Coffee conversations

Even now, several days later, I'm astonished.

I loved shooting with that digital video camera.

Way too much.

Of course, my surroundings weren't bad.

Lake Arrowhead in the San Bernadino Mountains.

                        *     *     *

Tonight was a satisfying evening. 

A walk down to the village.  A cup of Starbucks coffee.

A quiet read.

Now that I think about it, I've been doing a lot of reading lately.

                        *     *     *

I spoke at length about my profession tonight.

So much that I felt like a recruiter officer.

But you can't blame me.  Within moments of beginning a conversation with the person behind the counter, I knew I was talking to someone who should be a teacher.

Of course, she was unaware of her calling. 

Anger clouded her vision of the future. 

Disgust toward past teachers who saw her as a threat, instead of a challenge.

The only profession that won't bore her is the teaching profession.

I know this.  

The only workspace that won't confine her is a classroom of bright students.

I know this too.

How? 

Because that's been my life.

I hope she figures out her calling soon.  Because she's already a junior at UCLA, and she's only 18 years old.

My perspective might be biased -- I've been in love with teaching since the age of 20.

                        *     *     *

I'm making my way through all of Erich Segal's novels again. 

They compel me.

His most powerful theme:  the clash between faith and reality.

                        *     *     *

Herschel would have long heart-to-heart talks with Linc.  He spoke of Berlin, Hitler's rise to power, the Nuremberg Lawsof 1935 depriving Jews of civil rights, and how he wished that, like his brother, he had seen the writing on the wall and left.  But he and Hannah had been so comfortable, so seemingly assimilated, that they had never dreamed the Nazis wanted to get rid of them.

They both talked compulsively of the camps, of the cruel "Selections" that determined who would live or die.  The Nazis only spared the lives of those who looked robust enough to work.  After they described how they had lost their little daughter, Linc had nightmares for a week.  He could not come to grips with hatred on so vast a scale.

Linc tried to understand their calamity in terms of the faith his grandma had instilled in him.

"Couldn't it maybe have been God's Will?" he asked them.

"His Will?" Herschel replied.  "To slaughter all the members of our family?"

"No," the boy said with feeling, "that he spared you two--so we could meet."

Herschel looked at him with deep emotion.  "Yes, even I could believe in such a God."

                       ~ Doctors, Erich Segal, 1988

                        *     *     *

We all leave the place of our birth.

We all return home.

Our only dilemma?

Which road we choose.

Directing a Channel 101 pilot

Genius is the ability to gain free psychic access to past experience.

               ~ Thomas Mann

Is not memory the artist's most precious possession?

               ~ Erich Segal, Doctors

                        *     *     *

Took Tickle's online Classic IQ Test on Friday. 

Don't worry, at 129, I'm safely below the range of genius.

                        *     *     *

A busy week.

Little time alone.  Not much work completed on the novel.  Other than thinking about it.  And that doesn't count.

                        *     *     *

My co-writer, on the other hand, has been making progress on The French Inquisitor.  

That self-imposed house arrest?  Apparently, it's working.

                        *     *     *

My life has turned a corner, financially.  My personal reaction surprised me. 

Suddenly, I'm making concrete plans to direct again.  And produce. 

This time on screen.

                        *     *     *

I've watched three films since I arrived home on Friday at 3 PM.

~ The new Tim Burton film Corpse Bride in Westwood's Mann Theatre.  Maybe it's just me, but once you get past the wonder of stop-action beauty, the story is pretty lame.  During the fourth act, I fell asleep.  Woke up just in time to see the story end happily with the bad guy dead., the right lovers united, the restless spirit at peace.  Oh, did I give away the ending?  Oh.  You're welcome. 

~ Alfred Hitchcock's I Confess on DVD.  Loved it.  God, that man was obsessed with the idea of being accused falsely.  I'm in the process ofworking through 25 other Hitchcock titles that Netflix carries, which I haven't seen.  I love his cinematic style.

Just for the record, the director whose management style I admire most is Clint Eastwood.  He schedules 40 days for a shoot and completes it in 32.  I like that kind of efficiency, the well-oiled machinery made possible by loyal collaborators.  My aim is to attract that kind of a film production team by the time I'm ready to shoot my first feature film.

