Operation: New Job is success

It won't be long until I'm moaning about my next job, I'm sure.

Lies, lies, lies

Remember the thing I said about reading just scripts for a month? Absolutely impossible. I haven't read any novels, but I have been reading books which could be called self-help. Despite me not doing when they say, I prefer to think of them as bio-hacking (which they are all focused on in some way).

Anyway, I've noticed in order to get through tough to read books (I'm looking at you Ellroy) I need to have another book to read at the same time. Not sure if other people do this or not, but I find it helps. I've read 350 pages of a book by Tim Ferriss and about 60 pages of Joe Campbell this weekend.

I'm now fed up of video games for a while.

I'm slowly writing things that will become screenplays. This is good news. Because without screenwriting I start to lose meaning.

This is a relief because I have been doing nothing with my free time, just floating through the tedious worker bee state of mind. I am ready to be liberated from my job.

So I watched Goon a few nights ago. It'll keep the story brief, it's a comedy starring Sean William Scott as a hockey player. I laughed, I enjoyed, I recommend everyone see this film.

Application under consideration...

I am not staying in my current job for much longer.

What have I unleashed?

My word, this night has turned into a hailstrom of blogposts. I have decided to finally read ALL of Syd Fields book on screenwriting, this is something I tried to do in 2008 to no avail.

Meanwhile, I'll be referring to my Fantastic book on writing treatments to prepare for two projects. Projects by me, just me. I recently sent a message to my friend informing him that our creative venture of a show would be taking the back burner, because I wanted to do something more me. It really is time to write, but I won't say that it will be easy.

There are few things in this world that I can talk about with full knowledge and confidence, but with my writing I am invincible, it is all I know and all I conspire about.

Plus co-writing a project with no real sense of direction is harder than you'd think. I want it to work, but the lack of communication makes it hard, I feel like someone doing chest compressions on a person and no ambulance is coming. It isn't a one way street and it is also selfish of me to think of it that way.

I suppose this is the way of ronin, no sense of direction.

Writing something for me, would help me out. I'm not suffering writers block, my lifestyle is the block.

We'll see how it goes.

I wonder what the fuck life will be like if I read this post in the future.

Deadlines save lives

Handed in the first 24 pages of my tv drama. Man, I barely got it in on time. About two hours before the cut off for handing in work, I decided to do a third draft. There were minimal changes, but the way I operate is: start from scratch, type it up, don't copy and paste. I think I improved it, then legged it to Uni to print it out and hand it in, with 20 minutes to spare. My heart was pounding. This is probably the first time in a long time, that I am happy with what I handed in and almost exactly a year since I've handed in a script to be marked.

I haven't been paying much attention to this blog, but after the post I just y'know posted, I read my first blog post.

A time when I decided that I would keep it private and build it up and then kind of tell my friends. I won't lie, it still feels like someone in a dark tunnel saying "hello? hello? is anyone else here?" and only getting a mocking echo in return.

I think the idea of writing now has no consequence for me, it gives me no drive.

There are few things that could get me to write. As I started typing this I realised a fantastic one. Ask my Dad to throw me out if I don't write a certain amount of work over a course of time. Fuck, that is a fantastic and daft idea. I might give that ago.

Further reading on my first few blog posts tell me about myself. I've forgotten almost totally about my horrible neighbours, way too over confident when it comes to my writing and what I'm capable of.

There is something quite cruel about coming home to the place you were never truly yourself, but I had no where else to go. Nobody else to stick around with.

I don't like the things my generation should. Probably because some of these people are idiots. I am retreating from society, because I don't think I have anything in common with them. Where is my tribe?


I used to talk to smart people who were in the room. Now, I'm the smart person in the room. I don't consider myself smart to the point that I would find ways to disagree with such a nice compliment. I just don't see how people can be so stupid. We have a new member of staff join us last week, I was talking about the Mexican drug war and he had no clue, but it's cool, he does tattoos and shit.

I'm starting to see why everyone is runs away to London.

Where is my tribe?

I fucking hate the pickle I am in. The second application I sent off was met with success followed a few days by sucks ass. This week is an open day type thing for a job at a cinema, great. A few problems, I am one of forty eight people invited to attend it what seems like a bullshit decision, because some one could not be bothered to meet everybody individually. It becomes harder when they decide to start it at 10am and finish it at around 2:30pm, due to the fact that I work 7:30am to 4:30pm. Skipping work is impossible at the moment, and not many jobs are on the horizon yet. I presume they'll pop up next month. It's no big loss that I'm not attending the intermosh, they didn't advertise the hours, just as part time. Fucking NEXT put 4 hours for a shitty job and shit pay as part time, someone inform these people of fractions.

Aside from being stuck in a small room, with nigh idiots who listen to shit music for a living, in what seems like a sitcom without jokes and producers who don't like half the characters, so there is a windmill door thing (forgot what it's called) of people coming and leaving. The funny bit, I'm still here.

So where  is my tribe? I want to write, really bad. So bad, I'll choke a kitten for that opportunity. When I'm working I really want to do it. Then when I get home from work or the weekend off, I doss about. At least when I was at Uni, I could talk to people about stuff that interested me, like, films, and thinking about writing.

How do I get out of this funk, I don't know what I want to do. I'm just earning money. That is not fun, I don't like a job that asks nothing creative from you. A blunderbuss of bag eyed, miserable, free coffee vending machine chugging people that actually look down on you because you happen to work in the post room await you. I don't know if success is supposed to taste like that, but this is draining my will to be anything. I am more sarcastic than should be neccesary, like someone overdosing on vitamin D (no, I don't know how this sentence works)

Deadends, full stops and mornings that look like night. How did my life become so?