Perceptions and Illusions

My dérive

noreply@blogger.com (Veronica R. Tabares) — Fri, 01 Jun 2012 15:06:00 +0000

A dérive (or drift) is a journey, purposely unplanned, through what is usually an urban landscape. The purpose of it is to open the traveler's eyes to the patterns that exist; patterns that we usually miss because we are so caught up in a rush to get from point A to point B.

Here are my results:

I walk through my neighborhood every day with my Schnoodle, pulling her away from flower gardens, avoiding houses with cats, and keeping a sharp eye out for delivery drivers since the sight of one will send her into a frenzy of high-pitched barking.

So I was really looking forward to this drift, since walking without the dog would allow me to really see my neighborhood. I had decided to use a set of cards I made to keep me honest.

I walked to the end of my driveway and drew the first card, a left, the opposite way than my normal walk. Good so far.

At the end of the block I drew another left. This street has houses on one side, and a park on the other. I look at the houses, searching for anything I might not have noticed before. I see nothing new so I find myself speeding up, trying to reach the next corner as soon as possible so I can draw my next direction. Shaking my head in disgust I give myself a mental slap and slow down to a the-houses-are-not-a-blur speed.

I reach the corner and shuffle several times, hoping for a straight, the direction that would take me to businesses that are located just a couple of blocks away. I draw a card and flip it over. Darn! Another left. Back into the blocks with houses.

And so the walk continued. Of the buildings themselves, I see very little of real interest. The houses in the neighborhood are made up of Cape Code and Ranch style houses, interspersed here and there with a healthy dose of McMansions.

The real individuality of the residences is shown in the yards. A perfectly groomed yard with well-defined edges sits beside a natural habitat wannabe with its abundance of native plants filling every spot. A vegetable garden, complete with scarecrow and tomato stakes, abuts a weed-infested mess.

Most impressive are the trees. Tall, majestic, gently swaying in the wind, they stand guard over the puny little houses, adding much more dignity than the gold plated house numbers spotted sporadically throughout the neighborhood.

I complete my drift, but I am not satisfied. I wanted to find something unusual, something unique, something man-made.

And then I remembered a house several blocks away that I’ve always wondered about. I headed in that direction, cell phone in hand, determined to take a picture. Unfortunately the owner of the house was outside on his balcony, so I had to be quick with the picture so I wouldn't be mistaken for a stalker.

The house itself is not so unique, but the way the owners choose to decorate it is. In a city full of ordinances and rules, I’ve always been amazed that the house has remained relatively unchanged for years. The yard looks much more like a junk yard than anything else. But the junk seems to be purposeful, since every flat surface has a hand-lettered political message.

My guess is that the decorations fall under the heading of Free Speech. It is both ugly and interesting. Heavy on the ugly.

I was pulled to take a closer look at this house. So even though my cards didn’t take me here, I do feel it is a legitimate part of the experience.

Now I feel my drift is complete.

The Shooting

noreply@blogger.com (Veronica R. Tabares) — Wed, 30 May 2012 21:19:00 +0000

I heard about it through a phone call.

My daughter, who attends the University of Washington, received a phone call from her friend's mother, and she then called me to check on her sister. She was reassured when I told her that her sister was not at school today.

That was when I turned on the television and watched the breaking news stories. There had been a shooting and Roosevelt High School was in lockdown. The shooting had not happened at the school, but in easy walking distance to it.

I still cannot believe it. Two people killed and three others critically wounded. Just down the street from my daughter's school. A little over a mile from my house.

I don't think everything is over yet, since I can still hear the helicopters overhead.

My heart goes out to the victims and the victim's families. It is surreal that something so tragic could happen right in my very own, usually peaceful neighborhood. I am unable to understand how a person could be so messed up that he could do something like this.

What really scares me about the whole ordeal, though, is that it happened right at lunch time. My daughter's school has an open campus policy that allows students to visit neighboring stores and restaurants during lunch. There is such a flood of students in that area during lunch time that I purposely avoid doing any shopping during those hours. The lines are just too long.

So when I heard that the shooting happened near lunch I immediately became concerned. What about all those students who had been getting lunch. Would they be locked out?

