I miss my blogger friends. Those that I developed a relationship with outside the blogging world. They’ve all scattered, now, and our communications – no matter how much I try to keep them going – are grinding to a halt. Or that’s what it feels like. And it makes me terribly sad. I’ve lived long enough at this point to know that people drift in and out of your life. Time, circumstances, geography – all have a part to play in who’s in and who’s out of your circle. My friends’ circumstances have changed: new jobs, new opportunities, new lives. Some are doing better than others. But all of them seem to have put blogging behind them, for now. And me right along with it.
Oh, self pity party! Let’s break out that tiny violin.
Life goes on.
I’m wrestling with a 94 page document – that’s how large the script has grown. The online software I’m using is struggling to keep up. I’m struggling to not lose my patience with the online software. It becomes quite an afternoon of grunting while I format – my computer fan kicks in (the computer equivalent of a grunt) as the icon on my screen spins, and spins, and spins. I harrumph and grunt, in equal measure, wondering if my system has frozen, hitting more buttons than I should because no, I’m not patient at all. Argh! This is where I
want need an assistant. Come in, finish the formatting because I’m too damned antsy, and get a print out, please!
Tomorrow I make a pilgrimage down to the comic book shop with my bro. More baking is needed; and I hope to high heaven that the people who weren’t there last time are there this time. Oh, the zingers I’ve heard, the taunting that’s been reported – ! I’ve got to get treats to the second owner before I become responsible for the splitting up of the only comic book shop in Rotterdam. Plus, I got a free comic sent to me the other day. Something I put aside because it was marked for ten euro. Free. It’s a super rare preview comic featuring the work of John Kricfalusi of Ren and Stimpy fame. I recognized his artwork right away. How it got over here in Rotterdam, shoved deep into the indie bins, I’ll never know. But it’s mine now, all mine.
Does that warrant my marzipan creme bars, or more blueberry muffins?
I’m looking forward to heading to the shop this time. I didn’t know, at first, what these guys would be like. My brother only ever talks comics with them: artists, stories, chronology. And that’s fun, for a bit. But unlike my brother, I’m not obsessed with the Marvel Universe. You wanna talk Milk ‘n’ Cheese, or Johnny the Homicidal Maniac? Then you’ll get me on comics all day long. But mention Captain American or Doctor Strange and I begin to tune out after a while. J finds me a challenge. He likes to pride himself of knowing a lot about comics – and he does, in the Marvel Universe. But I’ve thrown him some curves. Made him look stuff up on the internet because he’s never even heard of it. He thinks I’m crazy, searching out hard to find black and white independent comics. I tell him about the stories and make him laugh. It’s fun. But it’s not the only thing we talked about. I learned more about J last time than my brother ever knew about him. What he studied in school, his home life, his thoughts on current events – he’s almost as much a verbal magpie as I am. So I’m looking forward to more conversation, maybe with a few more people. All that talk about stuff other than comics irritates my brother. He says I distract the owners from their work. But J heralded the news about my script with glee, proclaiming that good stories can be found anywhere – even a comic book shop. That naturally got me thinking. The built in geek jokes to be made. The situational comedy that’s already present. If I’m honest, I’m going as much to study the guys as to talk with them.
Oh, the danger of being friends with a writer! But who knows? 🙂 I’ve already got ‘comic book shop’ written down on my list of script ideas.
My bro, as always, is giving me 100%. Read the script for me? Sure. Pay for some software so I don’t have to use an online program? Sure. Pay to print up the script? Sure. Pay to send it out to theaters? Sure. No hesitation, no wondering if it’s worth it. He’d even help me pick apart the comic world and work as my advisor so I get my references correct. And when my work is finally performed, my brother will pay to get us there (if needed) and sit in the front row, center, laughing loudly and being the first to shout ‘author’ at the end.
Goddess, bless him.
Meanwhile, on through the slow process of editing. Gotta get back to the gym, too. Been saying that every day since I stopped writing, but I have yet to achieve it. Same with Dutch. I really should pick up my books and do a bit of reading. Watch a bit of Dutch tv and listen. Instead, I’m wallowing in time off. The only reason I change out of my pj’s is because it’s cold and my sweat pants are warmer on my legs. I’m playing games, watching tv. Still smoking too much, and finding I don’t care other than the fact it means I need to head out to the coffeeshop to restock.
This is my life; what a strange life it is.
I wouldn’t have it any other way.