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JoyAngel
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Name: Heather
Birthday: 4/13/1986
Gender: Female
Interests: dancing, writing, coffee, singing, laughing, acting, puppies, shoes, music, amor amor perfume, psychology, traveling...
Expertise: "Not that I have already attained this, or have already been made perfect, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me." Philippians 3:12
Message: message meEmail: email me
Member Since:
1/12/2003
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| my last blog entry is currently the 5th hit on google if you search for: thoughts on the wga strike. pretty sweet, eh?
also, daniel and i have a new blog as of a while ago... heatheranddaniel.wordpress.com
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First of all,
I love The Office, and wish they'd just call it off so we can get back
to the hilarity. I'm bitter that the hysterical episode I enjoyed last
night was the last original episode until this whole thing blows over.
Before I get
into this, I'd like to say that I have a degree in Film from Biola
University in Los Angeles County. My emphasis was screenwriting, and
most of what I did on student films was producing. For my internship, I
was the Assistant to the Head of Development of Firm Films. A good
friend of mine left school before I did to take a job at Larger Than
Life, and so I've heard all the tales of his work in the industry as
well. I tasted "the industry." And then I hightailed it out of there.
So, I am somewhat biased against Hollywood, but on the other hand, I
know a little bit of what I'm talking about, here.
So, what is
this strike about? Well, money, of course. Specifically, the writers
are demanding some residuals from "new media" – internet broadcasting.
Every time someone goes to nbc.com
and watches an episode of one of the shows you can watch for free, the
writers want a cut. The second demand is about DVD sales. The writers
want a bigger cut of the money made off of DVDs.
Okay, so how
are we going to pay writers for a FREE internet broadcast of a show?
How many people can get a cut of something that is free? Basically,
internet video started blowing up, what with Youtube and everything,
and the studios were like, "Hello eyeballs. We want you to watch OUR
shows." So, even though they weren't sure how exactly they were going
to directly profit from this, they went for it, hoping that television
viewership would increase. Webcasting is more marketing than actual
broadcasting. So, as always, they keep plenty of ads going on their
site, and have even started webcasting a commercial before streaming an
episode of a given show. One measly commercial. This is not a huge
money-maker for the studios right now. Not directly, anyway, though I
really have no idea whether or not it has increased the profitability
of television broadcasts.
Second, I know
nothing about how much DVD sales are really making, and how much of a
cut writers are getting. I have no comment on this, and it's definitely
the secondary issue in the strike anyway.
Here is my
major problem with the strike. I find it offensive, as an avid fan of
The Office. This strike, and the ensuing halt on production flies in
the face of people like me, who have a little party every week where me
and my friends who share my love for this show get together to enjoy it
together. We're dorks, and we know it, and we love it. And this is what
is communicated to me by this strike, "Office-Fan, we are not writing
for you or anyone else who loves and admires our writing. We are
writing for money. Plain and simple. And we want more of it. We want it
so much that we don't care what it does to the shows and characters
you've come to know and love."
I also find it
offensive as a writer, myself. It's like the writers are all standing
up and uniting with one voice to say, "We are sell-outs! We do not
write for writings' sake! We write for the money!" Ew.
I'm so glad I
got out of Hollywood. If you want a solid take on the strike from
someone who is in favor of it, check out Jenna Fisher's MySpace blog.
Even I, someone clearly unhappy with the strike, could appreciate what
she had to say. ... Hooray! It's over! They're talking again!
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| i'd set the scene, but i don't want anyone stealing my idea. i wrote this:
INT. KITCHEN - D1
Dwight fills a paper cup with water and chugs it. Another.
Angela enters and opens the fridge.
They don’t look at each other.
ANGELA
(pretending to look through the fridge contents)
Do you think someone knows?
DWIGHT
(continuing to drink water)
I am concerned.
ANGELA
But who could have found us out?
DWIGHT
You haven’t told anyone?
ANGELA
Not a soul.
DWIGHT
I knew you wouldn’t. I trust you implicitly.
She takes her brown bag and allows herself a hint of a smile.
Kevin enters.
KEVIN
I’m starving!
Angela gives him a disgusted look and leaves.
End scene.
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| Nothing. I couldn't think of a single thing to write about. Up against a deadline and that was the time the writers' block set in. Perfect.