~ In Cold Blood this afternoon.  Good film.  Black and white used effectively.  The minimalism of the early part of the film.  That moment when it looks like tears are running down the killer's face, but in reality, it's the reflection of the rain.  Brilliant.

                        *     *     *

Decided to submit a five-minute television pilot for Channel 101.

Not sure what the story's going to be -- something comical, that goes without saying.

Tentative interest from a writer, an editor, a producer, and several actors.

                        *     *     *

My instincts were confirmed when I picked up a digital video camera this week.

I ended up spending several hours with it. 

Four things occurred.

First, I discovered that I love working with a digital video camera.  Addictive stuff.

Rapid improvement -- I can see it in the first four clips -- thanks to the guidance of a friend/film editor who was with me.  One day.

Next, that experience (about three actual hours of filming) has already changed the way that I'm viewing the world around me.  I'm starting to see the world as if through the lens of a camera.

Finally, I'm noticing the shots used by the cinematographer to tell the story -- in the movies I've watched since yesterday afternoon.

                        *     *     *

I spoke of my weekend love affair with the video camera to my co-writer.

"What's this?"  He became facetious.  "You're taking on the low production values of an independent filmmaker?"

"If I have to, yes.  What can I say?  I fell in love with shooting."

Now he was amused.

"So now you plan to be your own DP?"* Steven asked.

"No, of course not.  My hands aren't steady enough."

"Oh."

"Besides, when have you ever seen me do things myself?  I always recruit people more talented than I to do the actual work."

"True."

I was speaking the truth.  In theatre, the first thing I always do when I decide to direct a show is to find a very patient stage manager.  Someone logical and calm who can keep me grounded when I shift into total right brain.

So I need to find a good producer.

Ted Isue, a principal I once worked for in North Canton, Ohio, put it best.  "I hire the best teachers I can, and then I get out of the way and let them do their job."

He was speaking of himself, of course: 

My friend John made this observation about me:  "You recruit the best talent you know, and you push them to do more than they ever thought they could."

                        *     *     *

But other than watch movies, I really didn't do a lot this past weekend.

Finally, Saturday night, I decided it was time to get out of the apartment.  So I went to the 50's Cafe in Santa Monica.  Took Erich Segal's novel Doctors with me.  I've read the book before, but I love it, and it called for another read.

Grabbed a place at the counter.  Ordered a hamburger and fries.  Ran into a good friend of mine, a woman who acts and hosts a Spanish talk show.

When I told her about Channel 101 -- and the fact that they're looking for women to get involved in directing and producing submissions -- she was interested enough to attend tomorrow night's screening.

Who knows?  Perhaps we'll work together.  She describes herself as "a control freak."

I prefer to call her detail-conscious. 

A leader

Just had an amazing IM conference with Theresa Williams about my novel Mennonite Prince:  Scars of the Wind. 

I discovered a key insight about my protagonist's shadow character Jonathan.

It made me think of an amazing quote.

One of my favorite students, Carleen Risaliti (2002), sent it to me again not long ago.

                         *     *     *

So tonight I'm dedicating this quote by Lao Tzu to Theresa:

A leader is best when people barely know he exists, not so good when people obey and acclaim him, worse when they despise him....

But of a good leader who talks little when his work is done, his aim fulfilled, they will say, "We did it ourselves."

Responding to another tag

I've been tagged by Theresa Williams to share my list of "Seven Things."

Grr.  Hmm.  Rather than responding immediately, I'm going to think about this.  A while.

But while I'm thinking, I'm issuing a challenge to the three bloggers involved:  Theresa of Theresa Williams-author, Beth of Beth's Front Porch, and Vicky of My Incentive. 

If they pull this off, I'll attend and post an invitation to the readers of my blog.  What a birthday party that would be.