Fortunately, one news reporter explained that as soon as the police arrived they made sure all the students were "swept" back to the school. I'm not 100% sure what that means, but I was glad to hear that there was a procedure in place to handle off campus students during a lockdown.

Then, as if this shooting wasn't bad enough, there was another shooting downtown, just a few minutes later. A woman was killed.

Which really makes me wonder, since we are only six miles from downtown.

The descriptions of the suspects don't match very well. But could there be such a coincidence?

UPDATE:
It wasn't a coincidence. The suspect in the Roosevelt shooting and the downtown shooting were the same man.

When he thought he was about to be caught he shot himself. So he killed 4 people and critically wounded 2 more, and for what?

Today has been a very sad day.

The write addict

noreply@blogger.com (Veronica R. Tabares) — Fri, 25 May 2012 15:05:00 +0000

I don't know if I should admit this or not, but...um...I finished the extra credit homework yesterday.

I told you I had trouble setting aside my writing projects!

What happened was I thought about the extra credit and determined that it was only busy work. That it wouldn't really improve the script at this point. So I set it aside, since I detest busy work.

But then...

Scenarios kept going through my head. Different things I could try with those last two scenes. Ways that might, or might not, improve the script. I played with changing the setting, characters, even tweaks to the plot.

I hit on an idea that I loved, and that was that. Before I realized it I had gotten my computer out and completed the assignment (I notice that here it sounds like a quick thing, but I spent several hours rewriting).

Oh well! I guess there are worse things than being addicted to writing!

Unplug or cushion?

noreply@blogger.com (Veronica R. Tabares) — Wed, 23 May 2012 15:46:00 +0000

I'm at that stage in writing that is very difficult. The rough draft is finished but the rewriting is yet to be done. So, in order to do a really good job, I need to distance myself from the project for a while.

Its kind of like fixing a computer. It is amazing how often turning a computer off and unplugging it for a minute fixes a problem. It allows all the extra stuff to clear away, so the computer once again can figure out what to do.

The human brain is also like that. We need to allow our brains a time of rest, a time away. Then we can see our projects with fresh eyes. Oh, and the things we can see then!

And since I'm not a computer one little minute won't cut it. I need to take at least a week away from a writing project for my brain to reset.

When I'm in the throes of writing, forcing myself to set it aside for an entire week is pure torture. I want to mess with the project, make it better, finish it! So as I attempt to twiddle my thumbs I find they get all twisted up. Instead of twiddling, they want to type.

The other problem I have currently, that I don't normally have, is that I still have classwork to complete. I've done everything for this week except one extra credit assignment. The assignment is to do a major rewrite of the last scene, restructuring the action and rewriting the dialogue.

I would love the extra credit, because hey, I might as well admit that I am motivated by grades. A little bit of cushion wouldn't hurt.

Besides, I hate leaving anything undone. It feels so...so...so unfinished!

But my gut instinct tells me I should set the script aside and tell my brain to go outside and play.

What to do? What to do?

Our little secret

noreply@blogger.com (Veronica R. Tabares) — Fri, 18 May 2012 21:00:00 +0000

Will have to stay my little secret.

I was caught by my daughter linking to her senior project video. At her request, I'm removing the link. So the only way you can find it now is by knowing how to search for it.

Good luck with that! YouTube only contains about a gazillion videos. I'm sure it will be easy to find one little video amid the multitudes. If you know the keywords to use and what the video looks like.

Which you don't.

To make it especially hard she didn't connect her name to the video in any way.

Sigh. It's a shame. The video really is as cute as can be.

Happy Mother's Day!

noreply@blogger.com (Veronica R. Tabares) — Sun, 13 May 2012 15:14:00 +0000

This pencil drawing (which unfortunately means it won't scan well) was given to me today by one of my daughters. I don't know how she did it, but she managed to capture this particular bit of motherhood perfectly.

If you're curious to know which daughter drew this I'll give you a clue. Look closely at the pregnant me in 1994. Notice the writing on the t-shirt I'm wearing? It says "My Favorite Daughter Is Under This Shirt".

Talent and wit!

