Obsession

Some random thoughts today:

I updated the look of my blog last week and just now got around to announcing it. There is some more information about my writing projects and my work in children's media, which I've been meaning to put on this blog. It's also just a little easier to navigate. I don't really like the sorry picture of the flower blowing in the wind right now (I mean, it's pretty obviously a template) but I'll get around to making that more 'me' sometime soon. So if you're reading this blog through a reader, click on through and let me know what you think!

I've found myself completely obsessed with 3 things in the past week.

1. Tom and Lorenzo. Their blog has me laughing out loud. It's clever and fun, without being mean, which is unique for a pop culture blog. They also happen to review and comment on three television shows that I love: Project Runway, Mad Men and Glee. Their Mad Style commentary is incredible. I have been known to drool over the gorgeous style in that show and I love their smart observations.

2. The discovery that Family Ties has come to the Hub Network. I discovered this at about midnight on Saturday night. Sunday morning, I immediately got a Season Pass on my Tivo and was devastated to learn that the show would not be taping until 2am. So I went to Hulu and watched back to back episodes of the show. I watched an episode in which Alex becomes obsessed with Donna, an unwed expectant mother, and convinces himself he is going to be the father of her unborn child. And an episode in which Jennifer and Steven Keaton grow apart when Jennifer begins to flourish into womanhood. MY GOD, this is the stuff of GENIUS people. GENIUS. I'm not sure what's going to happen to me now that I know this show is airing in reruns. And did anyone realize what a remarkable actress Justine Bateman is? I haven't seen the show since I was about 13 and it never occurred to me how wonderful she is, perhaps because of the big personalities on that show like Michael J. Fox and Meredith Baxter Birney. (Yes, these are the things that keep me up at night. Why was Mallory overshadowed?!)

3. PBS' Great Performances: Sondheim! The Birthday Concert My love of Sondheim runs deep. Since Tivo-ing it, I have watched select performances repeatedly. Especially Mandy Patinkin and Bernadette Peters rendition of Move On. I watched it SIX times in a row and the only reason I stopped watching it was so that I could watch Elaine Stritch's 'I'm Still Here' SEVEN more times . I know...I know... it's sick. I also came to the conclusion that if you want to be a great singer you have to have a really gigantic mouth. People, I can not tell you how much I love Marin Mazzie and Patti Lupone but their mouths are insane. It's like they have been taken possession by a crazy alien. These photos don't even really do it justice.

What are you obsessed with lately? Or am I the only one who gets caught up in things like this?

Golden Moment

Okay, so I was watching the Golden Girls (laugh all you want) and there was a nice little moment that I wanted to share with you.

Rose, an animal lover, walks into the house with a live chicken in a cage and asks her roommates if the chicken can live with them. There is immediate grumbling and "no's" can be heard from her roommates, but Rose pleads a bit before saying something to the effect of, "This is not an ordinary chicken. This is a show chicken. Wait till you see."

Rose leaves the room for a moment and Blanche sarcastically quips, "A show chicken? What does it do? Play the piano?"

Enter Rose again. "It plays the piano!" Then she sets down a toy piano and the chicken goes at it.

I thought it was a nice little beat and I'll tell you why. Because it's a chicken. Playing the piano. What is thought to be completely far-fetched and ridiculous gets turned on it's head when this chicken can indeed play the piano.

Simply announcing just how inane it was made it okay.

I find that when you write fiction rooted in realism, far-fetched things need to happen from time to time. And pointing out how crazy it is through dialogue or a character's thoughts often makes it okay. If a character is surprised when a UFO lands on her property, she's just as surprised as the reader and that's believable. If she just laughed and walked away, it would not work. This is directly contradictory to writing fantasy or Sci-Fi, where everything has to be part of normal life in that world in order for your readers to believe you.

Just a little somethin' I noticed while watching 80's sitcoms.

Ever pick up a technique from a strange place?

Don Draper

I was inspired by Carolina Valdez Miller at Carol's Prints after she posted about book boyfriends. For the longest time, I've been planning to do a post on Don Draper and her post was a perfect reminder.

