You can’t be a sellout if you haven’t sold anything
Good morning, friends!
It’s 6:30am as I’m sitting down to draft this. The sky is just starting to go from an inky dark blue to a dusky dawn blue, and the first tenacious birds are chirping.
Dawn is not rosy. Wouldn’t you think dawn would be rosy? I think I always assumed. But it’s not, it’s blue. This is something I never noticed until I was in film school. I remember I was so pleased with myself the first time I wrote it into a script.
The car pulls away into the blue light of dawn.
So pleased with myself, you guys. That was the last line of my thesis script. And we got it. We got dawn. We stole the scene very quickly, at the end of a long night of shooting. Here’s a link to the movie—you can scrub to 9:00 to see the blue light of dawn. (Or hey, watch the whole thing! I should just make it public already.)
I don’t generally choose to rise with the sun, but this morning I was awakened by a wicked headache and I finally decided to just get up. It officially takes two (2) whiskeys to wake me with a wicked headache. I’ve tested this theory on two occasions in the past couple of weeks, and YUP! two whiskeys. Even if I stop for tacos on the way home from the bar. Even if I drink a bunch of water when I get home. And eat a bowl of ice cream.
Wah wah.
I’m having a terrible time talking about the script I just finished. I’ve hung out with three, no, four industry friends recently, and there’s that, you know, the dreaded what are you working on? and then you’re supposed to sort of “pitch” your project. To your friend. Right there, on your hike or in the car or at the bar. Which, on the one hand, is really good practice. Like, if I can’t talk about the thing to my friend and make it sound like I LIKE IT, I’m in trouble, right?
I might be in trouble.
Poor little script.
I actually think it’s good. I know it’s good. So what’s the problem? It’s not that I’m worried I’m a sellout exactly. You can’t be a sellout if you haven’t sold anything! But this script is more, accessible, I guess, than anything else I’ve written. There’s nothing arty about it. It’s a straight-up comedy.
Why do I feel sheepish about this?
I should be patting myself on the back. Myself and my co-writer, Corey, who has been nothing but positive the whole way. Maybe my weird reticence (which I’ve never expressed to him...) is a response to his enthusiasm? Like, I figure TWO OF US can’t be nothing but positive so I have to preemptively shit on the project in my mind?
Yikes. Good luck in Hollywood, kid.
*****
Speaking of Hollywood (NOT), Greasy Heart, my more recent short, is playing at a feminist film festival in Ottawa this weekend. Are any of you in Ottawa?? I can’t be there, but I’d love to send an ambassador.
*****
This month in fashion: I’m wearing the hell out of a long black button-down I bought on sale at CP Shades. I thought I’d quit black for good when I left NYC, but you know what? IT’S SO EASY TO WEAR. I'm now on the hunt for this season’s perfect black pants. Blackity black black black. Bring it on.
This month on Netflix: A bizarre animated short we stumbled on while looking for My Neighbor Totoro (which is nowhere to be found online, boooooo), World of Tomorrow does not have any squooshy adorable creatures, but it does feature a top-notch toddler voice actor, and a terrific dark sense of humor. Well worth 16 minutes of your life.
It’s 6:30am as I’m sitting down to draft this. The sky is just starting to go from an inky dark blue to a dusky dawn blue, and the first tenacious birds are chirping.
Dawn is not rosy. Wouldn’t you think dawn would be rosy? I think I always assumed. But it’s not, it’s blue. This is something I never noticed until I was in film school. I remember I was so pleased with myself the first time I wrote it into a script.
The car pulls away into the blue light of dawn.
So pleased with myself, you guys. That was the last line of my thesis script. And we got it. We got dawn. We stole the scene very quickly, at the end of a long night of shooting. Here’s a link to the movie—you can scrub to 9:00 to see the blue light of dawn. (Or hey, watch the whole thing! I should just make it public already.)
I don’t generally choose to rise with the sun, but this morning I was awakened by a wicked headache and I finally decided to just get up. It officially takes two (2) whiskeys to wake me with a wicked headache. I’ve tested this theory on two occasions in the past couple of weeks, and YUP! two whiskeys. Even if I stop for tacos on the way home from the bar. Even if I drink a bunch of water when I get home. And eat a bowl of ice cream.
Wah wah.
I’m having a terrible time talking about the script I just finished. I’ve hung out with three, no, four industry friends recently, and there’s that, you know, the dreaded what are you working on? and then you’re supposed to sort of “pitch” your project. To your friend. Right there, on your hike or in the car or at the bar. Which, on the one hand, is really good practice. Like, if I can’t talk about the thing to my friend and make it sound like I LIKE IT, I’m in trouble, right?
I might be in trouble.
Poor little script.
I actually think it’s good. I know it’s good. So what’s the problem? It’s not that I’m worried I’m a sellout exactly. You can’t be a sellout if you haven’t sold anything! But this script is more, accessible, I guess, than anything else I’ve written. There’s nothing arty about it. It’s a straight-up comedy.
Why do I feel sheepish about this?
I should be patting myself on the back. Myself and my co-writer, Corey, who has been nothing but positive the whole way. Maybe my weird reticence (which I’ve never expressed to him...) is a response to his enthusiasm? Like, I figure TWO OF US can’t be nothing but positive so I have to preemptively shit on the project in my mind?
Yikes. Good luck in Hollywood, kid.
*****
Speaking of Hollywood (NOT), Greasy Heart, my more recent short, is playing at a feminist film festival in Ottawa this weekend. Are any of you in Ottawa?? I can’t be there, but I’d love to send an ambassador.
*****
This month in fashion: I’m wearing the hell out of a long black button-down I bought on sale at CP Shades. I thought I’d quit black for good when I left NYC, but you know what? IT’S SO EASY TO WEAR. I'm now on the hunt for this season’s perfect black pants. Blackity black black black. Bring it on.
This month on Netflix: A bizarre animated short we stumbled on while looking for My Neighbor Totoro (which is nowhere to be found online, boooooo), World of Tomorrow does not have any squooshy adorable creatures, but it does feature a top-notch toddler voice actor, and a terrific dark sense of humor. Well worth 16 minutes of your life.
This month in tacos: On the upscale side, R and I went to Broken Spanish for his birthday, sponsored in part by my mom. (Thanks, mom 🤗 ) We had the pinquito bean tostada and the lamb neck tamale and the griddled masa with mushrooms, all delicious, but a scoop of those mushrooms plus a swoop of the queso fundido ✨🧀✨ on one of their housemade tortillas was the very best bite—I’m counting that as a taco. On the downscale side, my friend K and I stopped at the El Paisano truck on the way home from the bar last night, and we each tried one asada and one pastor taco. I couldn’t tell the difference? That may have been on account of the whiskey. Anyhoo, $6.50 for two delish plates of food, and they’re open at 10:30pm on a weeknight, which Guisados is not, and Mexicali is not.
*****
xoxo,
Laramie
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