Oh, and to all you moms out there who have, or do, change diapers, kiss boo-boos, read bedtime stories, sing songs, teach manners, hug away blues, drive to appointments, deliver forgotten homework, run to the store, cook meals, chase away monsters, help with homework, clean up after, listen, give advice, provide a safe haven, give unconditional love...and all the zillion and five other things moms do for their kids every day--HAPPY MOTHER's DAY!

Rough draft - done!

noreply@blogger.com (Veronica R. Tabares) — Wed, 09 May 2012 18:15:00 +0000

Just one minute ago I finished the rough draft of my screenplay.

I had not planned on finishing yet. But I got on a roll and I think it would have taken a earthquake to make me stop. I saw the end and nothing was going to stop me from reaching that end. Nothing.

I really did feel I was driven to keep writing. I guess it was having the finish line in view that made all the difference.

Now don't get me wrong, the script is not finished. I'm not 100% happy with the last scene, and I've done no rewrites so far.

But still, it feels good. Very, very, very good!

Switching gears

noreply@blogger.com (Veronica R. Tabares) — Tue, 08 May 2012 19:39:00 +0000

This program is an interesting experience. Not that I haven't done similar things before, but every time the worst appears to be over, they ratchet it up a notch.

I am talking, of course, about the multi-tasking practice the program provides.

This month we are studying animations, so I will be going through the process needed to write an animated short, which includes 2 character biographies, 3 springboards, a premise, an outline, a storyboard, and a script. One of the requirements is that everything is newly created. I cannot use anything that is related to my thesis, or that I created previously in the program.

But wait! That's not all!

During the same time period I'm required to finish my thesis project, which is a full length live action film. I've done all the preliminary work on it (research, character bios, outline, first 70 pages, etc.), so now all I have to do is write the final 40 or so pages.

Which means focusing a lot of time and effort on two different stories concurrently.

Because of the tight deadline, I find myself flipping back and forth between the two projects. I'll write a few pages on the animation, then 'take a break' by writing on my thesis project. Back and forth.

These are two very, very different stories.

Which is forcing my brain to switch gears rather quickly.

I hope I don't break a cog!

May Day Message

noreply@blogger.com (Veronica R. Tabares) — Tue, 01 May 2012 23:50:00 +0000

Anarchists Unite!

Then do something really unique. Build a spaceship and fly yourselves off of Earth. I'm sure there is a planet out there, somewhere, just perfect for you. One where you wouldn't be expected to do a day's work and you could swing your little hammers around all you want.

Maybe one of the gas giants? Like Neptune?

I'm only suggesting this because it is obvious you are unhappy here on Earth, and no one wants you to be unhappy. Especially those of us who actually work to try to build a better world. We have to put up with your temper tantrums, and they are getting a little old.

By the way, didn't your parents teach you any manners? Because, not to be rude, but you don't seem to know how to play nice or clean up after yourselves. You're kind of bratty.

So it's settled then. I'm sure you'll build a beautiful spaceship.

Anarchists on Neptune.

It has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?

To play the game

noreply@blogger.com (Veronica R. Tabares) — Sat, 28 Apr 2012 18:07:00 +0000

My family and I play board and card games fairly often, but my most memorable game experience happened 17 years ago when I was 8 months pregnant with my 4th child.

My husband and I were both pursuing undergraduate degrees, so sleep was a highly prized commodity. Especially by me, since the pressure of studying while caring for three children left me constantly tired.

A friend had given us a computer game called King’s Quest. One night my sister-in-law dropped by to visit, and after we had put the kids to bed we decided to give the game a try.

It was a game for one player, so my husband ran the controls while my sister-in-law and I looked over his shoulder. We were backseat drivers of the worst kind, telling him to touch that tree, go this direction, talk to that man, and save this object.

Luckily my husband is a very patient man.

A child called out in her sleep and I looked at the clock. Midnight! What were we thinking of, to sacrifice precious sleeping time to play a silly game?

Yet on we played, drawn in by the need to reach the end of the game, to finish the story, to rescue the princess.

After several more hours we were trapped in an underground cavern, struggling to make our tired brains detangle the puzzle that would allow us to escape. I was focusing so hard on the game that I jumped when a little hand tugged at my shirt.