It's been a while since I became involved with a character. Not since my high school days, when I ran wild with Fox Mulder from the X-Files, have I enjoyed the company of a fictional man. Not until Don Draper...dazzling, tall, dark, handsome, witty, womanizing, scotch-drinkin', cigarette-smokin', suit-wearin', secret-keepin', copy-writin', new york city man of mystery...Don Draper. Can I get a long Jane Austen female protagonist sigh? Thank you.

As I watch the 3rd season of this series, I find that my love goes beyond his charismatic smile, his intense gazes, and mysterious daydreams. I am also impressed with the hand that created him. I'm convinced that we haven't seen a character on television with such depth since Tony Soprano hit the tube and, lawsie me, at least this one looks damn good.

But seriously, the more I see of this show, the more I am impressed. If you want to witness an amazing character study, get thee to a netflix and watch away. Even secondary characters are full of nuance, full of tremendous complexity. I am simply in awe. I feel compassion for the most repulsive characters. Even slimy-haired Campbell begs to be loved.

If you write character-driven stories, I hope you'll check out this show. It's Characters 101 for writers.

Give the Baby Cocaine!*

You may or may not know this, but a few years ago I actually got an MFA in Film and Television. My focus was in screenwriting and I wrote 3 really weird screenplays, 'acted' (we can use this term loosely) in a lot of student films, and watched more Italian Neo-realism than you can imagine. I'm still paying off the tuition right now and for a while I looked back on that period and asked 'What the heck was I thinking?' The truth is, it took 2 years of graduate work, a lot of money, and a few years of working in television production to determine that I did not want to be a part of the Film or TV industry. :-(

Now that I'm a little older and wiser, I realize that the time was invaluable. Not only did it lead to writing scripts for toys and games (which led to a new found love for writing for children), but it also made me a better writer.

One of the most valuable lessons I learned while writing scripts is to always, always, always up the stakes. The conflict in every single scene NEEDS to be taken to the next level. Even if you think you've gone as far as you can go, take it one step further.

I'll tell you how I learned this lesson.

I wrote a script that involved my protagonist leaving his child with a babysitter. My protagonist was in quite a state, having just lost his wife and being badgered by extended family members to take a break from work and life to sort through his feelings and concentrate on raising a child on his own. Perhaps to prove to his family, and to himself, that he could handle things, he decided to show 'em up and say: I can do this! I can hire babysitters and go to work and be fine! Fine, fine, fine! So he dumped the baby off at a babysitter's house and went to work.

When he returned to pick the child up, he found quite a state of affairs. Totally coked out babysitter and his little babushka licking white stuff from the kitchen floor. Obviously, he thought his child was eating cocaine and he freaked out, as any parent would, went crazy, and went straight to the hospital. Me being me, I wrapped things up all nice and neat and the doctor laughed and said: 'Your baby just had some sugar!' And all was right with the world. Well, I mean, the guy still had some major issues, but lesson learned, right? Wrong.

My professor did not like this. He did not like this one bit.

Professor: Up the stakes, Melissa! Sugar? Really? Sugar? Is that all you've got?

Me: I can't give the baby cocaine!

Professor: Give the baby cocaine, Melissa.

Me: I can't give the baby cocaine!

Professor: Exactly! You can't give the baby cocaine. So GIVE THE BABY COCAINE!

He had a point. So I tried it. I gave that little baby cocaine. And I've got to admit, the stakes were a lot higher. A LOT. The tension and the conflict were much stronger. The action in script took an unexpected turn and it left things in a much more intense place.

So, the next time you write a high stakes scene, step back and ask yourself this figurative question: 'Did I give the baby cocaine?' And if you didn't, well, you know what to do...

*Please note. This blog does not advocate giving real babies Cocaine. Only fictional babies.

Do Not Resuscitate

Since I finished the first draft of the novel on November 15th, I told myself that there would be a nice period of rest for exactly one month. The novel had to sit and soak for a bit. It had to breathe. Honestly, it had to be nearly forgotten so I could come back to it with fresh eyes.

Decompressing from the launch of a big project at work, I told myself this would be a period of pure relaxation. I would not let the constant, gnawing thought: 'I should be writing' creep into my brain. At first, I found it a bit difficult. For the past year my evenings centered around finding time to write. The first couple of days I came home from work or the gym and I did what I would always do: quickly calculate how long it would take to eat before I could sit at my desk and go at it. I really wasn't sure what I would do with all of this new-found time. Don't worry though. Slowly but surely, I found something to do. And that, my friends, was this:

Watch Grey's Anatomy.

