Sweet writing and Swede angst. - justin_guber

Sweet writing and Swede angst.

Another 'fucking finally' moment in the history of the Guber.

I've started writing a screenplay. I finally have a character I can write a screenplay around. And it feels fucking marvellous writing again. The surprise of just letting your fingers type away dialogue and be shocked by what twists and turns in their characters you're simply writing without thinking. After eight pages (which, after formatting,will probably be twenty in the 'industry' format, which is a waste of paper if you ask me) all preconceived notions of the characters have changed dramatically. New characters from God knows where have suddenly popped up. New angles, new ideas.

The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.

I won't tell you about my little character just yet, for fear of jinxing it. The other day was the first time I told someone an idea I hadn't written yet and was still able to write after the conversation (thanks, Naren, owe you one). For that, I'm a happy bunny, and I hope I'll be able to finish it off, or at least get half way, by the end of this week.

After all, Chinese New Year's a-coming. Half the staff have already dissapeared: on leave for family moments, drinks and gambling. Me? I'll be spending quality time with my family on Wednesday eating barbeque'd fish on the plot of land at my dad's village (they'll be camping, I won't), spending some quality time with my girlfriend somewhere new (aha, more secrets!), spending some quality time with friends and most importantly, spending some quality time with myself.

I started writing yesterday at Starbucks whilst my girlfriend worked on her work (you know the relationship is going somewhere positive when you can sit with your partner in total silence doing your own thing and not feel the need to chat for the sake of chatting, just happy to have the company), and I wrote till the damn batteries died on me. I wish they hadn't. I could've pumped out another twenty pages that day, given time. Then to Ikea, to buy Swedish furniture of the flatpack variety.

I'm not sure whether I love or loathe the Swede's. Like Andreas, I think he's a fucking brilliant mate, but he also left me to handle three drunk Scotsmen by myself as he legged it down the road (heard he's getting married. Weird). And with Ikea furniture, I think it's fucking brilliant, but I swear they could've taken some time to actually write some fucking instructions instead of using little diagrams with pointers you may miss.

Or maybe it's just me.

Either way, if one of their pieces of furniture required something more than the funky allen key they give out, they could at least say so on the top of the fucking box. This is the second time I've opened up a bookcase only to find I need not only a hammer, but a fucking screwdriver as well. I buy Ikea because it's supposedly simple to set-up. Liars. The last time this happened, I didn't have a hammer so Jay and I took turns trying to nail the bugger with a broken leg off one of the dining room chairs.

I hope my mom didn't notice.

7.2.05 05:36

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