My Joyce Challenge contains the following elements:  

a) Hosting my 43rd birthday party at an Irish pub, their choice, somewhere in the British Isles;

b) Drinking a lot of Guinness over the course of the event;  

c) Reciting aloud -- the three of you as performers -- "Anna Livia Plurabelle" in its entirety from Finnegans Wake;

d) Providing live music by the English quartet Arethusa Oboe Quartet, who would be hired to play only Philip Martin music, concluding with Martin's companion piece to this memorable chapter.

DISCLAIMER:  

1) I've never heard any of Philip Martin's music, but I think it's cool that he wrote an entire, ten-minute companion piece (commissioned by this quartet, and based on Joyce's "Plurabelle" chapter);  

2) This is not entirely my idea.  

I once responded to a similar challenge in 1996, during my graduate work at Lincoln College, Bread Loaf School of English.  My boyhood friend Laban Coblentz made this public reading a condition for his visit. 

I agreed.  He flew over.  The two of us took the ferry to Ireland, spent the weekend roaming the Emerald Isle, and ended it all by missing our ferry.  We responded by reading the above chapter in a crowded Dublin pub. 

3) Vicky, because of your known Scottish feelings on this very sensitive national subject, I'm giving you a geographic veto -- it doesn't need to take place in Ireland, but it does need to take place on the British Isles.

ONE MOMENT THAT STANDS OUT FROM MY 1996 EXPERIENCE:

I'm sitting at a small table, reading, trying to concentrate on Joyce's wondrous language.  My half-empty, third pint of Guinness rests in front of me.

By the way, if you've tried to recite the piece, you'll know that it takes utter concentration.

Laban spots a wizened old lady come up behind me, looking confused. 

She's probably thinking, "What the heck is this lad doing?  Reading from a book in the midst of a packed pub?"

She looks over my shoulder.  Sees that I'm reading Joyce.  A smile comes over her face.

She totters away. 

Around us, a host of geriatrics sings ancient Irish tunes. 

Each sounds drunker than the last.

LABAN'S MEMORIES DIFFER SOMEWHAT FROM MINE...

I remember the Anna Livia moment well, Laban said.  I would only have changed one thing about your account of the singers in the bar. I would have said:  Each sounds drunkerer than the last.   Just the way I remembered it ...  

Don't forget the bottle of purloined wine sitting on cobblestones under the Joyce tower we couldn't break into at night, he added.  I'm not sure if there were really cobblestones, but that's the way my ass remembers the moment.

Fight with AOL

I returned yesterday from my scouting trip to Phoenix. 

After dropping off my producer at the Skyway airport, I bolted for home, making it from downtown Phoenix to Brentwood in about 5.5 hours.  Not bad.

The photo on the left was taken at Stoneman Lake, which will probably be the actual location of the white witch coven.

Stunning.

                         *     *     *

My co-writer Steven is getting serious about finishing his revision of the first draft.  He put himself under conditional house arrest.

So while my producer and I were exploring city streets and mountain valleys in Arizona, he was at home writing. 

Funny guy!

                         *     *     *

I'm annoyed at AOL, once again.  In fact, I'm considering switching my journal to another source.

Reason?  I come back from the trip to Phoenix and find that ALL of my blog photos have been summarily deleted.

Not that I minded losing the ones with my face, but what the heck has Sir Snavely done to cause him to lose his primary star advertising. 

I mean, the offers from Cat Agents were JUST beginning to pour in.

Okay, not really.  But you get the idea.

Any advice, fellow bloggers?

                         *     *     *

Tomorrow is my 42nd birthday.

Today, I sent out an invitation to all of my co-workers and email friends.

                         *     *     *

I'm notorious for these late invites, so here goes...  

My 42nd birthday is tomorrow, September 8.  For those of you into star signs, my exact birth time was 8:43 AM.  

I am having what I expect will be a small birthday party.  Time:  7 PM.  You're invited, assuming you live within driving range of Brentwood, Los Angeles.  

If your schedule permits, and if you wish to attend, please let me know.  I will send you the restaurant location.   

Warmly,

Steven  

PS.  My good friend Bill Gates mentioned to me yesterday that he would show up and pay for everyone's meal. 

That may have been a daydream, however.  I can't remember.

Either way, if he doesn't show, you're on your own.