“Mommy, I want breakfast,” my three-year-old daughter whined. I looked up to tell her to go back to bed, until I saw sunlight streaming through windows.

It was morning. We had played the entire night.

That was the last time I ever really played a video game.

Whack! Thump! Bam!

noreply@blogger.com (Veronica R. Tabares) — Mon, 23 Apr 2012 19:15:00 +0000

Whack!
Thump!
Bam!
Again, and again, and again the bird hit our window.
Whack!
Waving my arms near the window only made the bird go away for a few minutes.
Thump!
Waving my arms outside made it desert his post for a full 10 minutes.
Bam!
A quick Internet search showed that we were not alone.
Thump!
Other people had kamikaze birds dive bombing their windows, and based on what we read, this type of behavior could continue for weeks.
Thump!
If we let it.
Whack!
Which we had no intention of doing.
Bam!
So we grabbed a few sticky notes and some colored paper and "decorated" the window.

It worked for about an hour.
Whack!
Until the robin discovered that the fluttering paper was harmless.
Thump!
He simply aimed for one of the paper-free spots.
Bam!
The noise was driving us all bananas. Not only was the constant thump, whack, bam distracting, but I feared for the bird's life. After all, how many times could it crash into the window before it did too much damage to its silly little head?
Whack!
People wrote that this behavior was caused by the bird's need to protect its territory.
Whack!
It would see a reflection in the glass and think that another bird was intruding.
Thump!
So out of desperation we went to the hardware store and purchased a can of the stuff you use to turn regular glass into frosted glass. It blocks our view of the trees and is rather unsightly--

--but the bird hasn't dive-bombed our window once since we sprayed it on! It has been days of blissful, thump-free silence.

Doggie drama

noreply@blogger.com (Veronica R. Tabares) — Fri, 13 Apr 2012 15:34:00 +0000

"WAIT" I yelled as the little dog rushed into the path of an oncoming car.

My heart was pounding so hard that I could barely hear anything else, yet the man in the car must have heard my yell since his reaction was immediate.

I closed my eyes, not able to watch. But I did not think to plug my ears, so I heard each and every agonizing squeal as the breaks battled to stop the forward momentum of the SUV. I had little hope for the little dog, SUVs are heavy, and the man had not been given much warning. I feared that today was a day I would witness a tragedy.

Time froze and then there was silence. Even the birds stopped their usual happy chirping.

Cautiously, one lash at a time, I opened my eyes. There was the little dog, sniffing the bumper of the SUV that had come to a stop just an inch from his curious little nose.

With a final sniff at the metallic monster, the dog continued his journey across the street. He pranced over to where I stood, but as a mere human, I was not worth his attention.

He had risked his life, braved the dangers of the road, to pay his respects to the dog at the end of my leash. But Pepper, my schnoodle, gave him no more attention than she would an old piece of paper. A single sniff, and her nose went into the air, uninterested.

With a bark and a bow, the little dog again tried to gain her attention. He playfully bounced around, exuding friendly charm from every doggy pore. It was no use. Pepper looked off into the distance, royally refusing to acknowledge the bouncy little dog's existence.

With what sounded suspiciously like a sigh, the little dog dejectedly lowered his head and rambled back across the street. Thank goodness, this time there were no cars to liven things up.

I looked down at my dog, sitting in regal splendor, waiting for me to continue our walk. I looked across the street at the sad little dog who now seemed so alone.

It was a doggie soap opera in the making. Who would have guessed?

Star People

noreply@blogger.com (Veronica R. Tabares) — Sat, 07 Apr 2012 21:20:00 +0000

Sometimes an event happens which impacts you, even though you might not at the time be aware of its importance.

It is usually a very minor event, barely memorable at all. It is only years later that the ripples it sends through your life are felt, and exactly what the event meant is revealed.

I had just such an event as a teenager, although I only recently became aware of the fact.

I was walking with my best friend's little sister, and to keep her from becoming bored I began to tell her a story. As we walked I drew inspiration from pretty much everything around us, which might seem unlikely since the story was about a group of people, who I called Star People, who travelled through space.

Believe it or not it was a leaf, shaped somewhat like a star, which launched the entire thing.