Watch twenty-one back to back episodes of Grey's Anatomy. With Season 6 pending in the queue.

About 2 years ago, I completely gave up on this show, despite it being one of my favorites. Something had happened. Something had snapped. I found every character incredibly annoying. I wanted nothing to do with the tumultuous Shepard/Grey relationship. And I hated the formula: patients coding at the end of every frickin' episode, Bailey or the Chief's motivational speeches, Izzy's sunny, happy, knit-a-scarf, personality.

Now, I simply can't get enough. Every time that heart rate flat-lines, I squeal with delight. I root during a motivational speech by singing Queen's 'We Will Rock You'. Seattle Grace is now host to a grueling marathon and I want to run more miles. I'm holding picket signs outside of Shonda Rhimes' doorstep screaming: GIVE ME MORE! GIVE ME MORE!

Instead of wondering how much writing time I can fit in, I wonder how many episodes I can watch before bedtime. I have dreams about transferring to pediatric surgery and who the new chief of cardio is going to be. I wonder if Christina Yang wants to be my friend. Or if I have to settle for Lexi Grey. [gasp]

On Dec. 15th, it will all end. I realize this is just a fleeting fantasy. Just a fling in the on-call room. But for now, I am completely caught up in a new and exciting story-line. And as my little novel sits and breathes, I consider calling it: McSteamy. [sigh]

P.S. I am two years behind the rest of the world. If you even so much as breathe a word of what happens on this show to me: I will kill you. And forge the Do Not Resuscitate form. Don't mess with me people. I am a woman on a rampage.

Stuck

So, I know this blog is supposed to be about writing and books and being literary and all that junk. But today, I digress. I digress into a topic I have absolutely no authority on: style.

I have no style. I mean, I have a style. But I don't have what people call style. I don't think I need to be on What Not To Wear but you're not going to find me on Page Six or on a red carpet any time soon. I am obsessed with fashion eras I was never born in and therefore have no capacity to replicate.

This became all too apparent today when I walked into a small shop in Brooklyn absolutely determined to Madmen Myself. It was very simple. I wanted to look like Joan Holloway.

I mean, WHO IS THIS WOMAN? She is absolutely fabulous. I want to pull a Serena Williams and shout expletives at unsuspecting line judges about how !%$#& FABULOUS this woman is. I can't handle it.
But it turns out, I can't look like Joan Holloway. Apparently, you have to have breasts. And hips. And things like curves. I tried on 8 (count em!) EIGHT Joan Holloway dresses and I looked like doo.

I sulked all the way home. And on my way, I began to think. What is wrong with me? I was not sulking because I couldn't look like the latest runway model, I was sulking because I was not alive in 1960. So, I began to think about what consider stylish.

Here's my list of things that are fabulous.

Audrey Hepburn. If someone would bring back cigarette holders, I'd be forever grateful.

Joni Mitchell. This photo doesn't quite depict it, but apparently she wore short skirts a lot. I think that's cute. I am trying to grow my hair this long, blonde, and straight. And it's completely ridiculous that I am attempting this considering my hair is brown, frizzy, and wavy. I would start my bangs in the middle of my head if I could, but that's also completely ridiculous so I won't.

Anything from The Sound of Music. I would wear hand-me-downs from a convent. I would wear the blue dress that brings out my eyes for the Captain. And I would wear things that are very drab and pilly while avoiding Nazis. Perhaps most disturbingly, this also means that I would have no problem wearing clothes made out of old curtains.

And of course, my style icon, Mary Richards of The Mary Tyler Moore Show. She is the be all and end all of what I consider fabulous. Like Mary taking on Minneapolis as an Associate Producer, I, too, took on the Big Apple with the same title. Like Mary, I knitted a striped hat with a pom pom and thought I might try and replicate her famous hat-throwing gesture. Like Mary, I don't quite have the chest to fill out a Joan Holloway dress, but it's ok! Because I can (in theory) wear this:

So, it's staggering. My style icons are an array of half fictional women and austrians all running around looking good well before my birth year. I'm not even going to get into empire waist dresses in Regency England. It's just too depressing. When it comes to style, I'm simply stuck.