Unlike Lileks, I don’t feel compelled to explicate on every occurrence during my waking hours. Half of it would be exaggerated with nuances nonexistent and overstated, to make a fanciful story out of a dull, plodding non-event. I think it’s probably a flaw of my character that I prefer a dull and dreary day to one filled with activity and excitement. Today, the only thing of note was the entrance of Tremors actor Fred Ward to my local coffee hangout. He looked at me, and I at him, and then I went back to my world, and he to his. I liked Ward’s work in Tremors; it was inspired, hugely comical, but with grit and a human realness that belied the film’s basic premise, which is as ridiculous as it is funny. Still, he’s just a man, and I’m just another man with a laptop. Ships passing in the night, or something amusingly dramatic like that.
Hit writer’s block again, so I did about an hour’s worth of pattering on the keys, trying to finesse something into being. Sometimes it just isn’t flowing. Maybe the city cut it off because I hadn’t paid the bill. Whatever. Some say the best way around writer’s block is actually to cut through it with a lot of prose. Whether good or bad, it’ll drill through the obstinate silence screaming from your head. With me, it’s not an option to write poorly. I can only write under the illusion that it’s worth writing, or not at all. If I know I’m writing poultry offal, I get depressed, fueling the feeling of inadequacy I already feel. I have to get past it some other way. Usually it’s through taking a break.
So after nothing flowed into nothing, I left, and decided to watch an inspirational detective noir, The Maltese Falcon. It was as amusing as I remembered it, and as well constructed too. A good detective story should illuminate some idea, some truth. As GK Chesterton wrote, it’s imperative that the audience battle not the story, but the author. TMF is one story that pits the audience squarely against the mystery (and by proxy, the author), and the film is an example of a marvelous production with square edges on every turn, a maze of false information and pretenses, giving the illusion of some hidden treasure at the end. When the falcon is revealed as a phony, you realize that the entire time you’ve been labouring under a delicious lie. It is a wonderful feeling to be played the fool in this instance–perhaps the only time in literature or cinema where it’s okay to tease and trick the audience.
Since I’ve written a detective book (actually, still in media res) it was a refreshing look at the genre, and for my upcoming project, is a good and inspiring tale to watch and relive. I will make it my mission to enjoy the weekend’s other, non-writing projects (editing) and let my mind quell its restless emptiness, so by Monday I can resume a semi-reasonable writing schedule.
Thanks for keeping up with my rambling discourses and inconsistent posting this week. See you Monday. Have a great one. Oh yeah, new Fringecast this weekend. Good stuff on the way. So I haven’t completely abandoned you…