How To Live The Rest Of Your Life In Poverty.
Lesson One: Become a Screenwriter
Recently I was reminded of the fact that, although more than 400,000 screenplays are written every year, only 200-250 major motion pictures are produced within that same calendar year. As you can imagine, this little piece of information could be both disconcerting and disheartening for any potential screenwriters in the world. Being self-centered as I am, I gotta tell you that I could care less about all the other amateur writers in the world who suffer from chronic writer’s cramp or pound away on the keyboard until they have a mild case of carpel tunnel. I’m only concerned with my own affairs and upon evaluating the situation, I’m pretty much scared shitless.
There’s nothing overly difficult about writing. Anyone can do it. Basically, all fictional writing consists of is coming up with a story. That’s about it. My little sister can do that and still have enough time free time to fully absorb the latest episode of Teletubbies. What makes me any more special or gifted than all the other writers in the world?
Absolutely nothing.
My writing is not only trite and meaningless, but also amazingly boring. Not to mention the fact that all of my creative writings are not just sprinkled, but literally riddled with dick and fart jokes. Anyone over the age of thirteen can create sophomoric humor and manipulate word combinations into sexual innuendos. That’s not a talent. In fact, it’s a skill that is more or less standard issue after roughly seven years in the public school system.
Aside from the general content of my work, I lack what educated people refer to as a grasp on basic grammatical structure. Half the time I can barely formulate a coherent sentence. See, here’s what happens. I start to write and then my brain gets ahead of my hands and before I know it I’ve created a sentence that would only make sense to a dyslexic on acid.
The simple fact is that the odds of me making it as a professional writer are slim to none. What little common sense I have left says that I should bag this whole writing thing, change my major to chemistry, and become a pharmacist; the profession that my father would like me to pursue.
But I’m stubborn. Plain and simple. Whether I have any talent or not is irreverent. I like to write, and so that’s what I’m gonna do. The way I see it…you only live once and why waste your life doing something that you don’t want to do.
See Danny…I knew you’d see it my way.
Sorkin vs. Smith: The Endless Debate
A few days ago, the question was posed to me as to who I would rather write like; Aaron Sorkin or Kevin Smith. At first, this seemed to be one of the greatest hypothetical questions I had ever come across. However, over the past three days it has morphed into an unsolvable dilemma.
Smith or Sorkin, how does one gauge his response?
Now, there are those who would say, “Who cares? A writer is a writer, right?” Not entirely so. Although their writing may appear to be similar, there are several subtle differences between the two candidates here. Sorkin is amazingly talented at creating natural, yet intelligent and witty dialogue. Ask any writer in the world, this is immensely hard to accomplish. Smith, on the other hand, specializes in constructing mesmerizing and highly quotable monologues, which is in some ways equally impressive. They also differ somewhat in the subject matter which they choose to tackle. Sorkin’s writing tends to reflect his book smarts, while Smith typically sets his sights on ripping apart assorted facets of popular culture.
Given the fact that both of these men are highly accomplished writers, it would seem that there is no wrong answer to this question. But that does not necessarily mean that there is a right answer either. No matter which one you choose, something will be lost. And so, I’ve been deliberating over this hypothetical situation for roughly the past 72 hours because I honestly have nothing better to do with my time, cementing the fact that I have no life whatsoever.
“I chose not to choose life. And the reasons…there are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you’ve got heroin.”
posted by Baloo at 5:20 PM
Hitting Bottom For Dummies
Overtaken with boredom, one’s mind often begins to wander from the usually traveled road of rationality. Today, while my uncharismatic history teacher monotonically droned on in front of the class, I hit the pinnacle of boredom. Naturally, strange thoughts began to run through my mind.
I started to think of my recently revised scholastic agenda. What can an individual possibly do with a degree in English? Nothing at fucking all, that’s what. Growing up, kids always dream of being heroic firefighters or overpaid professional athletes. I can’t imagine a child on the planet choosing to live the life of the starving artist; the very existence that I can now see myself living.
Once this came to mind, it brought about a whole host possibilities that I’d never even considered. I thought about how my parents had worked hard in their lifetimes, raising themselves from quasi-lower class beginnings. With my chosen career path, I could conceivably drive my family’s good name back down to the depths of the socioeconomic scale. And upon realizing that the rest of my life could be meaningless, I struggled to think of something that I had accomplished within my lifetime that was actually note worthy. You know what I came up with?
Not a damn thing. My entire existence has been and possibly always will be inconsequential.
Needless to say, I’ve hit bottom. But that’s not even the worst part of this whole fiasco. The truth of the matter is that I haven’t hit bottom at all. I’m so bored with my life that I basically have to invent things to get upset about. This is just the flavor of the week. Next week I’ll invent some fictional new disease that will supposedly kill me and this whole hitting bottom thing will be as forgotten as Alicia Silverstone.
With this in mind, and completely lacking the motivation and inspiration to create anything of value, I have decided to begin my own blog. Plus, I constantly labor under the delusion that people are actually interested in what I have to say, and what better outlet do I have to relay my views on the world.
Maybe I really have hit bottom.
posted by Baloo at 11:28 PM
