One song in my head. All day. For days. Breathe by Anna Nalick. If you haven't heard it, please visit www.annanalick.com and listen to the song. Buy the CD. We saw Anna open for Ari Hest (www.arihest.com) here in Denver at a little dive bar. Great show. Neither of these performers will be spending much more time in dive bars. Buy the CDs. Now.

Reason Number Two

So another reason I don't write very often is that the
official corporate filter at my place of employment
does not allow me the option of even going to
blogger.com. So then, my lovely and intelligent wife
tells me I can just send an email to my blog to be
read later. Woo hoo! I'm on that! Rock on.

This blog marks my first foray into the world of email
blogging. Wow. Who really cares?

So much to write. So little time. So much excitement in the world. I wish I wanted to bloc more. I think the problem, if you can call it that, is that I have an audience. The perfect audience. My wife. She actually laughs at what I say. Why risk rejection anywhere else? Why blog? I suppose if you don't have that individual audience, a blog is the next best thing.

So if you happen to stumble across my little blog and really want to read a blog from someone who actually writes more than once every six months, check out www.rageboy.com. He blogs more than I ever will and his persistent narcissism will entertain you. At least, it entertains me. Mostly. And occasionally, he posts pictures of naked people that don't get picked up by the corporate filter. Sometimes during the day, you just need a little narcissism and nudity.

This is where my head is today.

I've got it. They're all in the cabin or they soon will be. Now I have to start killing them....

Today, I embraced the vacuum of middle management achievement. I mean, I guess I've always been a little bored by my job, but today...

The world is no better off now than it was when before I went to work today. In fact, you could probably go back to when I started my job two and one half years ago and say the same thing. There's been no tangible improvement at least. I have nothing that I can point at and say, "That's cool. I did that."

Screenwriting certainly gives me that feeling. I can point at a completed script or even a completed page and say, I did that. There it is. Right in front of me. Tangible.

I guess that my world has been tangibly improved by my job. I have a bigger house. Good neighborhood. More stuff. Well-fed kids. These things are important. Probably more important than I'd care to admit.

I just wish I could get the good paycheck and still have something tangible at the end of the day.

Quick Script Update:

Fuck! I hate it when the characters I create get stuck and I can't figure out what to do. I know Point A. I know Point C. Point B is a pain in the ass. Maybe my subconscious will figure it out while I'm sleeping tonight... Thanks, Linda Seger, for that piece of advice.

It's like the problem of the cars. What to do with all the damn cars in front of the house. Dead people have cars too. I can tell when screenwriters cheat and don't deal with the cars. It drives me nuts.

One thought. I've now heard a couple of versions of Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah and I can't get the song from my head. So I went back to find the original version. I just listened to a clip of it at www.leonardcohen.com. I like the other versions better. Is that wrong? Is it wrong to like the copy better than the original?

I guess maybe the moral of the story is that writers shouldn't sing....

So I'm trying to figure out what impact turning thirty has had on me, now that I've been thirty for like almost a whole month now. Someone told me that when you're thirty people start to take you more seriously. I'm still waiting for that, but I feel it. I feel more important, less immature. Child like things passing away and all that jazz.

It's coming though. Something is coming.

I don't know if anyone is taking me more seriously but maybe I'm taking myself more seriously. No more bullshit. It's time for me to be me, whatever that means. That little glimmer of inspiration, that hope that my life would be something great, seems a little more bright. A little more focused. Everywhere.

That's not to say that my life isn't great. It is. Crap... time for bed...

Phew, I got that out of the way. The virgin post is done. Thank god. The cherry is broken. Now what...

Anytime you write something in a new book or on a new page or a new media you're faced with the blank page. What to write? How much backstory do you put? Who really cares where you start?