We must have walked for at least an hour, me weaving new elements into the story as inspiration hit.

We had not planned to take quite that long of a walk, but when I looked at my companion's face as the story developed and noticed how enthralled she was, it spurred me to even greater leaps of imagination as I strove to increase the level of entertainment.

I was challenged as I had never before been challenged.

Looking back, I can now recognize that event as the one that switched on my storytelling gene. I was hooked.

Words

noreply@blogger.com (Veronica R. Tabares) — Tue, 03 Apr 2012 19:33:00 +0000

People say things that are accepted at face value all the time. Words strung together to make a meaningful phrase, only the phrase isn't always as meaningful as it first seems.

Our language is filled with little sayings that sound okay on the surface, that seem to make sense. Until that day comes when a switch goes off in your brain and you think to yourself "huh?"

One example is the oft asked question, "Why do you always focus on one thing?" It is a common enough complaint to hear, used in arguments every day across the country.

But what exactly does it mean?

Because if someone focuses on more than one thing, is she really focusing on anything at all?

Consequences

noreply@blogger.com (Veronica R. Tabares) — Thu, 29 Mar 2012 17:50:00 +0000

Is it any wonder that our children cyber bully? Look at what is modeled for them.

Spike Lee was upset because a man he felt should be in jail was not. So what does he do? He retweets the man's address to all his followers. He did this because he wanted to cause the man pain.

In other words, his intent was to cyber bully the man. Or at least, to get everybody who follows him to do the bullying for him. Because make no mistake, the intent was to bully, to cause harm.

He made an error and put in the wrong address, so a couple in Florida are receiving hate mail and death threats that are not really intended for them. At any moment a madman with a gun might break down their door and begin shooting, supposedly in the name of justice.

So Spike Lee apologizes to the couple for his mistake. As if his only crime was to type in the incorrect address.

Which shows that Spike Lee is clueless about the power of the Internet, and the responsibilities we all have while using it. EVERYTHING on the Web has the potential to go viral, which makes every ill thought posted a million times more powerful than if it were kept private.

The Web is a public place. The citizens of the Web are made up of good people, bad people, and quite a few crazies.

So all you celebrities out there who glory in your ability to sway your followers at will, watch what you say. If someone gets hurt because you don't understand the difference between a phone call and a tweet, you are responsible.

So be responsible. Think of the possible consequences before you post.

The underdog

noreply@blogger.com (Veronica R. Tabares) — Wed, 28 Mar 2012 15:46:00 +0000

I am tough when it comes to the underdog. Point out someone who cannot stand up for himself who is the victim of an injustice, and I'm immediately ready to fight tooth and nail for that person. I'm not one to stand idly by while a bully beats up the little guy.

I'm not so good at taking care of myself in the same manner. For some unknown reason I begin to wonder if I am causing inconvenience, or pain. No thought of my own inconvenience or pain.

I am currently in the midst of one of those dilemmas. Almost two months ago a woman driving a giant SUV backed into my car while in a grocery store parking lot. She gave me her insurance card so I could get my car fixed.

I called her insurance and began the process. A few days later I received a phone call from her begging me to do everything in my power to keep the cost under $500. If it went above that mark her insurance would go up. She told me she had been unemployed for 8 months, and an increase in her insurance premiums would cause her distress.

I empathized with her since I have been under/unemployed for 2 1/2 years. It has been stressful trying to cobble together a series of contract positions to replace my full time job. Is it any wonder that being unemployed made her an underdog in my eyes? So when she gave me the name of a local body shop that she felt would be low cost, I went.

Unfortunately the quote they gave me was more than $800.
I did nothing for the next several weeks while I thought it through.

What was the right thing to do? My car was drivable, but leaving the damage lowered the resale value.
I knew I should get it fixed, but she had begged me to keep it low.
I had no control over what any shop charged.
If I got it fixed and her premiums were raised, I would be causing her distress.

Round and round I went. Until the epiphany hit that I was the victim here, and it really was not fair of her to cause ME distress like she did. I was the true underdog.

Earlier this week I finally made the call and set up the appointment. I am still dripping with guilt, but I will get the car fixed.

