Edition #153: Embracing the Montage Sequence
Plus, America does not have a good food culture, peaks we reach by 40 or later, and a tiny waffle maker
A Note From the Editor
Something about being in an airport elicits a two-part automatic response in me. The first part demands I immediately get Starbucks whether my body actually wants or need caffeine and the second is a softening. Whether I’m leaving a familiar place or jetting off to lands unknown, those pre-plane moments always give a bit of breathing room to my gentler core. Something about being surrounded by strangers all on the precipice of a journey; something about idle time with nothing much to do but consider what lies ahead.
I was sitting in one such moment earlier this year, waiting out a multi-hour layover while traveling back from a five-month stint in Costa Rica. Returning to New York after living a very different sort of life was making my heart pound, ushering me back into long-term-planning mode. I needed to think about the year ahead, about how I would make the most of the months to come in order to move closer to my career dream; writing and directing films. While trotting down various internet rabbit holes, I discovered an impressive, selective program for screenwriters. In my earlier years I probably would have applied right then and there, but the pragmatic side of myself took a moment to consider whether I was suited for this program at this juncture. I’d just learned screenwriting the year prior and didn’t have many completed scripts under my belt. In short, I was (am) still very green. As I was thinking this, I arrived at a line of text at the bottom of the site, and it hit me with such force that I typed it up on my notes and made it my phone screen background.
Cut to: this past winter, Costa Rica. I am attempting to learn to surf and am a fastidious student; consistent and stubborn. I buy a 9 '0 board and paddle out to the same local break at least four times a week. The conditions aren’t well-suited for a novice; more than once I get smacked in the face by my board or pinned under water. One morning, the leash detaches from my board and I am certain I will drown, bobbing far out from the shore with no tether. Random men in the water say things like “I wouldn’t have taken off from that spot,” or “You should’ve gone left.” I don’t know what any of these unsolicited tidbits mean, nor do I try to comprehend them.
Finally, I get the basics down. I can catch waves but my rides are short and inconsistent. What I don’t realize at the time is that I have reached the peak of where I can get to on my own. To level up, I would need to call in reinforcements. Instead, I continue to make the same easily fixable mistakes, going into each session blind to my own arrogance and reinforcing bad habits. As the saying goes, you don’t know what you don’t know.
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I’d like to be able to tell you I spent the following seven months after that moment of clarity in the airport being hyper disciplined, working on my scripts every day and honing in on the craft, but that is not what happened. Instead, I spent the better part of the time in a state of indecision, revisiting the same questions over and over: Where do I want to live? What configuration of life am I looking for? I did a bit of script writing—I wrote my first play and submitted an original pilot to a contest I did not win—but mostly, I spent my days thinking about the things I wanted to do. In the back of my mind, there was a little nagging voice telling me to give it an hour a day. Just an hour! You have an hour to spare, the voice said. And I did, but I was unable or unwilling to be consistent with setting aside that time for my script writing. I’m not mad at myself for it. Under those conditions, it was all I was able to give.
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Cut to: present day, California. With my nervous system in a rested state and my head clear, I have finally begun to develop the habit of setting aside a bit of time each day (one hour and fifteen minutes, to start) to work on my scripts. I am attempting to write a feature for the first time. I’ve got the idea, I’ve interviewed the characters and gotten clear on setting and tone, I think I have a logline that works. Next up is the beat sheet, where you lay out exactly what is going to happen in your script before you start writing it.
In my little casita in Venice, my neighbor in the big house plays concert piano day and night. I’ve never seen his face but I can hear him constantly, caressing the keys with an fervor that takes my breath away. I sit at my little ugly glass table facing the open door and attempt to rearrange my story beats in a way that is compelling, that makes the most sense. All the while, my neighbor masterfully commands his piano. I imagine we’re working in tandem; he is trudging toward some desired creative nirvana, I am learning to inhabit the worlds I create.
At the same time I’m learning to surf skate, another brand-new-to-me board sport. The first day I hop on the board like baby Bambi, wobbly and self conscious. After a week I’m getting the hang of it. I skate circles around a guy who I suspect is an instructor; my intuition is correct. He gives me three minor tips and suddenly I’m turning tighter, pumping faster, efforting less. I watch tutorial videos and attempt to start learning little tricks. I keep my energy open as I skate through the neighborhood so that I am receptive to those inevitable bits of unsolicited advice from passing men. A man named Juan pulls over on his bike and asks if he can show me how to use my shoulders to turn. I oblige, he hops on my board to demonstrate. It helps tremendously, I improve.
On the creative front, I’ve reached a stopping point. My story outline is not working. I can see where it’s slowing down and getting jumbled but I don’t know exactly why or how to fix it. Frustration is mounting, bastardizing my enthusiasm. But I must be learning to learn, for I realize this does not need to be the end of my attempt nor should it be the point where I begin to procrastinate; I simply need to call in reinforcements. I find an ebook on how to properly map out a feature length script and redirect my creative time. Instead of writing in circles at a point where I know I’m stuck, I step back and become a student. You don’t know what you don’t know.
The sun streams through my open door as I begin to read. My neighbor plays piano as he always does, but today there is an urgency to his song. My book says the screenplay I’m dreaming of writing can’t just be good, it has to be great. Even if it is great, there’s a good chance it won’t sell. My neighbor's song picks up, getting faster. It’s a tough industry to break into and competition is fierce, says the book. The odds are against me.
Beyond my small backyard, behind the wall of the big house, my neighbor pounds on his keyboard. Tension building, building, until it breaks into something beautiful.
