sentence to be proud of. I think that's causing me to freak over quality. I want the next sentences to be excellent too. Which is inhibiting free, creative thinking. Which is bringing production to a standstill.

--vanilla sex between two characters I'm not really that into in that way.

-- a lot of what's missing-- the 2/5ths-- is either the uninteresting, but necessary stuff: transitions, the getting off of shoes, or the way-too-easy-to-get-way-way-way-overly melodramatic stuff: reactions to getting blown, the afterglow. Both give me trouble ordinarily; this time they've given rise to The Panics.

-- I made a point to minimize the banter in "Crows", and banter/dialogue is a big crutch of mine. Can't figure out what the characters might do here? Give 'em a couple lines of funny dialogue to mask utilitarian action. The characters I'm using banter a bit, but neither of them are big talkers so I limited myself to one exchange (which has already been used). Writing outside of habits is HARD.

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opera142

February 2017

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