What's in a name?

When a girl meets a guy and she tells her friends about him, her friends ask, 'What's his name??'

Sometimes a name is just a name. And sometimes... it can magically amplify his mystery and charm. Some names try too hard and turn out to be funny. Or! The guy with the funny name has the ability to make anything seem cool, so his name becomes cooler than the coolest of names. I'm sure men have a parallel with women, but, I'm not a man, so I really have no idea. But anyone will admit, some names are just sexy.

"Oh! I've never met a 'so and so' before. They sound interesting. I wonder why their parents named them that. What's the origin of that name? I have to know."

A regularly named person can be equally as interesting as a sexy named, probably even more so, but do they get as much attention? Do they spark the interests of as many people? Do they get as many life opportunities as those that are blessed with enchanting titles?

What kind of name do you have? I personally, have one of those good ol' fashioned boring names. So boring in fact, people usually have to put an initial after my name so they can differentiate among the millions of 'other Sarah's' they know.

It's alright. I'm OK with being mundane. But, I don't want anything I make to be. No child of mine is going to be named---. Oh no! I don't want to offend anyone. And I'm not having kids anytime soon, so I guess I can just relate this whole diatribe to THE NAME of my short!

A title is just like a name. And creating a piece of art is like creating a life. So, naming this short has been quite a challenge because the name that first came to me was a gift. My beloved aunt who is a writer herself, read my short and suggested I call it 'He loves me Not.'

I respect my aunt so much as an artist and philosopher. Her perspectives enlighten me in every way, so when she suggested this title, I loved it and wanted her to have a part in my creation.

But as time went on, I ran up against several problems. The title left no mystery. What's life without mystery? But, I liked the way it sounded! It was kinda catchy. And, my aunt Linda came up with it! And I love my aunt Linda!

Are these the dilemmas parents go through when naming their children? Should we name it after this person or that one? You can't tell a person you're going to name your child after them and then change your mind! Right??

Well! Good thing this isn't a child, it's a short film and my aunt is pretty cool. I'm pretty sure she'll understand. In fact, I'm fairly sure she'll say, I never really liked the name anyway...

So... Now, I'm looking for a new name. I'm about to send the locked version of the final cut to the colorist, and I don't know what to name my film baby! Well, that's not entirely true. I have renamed it. And there is reasoning behind the new name. And I think it holds some mystery. But, I'm still looking for THE SEXY. There's no sexy in this name!

Maybe if I 'Just Go With the Flow', it will come to me... ;)

Just cut out the fat!!!

Over the past few months, Oliver (the director) and I have been working on a director's cut of the film. It has been difficult for me to let anything go because I am so attached to all that shows our blood, sweat and tears. Sometimes being immersed in something does not allow for the clearest point of view, but it is certainly a valid and interesting one...

Meanwhile, a friend of mine who is an editor was working on his own cut of the film. I didn't want to pressure him because he was generous enough to do it for me out of the kindness of his heart. So, when he agreed to help me out, I left it at that and promised myself I wouldn't nag or check up on him. If he decided to do it, he would do it and if he didn't, then at least Oliver and I would have our cut...

Sunday night, the phone rang and it was my friend Richard. He had finished his cut! I got over there as fast as I could on Monday to see it. He sat me down and told me as gently as possible that the fat needed to be cut out. Now of course, at first I felt terrified. This is my work! I can't let any of it go!

But then I realized, in the department of storytelling, Richard is the man. And it would probably behoove me to listen to his wisdom rather than defend my own ignorant ground. So, I gave him the go ahead to cut out what he thought needed to go, and wow did it make a difference! All of a sudden all of our hard work had a new shine.

How is it that something that stands alone can turn into something completely different and yet still be true to itself?

When I first began writing this short film, the first draft was something completely independent of the one with which we shot. When we first began rehearsing, the ideas that we had about the characters and their choices couldn't have been further from what we enacted. And finally, out of the three first cuts that I have in my hands today, the one that I think may tell the story in the most effective manner, is the one that is furthest from what I originally had in mind! Somehow though, amongst all the cuts and all the changes, the story is more itself than it ever has been... It's almost as if all this time we have just been cutting away the fat to get to the bones or the truth, if you will.

Now it's on to the sound mixing and music... And then... the ultimate moment of truth: I have to let go and let others be the judge. That is the scariest and hardest part of all, but I can't wait!!

Writing makes me hate myself

I sit here on a Saturday night at 7:30pm with no plans to go out. I have a date with my screenplay. I think I mentioned before that I am working on a feature about my most prevalent and puzzling question. What the f*** is love? I'm pretty sure we all wonder about that one... And I'm also fairly sure that no one REALLY has an answer. There are various theories and postulations... But, it seems to be one of the unanswerable ones.