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Why is it that the things we desire so strongly are most palatable from a distance? Distance allows prime space for projection, for romanticizing. When you’re feeling a strain in your life, it’s easy to blame it on something like wanting to make more money or fulfill some sort of career ambition. You might sit in your apartment in New York and say, “If I worked in the film industry and had the chance to creatively collaborate regularly, I’d be more content.” And perhaps you would be. Or you might think that if you had that partner and you weren’t alone, you’d finally let yourself settle down and find peace.
But when you walk right up to the beast that is your potential, when you find the patch of soil where your crop can grow, where there is adequate sunlight and food and space for it to blossom, things get scary. That thing, that life you want, it isn’t so far away. People around you are living it. Now, all that is left is how you decide to show up.
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As I read about how unlikely it is for me to succeed in any sort of way as a screenwriter, my heart rate elevates. I find myself smiling, I whoop aloud and clap my hands. I mutter “Fuck yeah,” to myself, because I felt excited. Energized. Up for the challenge.
All the questions, all the unknowing is finally put to rest. I realize I know exactly how I want to spend the forthcoming year—by living my montage sequence. I imagine myself waking up and spending the passing days as I’ve begun to spend them: mornings in the ocean, wiping out my surfboard or cruising and crashing on my surf skate. Coming home sweaty, tired. Making a coffee, sitting at this ugly glass table and spending the afternoons writing, learning, studying, refining. Every day trying, failing, persisting. Being proud of my work, being frustrated with my work. Doing my work; not just thinking about it or flirting with it, but becoming entangled in it.
Arguably the best movie montage of all time, Rocky preparing to fight Ivan Drago.
Does this mean I will be a working screenwriter a year from now? Absolutely not. Will I be shredding waves and getting barreled? Highly unlikely. But I will be somewhere closer and most importantly, I’ll have learned more about myself and my craft in the process. Anyone reading this who knows me personally is currently thinking, “Oh no, she’s doing that thing again.” That thing, dear reader, has been my M.O. for most of my life; being very intense in pursuit of a strict, stringent goal.
This is not that. This is motivated by respect for myself and for my potential. This is not a SMART goal; it is an attempted way of being that centers my life around the things I love most. Learning to learn more efficiently, learning to ask for help and to show up for yourself. Learning to put in the hours needed to create the best work you are capable of while continuing to live your life with all its joys and pains. It isn’t about winning or ego or accolades; it’s about walking up to the edges of potential and peeking over, seeing what lies down there.
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Cheers, my dears, and as always, thank you for reading. Tomorrow, my dear friend is coming to LA for her first visit. It’ll be a weekend of eating In-N-Out and dumplings and all sorts of treats, going hiking and skating and picnicking and chatting for hours on end. I hope you have a wonderful weekend. Eat a piece of pie! Buy a bouquet of lilies! Tell your best joke!
Three Pieces of Content Worth Consuming
America Does Not Have a Good Food Culture. If there’s one thing you read today, make it this! A lean, interesting take on America’s food culture, written in response to a drunk French guy tweeting about how much better food is in France than in America. I loved the breakdown of how much time various countries spend eating and the simple way the author quantifies what ‘better” really means in terms of food culture from an American vs. a non-American point of view.
I Dare You: A Poem. After reading this one, I think I am ready to officially declare Dorianne Laux my favorite poet. I’ve been hunting for any collection of hers at a few bookstores across state lines but it seems her work is mostly out of print, which only makes me like her more. I was drawn in from the very first line of this gorgeous poem. You might get teary, I did!
13 Peaks We Reach at 40 Or Later. I can’t claim this was the most hard-hitting piece of writing I’ve ever read, but I liked the overall sentiment. The most interesting part was the data about how ultra marathon and triathlon performance allegedly peaks around the 40’s, because young athletes tend to want to train and progress at a faster pace that is required for such long races. Unrelated but similar, the list of MacArthur “genius grant” recipients just dropped, many of whom are over 40. So happy to see Ada Limón and Imani Perry on this list!
Perhaps You Should…Buy A Tiny Waffle Maker
Hands down the best $10 I’ve ever spent was on this tiny waffle maker, which I bought last week after seeing a band called ‘Fresh Hot Waffles” and thinking about eating fresh hot waffles for days afterward. I cannot overstate the joy of making three perfect little waffles and scarfing them down whilst hot, slathered in melted Kerrygold with a glug of Vermont maple syrup on top. Freezer waffles these are not.
To quality for Target’s free shipping I also bought this pumpkin waffle mix—it’s delicious, seasonal, and it actually keeps me full for a few hours. A common miracle!
**Bonus Content** (Hot Dudes Wrestling)
I’ve never been able to take Zac Efron seriously as an actor, for I can only picture him as a pretty boy Disney kid or a hunk with nothing going on upstairs. This trailer left me feeling more optimistic about his range. However Efron’s performance turns out, I’m always here for a little sad boy Jeremey Allen White action.
Also, this girl math is perfect, can’t wait to check out this exhibit when I’m back in New York, and aspiring to be more like these frogs.
A Quote From A Book You Should Read:
“But to look back from the stony plain along the road which led one to that place is not at all the same thing as walking on the road; the perspective to say the very least, changes only with the journey; only when the road has, all abruptly and treacherously, and with an absoluteness that permits no argument, turned or dropped or risen is one able to see all that one could not have seen from any other place.”
-Go Tell It on the Mountain by James Baldwin
This newsletter is best served with a side of conversation, so drop your opinions, reflections, and thoughts in the comments below and let’s get to talking.\
Or, share the most thought-provoking piece from today’s edition with someone you love, then call them up to discuss, debate, and percolate. As a wise woman once said, “Great minds discuss ideas.