Chaos and backstabbing

noreply@blogger.com (Veronica R. Tabares) — Wed, 21 Mar 2012 18:13:00 +0000

Every so often over the past year I have been tortured by sudden, overwhelming, violent shivers. These shivers have been caused not by a medical condition, but by a memory. A memory of a place of evil.

A workplace in fact, but not one where those who wish to keep their soul should be employed. Although from the outside it looked normal and quaint, it was in reality located on a portal to the underworld and ruled over by the devil himself.

I spent three long months among the denizens of that nightmarish place, wrestling every minute to maintain my sanity. I had never before experienced such a heightened degree of chaos in any workplace, and I can honestly say it was the worst three months of my life.

I'm pretty tough, but I still almost lost the battle and succumbed. All that chaos kept my head spinning and I began to forget the world contained friendly faces, pats on the back, and laughter, because at this office there were only scowls, backstabbing, and curses.

Ohhh. There is that shiver again.

It was so horrible, so much evil, so...so...so....

I know what you are thinking, "There she goes, letting her writer's imagination run away with her. A portal to the underworld, indeed!"

Whether you believe me or not is up to you. But I now know that evil does exist in the world, and it sometimes disguises itself as genial-seeming managers.

Chaos and backstabbing, a menacing combination.

No dialogue needed

noreply@blogger.com (Veronica R. Tabares) — Thu, 15 Mar 2012 18:21:00 +0000

I want to share a fun assignment from last month with you.
The challenge was to write a visual scene in screenplay format where two characters are in an argument, and no dialogue is used.

I chose to write about something I know a little bit about.
********
INT. ELEMENTARY SCHOOL LIBRARY – DAY

Twenty-one fifth grade students mill around quietly. Some read, some are on the computers, others move among the stacks.

SAMANTHA, 40s, blond soccer mom turned stern librarian, stands at the checkout counter in front of a computer monitor. She raises an eyebrow at OLIVER, impish 12-year-old with cannot-be-controlled brown hair who punches a fellow student repeatedly. His SNICKER as each punch elicits a grimace is the only sound in the library.

Samantha drops a BOOK with a BANG on the counter. Oliver looks up at Samantha, sees the eyebrow, and GULPS.

Samantha points to a table with two chairs to the left of the checkout counter, Oliver drops his raised fist and shuffles dejectedly to the table. He drags his feet the entire way. He plops down in the chair facing the counter, puts both elbows on the table, and drops his head into his hands.

Samantha watches Oliver sit. She begins to scan the barcodes of books from huge pile located in a Returned Books bin. Heard throughout the library is a slow, steady series of BEEPS.

Oliver lifts his head from his hands and looks around. He spots a huge dictionary on a nearby pedestal. It is almost a foot thick and very old. He looks toward Samantha.

Samantha stops scanning, picks up a stack of books, turns, and moves into the office behind the counter.

Oliver jumps up and grabs the dictionary. He carefully balances it on the edge of the table opposite his chair, hanging halfway off. He returns to his seat.

Samantha enters from the office pushing a full book cart. She moves to a shelf ten feet to the left of Oliver. She kneels down and shelves books.

Oliver slides down in his chair and stretches out one leg. He gently raises his leg until his foot touches the overhanging dictionary. He bends his knee and slowly straightens it. He does this again. The third time he bends his knee he straightens it with as much force as he can muster. His foot WHACKS into the DICTIONARY and it topples sideways, knocking over a CHAIR with a CRASH.

All eyes in the library turn toward Oliver. Samantha jumps to her feet, turns fearfully toward the noise, and raises her hand to her heart. She looks at the overturned chair, at the dictionary, then at Oliver. The expression on her face changes to irritation.

Oliver looks at Samantha and immediately lays his head on his arms on the table. Samantha moves over and puts the chair and the book back in their proper places. She stands, arms crossed, looking down at Oliver.

Without moving his head Oliver cautiously opens an eye, sees Samantha standing over him, and tightly recloses it.

Samantha stands over Oliver a moment longer. She looks at the clock. She looks at the other students, all working quietly. She moves quickly around the counter into the office. When she reappears, she has in her hand a stack of plain paper and markers of assorted colors.