My hope is that by recounting and digging through my own experiences with 'love' at least something new will reveal itself and bring me some kind of peace of mind or momentary catharsis.

Have I lost you yet? Maybe some of you are rolling your eyes at this point because maybe some of you know something or many things, for that matter, that I don't. But, I can tell you one thing that I do know for sure, and that is this: writing makes me hate myself.

It's true. As soon as I put the words down on paper that have waltzed out my mouth at one point or another, I feel this intense desire to want to throw up, close my eyes really tight, shake my head and plead to the heavens for time travel so that I can go back into the past and change what transpired. If only I had said this. If only I had done that. Oh lord have mercy!

Of course, I am being slightly over dramatic... I try to live without regret and in doing so, stand strong in the choices I have made. But, it is true that often times when I put an experience on paper as truthfully as possible, the places that I am lying to myself become obvious, and sometimes I feel ashamed. Ashamed that I am human, and that I make the same mistakes for which I criticize others.

I consider myself someone who always has good intentions and tries to do the right thing, but I realize when I write, that being a 'good' person is no saving grace. We all find ourselves caught in situations where temptation and truth are in a constant battle. We all want to walk away feeling like we did our best and the rest lies in the hands of the divine.

But, trust me, go back and examine your last romantic encounter with a fine toothed comb and see what you come up with... Tell me, was it squeaky clean? Do you have any lurking questions? Did your past rear it's ugly head? If you answer no to all these questions, you're probably lying. And, if you're not lying, well then, good for you. But if you do happen to share the same sentiments that I do, then don't worry, you're not alone.

A poem.

I have writers block today. This is a poem I wrote a while back. It's always interesting looking at morsels of the past with new eyes.

**********************************************************************************

Sitting here.

Not entirely sure what the trigger was.

Imagining what it would be like if I were standing.

Elbows on my knees. Feet wide. Nose full. Tears infinitely staining- never transcending enough.

Within each droplet, a particle of pain released for the universe to absorb.

When will these tears manifest more than a momentary existence?

I can do that. I thought that. I almost said that. I felt that. Yesterday. Tomorrow. Tonight. Next week.

Dead.

Yet to be awakened.

Ahora mismo. This very moment. All I have. To lose.

It loses it's purity once I let it out. It's mine. Don't hurt it. Don't tell me I'm wrong.

It's all I have.

Where will I be if you take me away?

My universe encapsulates and imprisons me.

But, it's so comfortable. I want out so bad.

It's not locked. The door's open. Take a step.

I'm so much better at dreaming.

I'm so talented.

Dream. Dream. Dream.

No one knows what goes on up here.

LEAP!

Shut up! Stop yelling at me!

Let me rest. Let me be.

But I haven't done anything.

Exactly.

I'm tired.

Arrogant, scared, entitled.

Am I really those things?

Am I really about truth?

Are you?

What is real? Please can someone tell me!?

Am I willing to sacrifice everything to be true?

Do I have a choice?

There I go again. Unanswerable questions.

Back to the circularity of distraction.

Philosophical orgasm.

I'm almost there.

Isn't that the best part anyway?

I want to walk away. Afraid I lost my line. My spark.

I'll walk away first. You're probably not even listening.

You think I'm crazy.

'REALIZE YOUR POWER'- a voice says way back there.

But I'm still walking.

'STOP! MAKE A CHANGE!'

I look down at the treadmill.

I prefer it.

It tells me how far I've gone.

There aren't any mile markers on the real road.

So by now I understand it a little more.

One road block of many.

But, the proof is in the pudding.

Isn't it always?

I'm still pretending.

Waiting for tomorrow.

And that hard rain.

With droplets that birth gold and never die.

-Someday.

Infinity and Beyond

Meet Lilly, Sean and Swag: The three characters of He Loves me Not.

*Lilly~ an insecure, naive and self righteous girl looking for love as her escape.

*Sean~ an over privileged and developmentally delayed trust fund baby, who happens to be easy on the eyes.

*Swag~ the stoner roommate who ironically embodies truth.

Yesterday, Patrick, Chip (the two other actors) and I got together to do a photo shoot for the press kit that I mentioned in the last post. My sister, who is a photographer, was kind enough to take the photos for us in her studio. It was a dreamlike experience having three people that I love and respect so much come together for a creative purpose without charging or asking anything of me. The joy that existed for me in the moment yesterday reminded me why life really is so great.

Much of the time I find myself 10 steps ahead of wherever I am, or 10 steps behind. I am either thinking about everything I have to get done or recounting the events that I have experienced, trying to figure out how and why it all transpired. But, yesterday was a different story.