Okay, what to do? Some writers write in a journal. I could try journaling for a while. Yeah, right. Journal about what? I'd been sitting at this desk all day. That wouldn't make for a particularly interesting journal entry, now would it? It was times like these that I wished I had time on exciting days to write in a journal. You know, that's what makes no sense about journaling. If you've got time to write in a journal, your day probably wasn't sufficiently exciting so as to merit a journal entry. One thing's for sure, ranting and raving about the illogic of journaling wasn't helping me meet this deadline.
Some writers take a walk. People watch. Take in inspiration from the world around them. Too bad my house was out in the country. Would've had to take a pretty hefty walk to get to a place where I could observe anyone else. It was ironic, actually, because I moved out there to help me write better, and now it was hindering my writing. Figures.
I never used to need all these outside inspirations. My head was so chock full of ideas and stories, my fingers could barely keep up. That was how I became so fast at typing. Publishers gladly paid me to churn out story after story. It was as if I had this limited well of creativity and I had used it all up.
Maybe if I grab a bite to eat, I'll feel better, I thought. I trudged down the stairs in my fuzzy pink slippers, faded jeans, white tank top. I flipped the light on in the kitchen, even though plenty of light poured in through the window above the sink. Habit, I guess. I yanked the fridge door open – it was a little sticky – and gazed at its contents. So much food...absolutely nothing to eat. How is that possible?
Doorbell.
Perfect. I plodded over to the door, thinking, No thank you! I'm busy writing! I flipped the deadbolt and opened the door.
There before me stood a devastatingly handsome young man, dressed neatly in slacks and a tie.
"Hi," I said, wishing I'd showered that morning.
"Hi." He spoke as though he was reading from cue cards. I almost checked over my shoulder to see if he was. "My name is Joshua. If you have a moment, I'd love to talk to you about God."
"Jehovah's Witness?"
"Well..." he hesitated.
"What? Not quite sure?"
"No, I'm sure, I just – "
"Well, let's just say I'm not buyin' what you're sellin', okay?" It was such a shame. Such a beautiful man...
"Okay. Well, God bless you." He looked so dejected as he turned away. My heart writhed in my chest.
"I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to be mean about it." What else could I say?
"You weren't that mean." He smirked. "I've experienced much worse."
"I have no doubt." I stood in the doorway studying his face as he looked off into my yard.
We started speaking at the same time:
"You must be tired," I said.
"You live here alone?" he asked.
We laughed and then said, "yes" at the same time. More laughter.
"I was just about to have a snack. You want to come in?" I offered.
He looked both ways down the vacant street. He must have walked so much that day. He sighed a little and let his gaze meet mine.
"I do."
And that's how I met my husband.
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| INT. BOOKSTORE - DAY
A small bookstore is crammed with shelves full of vintage books. A few intellectuals and wannabees flip through yellowed pages. In the corner, COLIN WALKER (24) is lying on his back with his feet propped up on the shelf. Cradling his head in one hand, he holds a book in the other.
A bell jingles just above the door, as JO LONG (26) enters. She scans the skinny aisles.
SNAP ZOOM: COLIN
Jo heads straight for him.
JO
Hey, dweeb.
Colin doesn’t even look up.
COLIN
Hey, Joanna Joy.
She looks around, then down at Colin, and back up again. A SNOOTY GUY with a pointy nose and sharp, square glasses looks at Colin disdainfully. He raises his eyes to find...
JO
...looking straight at him. She sticks her tongue out at him. Surprised and confused, the man quickly turns away.
JO
Why am I always sticking up for you?
COLIN
Mostly, because you love me.
She plops down on the ground next to him and starts reading over his shoulder.
JO
Mostly?
COLIN
Well, also, you’re bigger and stronger than me, so...
Jo looks down at her petite frame and then over at his. He’s got to be almost twice her size.
Jo snatches the book out of his hand, snaps it shut and smacks him in the shoulder with it. He pretends to need to defend himself.
COLIN
Great, now you lost my place.
Jo expels a heavy sigh and flips the book open, replacing it in his hand.
COLIN (CONT’D)
Oh, hey, perfect.
Beat.
COLIN (CONT’D)
(in ridiculous voice)
--Insert book quote here--
JO
(over last words)
(getting up)
Fine! I’ll get my own book.
END SCENE.
...
anybody got a good idea for a book quote to fit in there?
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