Samantha moves to Oliver’s table, pulls out a chair, and sits. She gently places the paper and markers near Oliver’s lowered head.

Oliver opens an eye and sees the paper and markers. He slowly raises his head and looks toward Samantha.

Samantha winks. Oliver sits up straight, grabs the blue marker and uncaps it. He moves the paper directly in front of him and looks again at Samantha.

Samantha smiles. Oliver returns the smile and begins to draw.

Samantha moves to the checkout counter. The slow, steady BEEP of the SCANNER is the only sound in the library.

Writing chunks

noreply@blogger.com (Veronica R. Tabares) — Fri, 09 Mar 2012 20:21:00 +0000

Have you ever looked at a big project, unsure how you would ever have the time, energy, or guts to finish it? It is overwhelming, unwieldy, and very, very frightening.

That is exactly what writing a novel or a screenplay is like. As a whole it appears impossible. It is too complicated, too monstrous, too hard to wrap your head around.

Which is why you write chunks. Manageable chunks, or 10 or so pages.

Anyone can wrap their head around 10 pages, right?

Of course, if you jump into writing those 10 page chunks without any planning, well, the result would be pretty much the same as attempting to build a mansion without a blueprint. You might manage to make it look all right on the outside, but no one would want to spend very much time in it.

Pre-write! Develop the characters. Create the plot. Build the structure.

And then jump right in and write chunks.

It is a lot of fun. Really!

Today I write

noreply@blogger.com (Veronica R. Tabares) — Thu, 01 Mar 2012 16:40:00 +0000

I got up this morning, made a cup of coffee, and sat down at my computer with my anticipation level off the charts.

You see, today I will write.

My program so far has been filled to the brim with prep work. Story arcs, character development, pacing, plot, etc. I have been soaking in the elements of a good story, totally immersed to the point that at times I thought I might drown.

Oh, I've done writing of course. Plenty of it. But it was homework writing. Writing for a professor to grade. Writing to prove I understood a concept. Writing to show I had grasped the latest lesson.

I don't consider that real writing. Real writing raises my endorphins, fills me with joy, and makes me feel that the world is a glorious and wonderful place.

As I sit here prolonging the suspense, stretching out that first moment when I put fingers to keyboard, I realize just how much I have missed my regular writing sessions. It feels like I am coming home.

Darn it! I'm out of coffee. I guess I've stretched out the anticipation a tad too long. I need to go make another cup.

And then I write.

My bully story

noreply@blogger.com (Veronica R. Tabares) — Tue, 21 Feb 2012 16:53:00 +0000

I was bullied in fifth grade.

Every day for most of the school year, this group of 5 girls would surround me during recess and punch me, pull my hair, pinch me, and tell me what a horrible person I was. I was new to the school, so I felt alone, vulnerable, and afraid.

Finally, in tears, I gathered my courage and told my mom about it. I remember feeling embarrassed, thinking I must have done something horrible to bring this on myself.

My mother was great! She explained to me that I was not to blame, that the bullies were the ones in the wrong.

She told me to look in the mirror, and that what I saw there was a wonderful person who was strong. She said that the girls who were picking on me probably saw that strength and were intimidated, that that was why they were being bullies. They were afraid of me!

She then went on to say that those horrible girls, the ones who tortured me on a daily basis, probably really wanted to be my friends, but didn't know how.

That was a long time ago. I cannot remember exactly what I said, or what I did. What I do know is that my view of the girls changed and my attitude toward them changed right along with it. They lost their power over me.

Since I no longer reacted like a victim they gradually lost interest in me and began to leave me alone. So my mom was right, I was a strong girl who could handle it. But she was wrong, the girls never became my friends.

Or so I thought until a couple of years later. We had a large group of new students move into our school, and for whatever reason several of them decided I was the perfect person to bully.

Before I had a chance to react to these new attacks I found myself surrounded by the very same girls who had once been my tormentors.

Only this time, they were there to protect me.

A bad script is read

noreply@blogger.com (Veronica R. Tabares) — Fri, 17 Feb 2012 17:22:00 +0000

Each week for class, we are required to post to a discussion board. What we post depends on what we are studying at the moment.