The creative process is magical. It really is like giving birth to something that takes on a life of it's own. I found myself dumbfounded yesterday that the three of us were having a photo shoot as our characters, when 4 months ago those people were merely a figment of my imagination. I couldn't help but wonder where Lilly, Sean and Swag's characters would go next in the story.

Over the past few months I have been working on a new screenplay involving Lilly's character. But, after yesterday, I just don't know how I can give up Sean and Swag. There is just too much life left in them. So... here's to creativity and infinite possibility. Sean and Swag live on! Maybe. ;)

Who Am I???

Today I spent the day doing research to start a press kit so that we can submit our film to festivals. In a press kit, it is essential to include bios about all of the people involved in the film. I started trying to write my own and I realized, I hate singing my own praises. Why is it so easy for some people and so hard for others?It's strange how certain things come up in life and present themselves in more than one venue.

Right now, defining myself is a very prevalent theme in my life. I am looking for a new job. I am suffering from 'struggling artist syndrome' (I made that up) and have to find a better way to support myself than the system I currently have in action.

I'm trying to decide, do I give up my dream and get a 9 to 5? Do I get a job at a better restaurant where my spirits are higher and the money is better? Although I have decided upon the latter, to continue forth with my dream and find a different restaurant, I am still confronted with the dilemma of defining myself.

Whether it be in an independent film bio, a job interview, an agent's office or in front of a casting director who wants to know to whom I normally get compared, I feel like I am always trying to fit my square body into a circle spot. Why can't I just be me? Can't you just tell all that you need to know by talking to me? Why must we go into the past and recite all that we have done? I know that's the whole point of developing a resume and a body of work, but just as Bob Dylan says, 'Everything passes, everything changes, just do what you think you should do.'

Can't we all just be in the moment for once!? That's what I want to tell everyone I meet. Do you like me or not? What's your first impression? Don't make me explain myself. Don't make me make excuses. Just judge me and and take me or let me go. Oh Lordy! If only life were that easy...

It seems that the resolve is this, at a certain point we are all products. Selling ourselves to something or other so that we can make a living. Whether we are doctors gathering patients for our practice, lawyers convincing clients we can defend them, wedding planners picking out the prettiest dresses or artists explaining our films, we all have something to sell. And nobody wants to buy a product they don't understand or doesn't bring them some sort of hope.

But isn't it more truthful to just be who we are, do the best that we can and offer no guarantees?

Lost Where I Belong

Today has been one of those days where I have been questioning the meaning of everything around me. The world seems to have no order and I am sick of commenting on it, trying to find some meaning amongst it all through writing or acting or some creative endeavor. I am sick of searching for truth when it just seems like things happen randomly and there isn't a rhyme or a reason for anything. I think to myself, maybe I should quit my artistic pursuit. Maybe I should just give up and go to medical school where all of my problems will be solved. I'll have a path to follow and I won't have to face all of my fears.

Every Monday I go to an acting class where it's difficult to hide from any feeling. My teacher has a way of sucking the emotion out of her students whether they like it or not. On certain days I love this about her, specifically when I'm not the subject. But, on days like today, when I am the subject of her hunt for truth and emotion, I hate it. For someone who claims to love the truth, I sure hate telling it sometimes, when it comes to how I feel.

To me, telling the truth is the double-edged sword of art. It's what makes it so irresistible and so excruciating in one fell swoop. And when it comes time to delve into the painful stuff, giving up can feel like the most viable option. When there are so many beautiful elements in life that appear to be void of pain, why do I have to look at the bad stuff? Can't I just ignore it and pretend it doesn't exist? Other people around me seem to live beautiful lives, full of lies... Why does it appear so easy for them?

These are the questions the swirl through my head today. Then I think about sitting down to work on my new screenplay, and I feel completely lost. Lost because I don't want to look at the truth of what I have to write. I don't want to have to feel the pain. I just want to pretend everything is OK. But, isn't it true that nothing interesting and worthwhile ever comes easily?

I call my dad. I tell him how I feel and he tells me to think of Michelangelo. Ha ha. I am no Michelangelo, and in fact, including him in my blog makes me laugh at myself. But, he's referring to something specific.

Michelangelo's, David lives in a museum in Florence. The hallway leading up to it is filled with his unfinished sculptures (pictured to the right). The marble that he continued to chip away at before he created his masterpiece. These pieces show his frustration, fears and perseverance. His lapses in faith in himself, followed by another try.

So here I am today, still fighting the fight. Staying true, even though it hurts and believing that one day, the hard work will pay off. And when I say 'pay off', I mean that hopefully, when the day comes that this life is over, I can look back, nod my head and say, 'Yeah, I'm glad I lived it like that.'