For this week, we were given a "bad" script to read and evaluate. In previous classes we've evaluated mini-scripts written by classmates, but never before have we been given a full length script, reminded that the writer of the script has no access to our comments, and told to rip it to shreds.

It sounds easy, doesn't it? After all, we humans are very critical beings, and we often enjoy finding the bad in things more than we like finding the good. Complaining is one of our common hobbies.

But this script was such a mess that it was difficult to know where to start. The formatting was all wrong, there were whole scenes that made no sense, and spelling and grammar errors abounded. What a horror to read!

But worst of all, it was hard to tell exactly who was supposed to be the main character! Can you imagine?

Amazingly, ladies and gentlemen, this script was made into a movie. I remember seeing it advertised in the theaters.

It did not get very good reviews.

Hmmm. I guess the old saying that the apple doesn't fall very far from the tree works for movies too!

Would they, could they, write a script?

noreply@blogger.com (Veronica R. Tabares) — Fri, 10 Feb 2012 19:14:00 +0000

The time to visit my husband's school to talk to the students about writing is just around the corner. As a matter of fact, I bet if I blink fast a few dozen times it will be here!

So I won't blink, not even slowly, because I'm not ready.

I want to really motivate the kids. I want them to understand why good writing is important, and how they can become better writers.

The problem is, how?

Right now I am totally fascinated with screenwriting (I wonder why?), and would like to teach a screenwriting lesson to the kids. It seems like it would be a wonderful way for them to get a grasp of the necessary parts of a story--character, plot, scene, etc.

But I don't think time is on my side. Whatever lesson I teach needs to be able to be completed in about 45 minutes. 45 minutes to explain the parts of a script (simplified for 5th graders, of course), to stress the importance of strong plot and characters, and to get them to write?

I don't know. I just don't know. It might be possible....

A present of sun

noreply@blogger.com (Veronica R. Tabares) — Fri, 03 Feb 2012 18:55:00 +0000

Today is a good day.

I cannot remember a single birthday when it wasn't rainy. That's not to say that it didn't happen, I just don't remember it.

I first began noticing the raininess of my birthday in my teen years, and I've been kinda keeping track ever since. I've had birthdays where the day before and the day after are sunny, but my actual birthday, well, it seems to bring the rain.

I suppose it is only to be expected, having a birthday that falls directly after Groundhog Day.

But today is a good day because this birthday is different. I look outside and I am amazed at the beauty I see there. So much sun! It could be Spring! On February 3rd!

I think I'll take it as a good omen. And go outside.

We ain't equal yet, sister!

noreply@blogger.com (Veronica R. Tabares) — Tue, 31 Jan 2012 21:56:00 +0000

The world is not an equal place. Especially for women.

I came across the Writers Guild of America's list of 101 best screenplays of all time. It was done in 2005, and it is a very interesting list. (Entire list can be found at here on the WGA site.)

According to the US Census Bureau, 50.8% of the US population is female (2010 statistic). That's to be expected, since we all know pretty much half of the population is female, and usually has been.

Yet of the 101 screenplays deemed "best" by the WGA, only 6 of them were written, or co-written, by women.

It’s a Wonderful Life: Co-written by Frances Goodrich & Albert Hackett & Frank Capra.

Wizard of Oz: Co-written by Noel Langley and Florence Ryerson and Edgar Allan Woolf.

Singin’ in the Rain: Co-written by Betty Comden & Adolph Green.

Thelma & Louise: Written by Callie Khouri

When Harry Met Sally: Written by Nora Ephron

E.T.: Written by Melissa Mathison

§ It made me wonder. I know there are a lot of fabulous female writers, so why are they not evident in the entertainment business? And could that explain why there seemed to be a lot more good male roles available than there are female ones?

I did further research and came across a 2011 article titled "Female Filmmakers Need Not Apply: USC Study Reveals Staggering Hollywood Gender Gap -- Response by Screenwriter Cheryl McKay Price."

You should read the article. It talks about a study done in 2008 that found that men outnumbered women 5 to 1 among the 5,000 most influential roles. It goes on to say that only "8% of directors, 13.6% of writers, and 19.1% of producers are female."

Yet, women make up more than half of the population. It makes you think, doesn't it?