Self-doubt

So sorry to my readers. You've informed me after my recent declaration that no one is reading that...you actually are reading. Sorry. Jeff would say that this is one more example of my own self-doubt in my abilities. Maybe he's right. Sorry to have doubted my friend's attention to my life or my writing abilities. Thanks for reading!

I spent several hours the other day researching grad schools. It's a little overwhelming. I have the same feeling now that I did when I went to an all-call audition (similar to SETC for those of you who know what that is): I am way under-prepared. I have this feeling that everyone else who will apply to these schools have tons more in their portfolios and have had more class work in creative writing. And maybe that's true. I know it shouldn't stop me if this is what I feel like I need and want to do, but it is a bit daunting.

I've always kind of felt like I was the "wrong" kind of artist. You know how artists are portrayed in movies? Young actresses, the serious kind mind you, are always seen as brooding, philosophical girls who where too much make-up or flowing skirts and peasant blouses. Or writers are eccentric geniuses who chain smoke or drink too much. They are always tortured by their inner demons. They come from abusive families or lock themselves up for days at a time working on projects or just seem a little otherworldly. It's ridiculous, I know, but I somehow think that all artists are really like this.

Not me. If I described my childhood to you, you would swear I grew up in the Cleaver household. Yes, the one that named their kid "Beaver". My parents are still happily married, as are both my brothers. My grandparents all had 50+ year long marriages and none of them drank or smoked or spent time in jail. My family life centered around church and my parents didn't want me to have to work in high school to enable me to do community theater. I don't have any major vices unless you include the inability to work without deadlines. I love my husband, and we have been very sensible about money so there's no chance of us starving to death or having our cars repossessed.

I think I might be too boring to be an artist.

Of course, there are people who would say I'm crazy for feeling this way. Madeleine L'Engle, my favorite writer of all time, would say I'm ridiculous, that true art has nothing to do with vices, or tragedy, or at least that they aren't necessary to be a writer. Not that they can't. Some of the greatest art has come from those very things. But she would remind me that true art is a reflection of God Himself, that it is connecting to a deeper place within myself, a truer place, and finding the story that is waiting to be told.

I believe this is true, but there will always be a little part of me that believes that I needed just a little more tragedy, just a little more sadness in my life to break through the walls of my own fear and lack of creativity to somehow plug into the creative forces that birth art. And some part of me always will.

Popular

Jeff and I are finally settled in our new home in Montgomery. Jeff will be working at the Alabama Shakespeare Festival this year. ASF is one of the top regional theaters in the nation and is the only theater in this country who is allowed to fly the flag of the Royal Shakespeare Company. Pretty cool, huh?

One of the great things about our move is that we had a friendship ready made when we got here. Jeff's friend, Bert, and his wife Sarah live about twenty minutes away. We love them, though, really, when you first look at us, you would realize very quickly we have almost nothing in common. Bert is, to put it mildly, a good ole boy. He was born and raised in southern Alabama and has the accent to prove it. When Jeff was in high school, he and Bert spent many afternoons in Bert's hometown of Grady riding four wheelers, driving cars too fast on small dirt roads, and generally getting into trouble. Think "Jackass" minus the cameras. It's not hard to see where Bert and I might part ways.

Now, despite our major differences, we have great fun together. We love to hang out, if only to hear what stupid thing Bert has done recently and watch Sarah roll her eyes as she tells about the his most recent video game purchase. And finally, we hit upon something that all four of us love: MOVIES. Bert and Sarah love going to the movie theater and Jeff and I have more DVDs than is really necessary. Finally, I thought, common ground!

Okay, you've probably already guessed that Bert and I are not going to love the same movies. And it's true. I could watch "Bringing Up Baby" once a week and think I had died and gone to heaven. Bert's probably never heard of Cary Grant or Katherine Hepburn. Bert really loved "I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry". I am not sure I can adequately describe here my feelings about Rob Schneider without reaching for some very nasty words.

And I'll be honest, I never expected Bert to like "The Fountain". If you haven't seen this movie, it's a very "artistic" movie, meaning that it's more about the way the movie is made, the ideas and characters, than about the entertainment value. It's a beautifully shot movie. If all you did was watch the movie with no sound on and just focused on the lighting he uses to tell the story, you could still tell what was going on. But, the story line is non-linear and the actors play more than one part in different time periods. It's no popcorn summer blockbuster--definitely not something everyone will love.

I did enjoy the movie. But Bert hated it. He didn't understand it, he found it boring, and so it has no value and no meaning for him. This certainly doesn't mean that the movie was bad. It has artistic merit. It is a story of life and death and actually, has the Christian theme of life coming from death, especially sacrificial death. And like I said, it was beautifully shot, well acted, and enjoyable for people who love art films, quirky independent films, etc. I really enjoyed it, though I appreciated it more on an artistic level rather than saying it was "entertaining".

It was somewhere in the middle of "Rush Hour 3", as I sat next to Bert crunching on popcorn, watching Chris Tucker utter some of the most awkward pieces of dialogue ever delivered, that I though "There has to be something in the middle." OK, I'll happily admit, I enjoyed "Rush Hour 3" for the most part. Yes, the dialogue was terrible. Yes, the plot was almost indiscernible and mostly superfluous. But, I laughed out loud at some moments, enjoyed the adrenaline rush of stupid, unbelievable action sequences, and relished in the pure joy of Jackie Chan and Tucker singing in 1940s era costumes. But nothing about it was artistic. No part of it pushed to a higher level of artistry or had any significant meaning.

My friend Drew was the first "artist" I knew who unabashedly enjoyed what was popular. Yes, Drew, I know you read this blog and I credit you with helping me enjoy popular entertainment. Which is a good thing, because my husband loves mindless action flicks. But I think there has to be some middle place where entertainment and artistry can meet. Take "Transformers" for instance. OK, so the mechanic girlfriend was mostly eye candy for the 14-25 year old male crowd, but this was a very well done popular entertainment movie. It had plenty of cheap thrills, it had comedic moments, and ultimately, it had a theme of good vs. evil, loyalty, all those things you want your kids to learn. You can see this in the comic books movies like Spiderman, X-Men, or my personal favorite, V for Vendetta, which so poetically explored political ideologies with kick-ass action.

But the movie I most fervently feel fits this criteria is "Stranger Than Fiction." This movie was quirky enough to be a small independent film, with all the budget and acting chops of a blockbuster. But especially, the script and story were just wonderful. I cared about the characters (a must in my enjoyment of a movie), I got caught up in the story, I laughed, I cried, I was entertained. But the story, the cinematography, the dialogue, and the acting made it more than just a popcorn flick. But you know what? Bert really liked this movie. People who don't always like movies liked this movie. People who are too snobbish to watch "popular" movies liked this movie.

I hope to write stories like that one. Something that can reach people from different walks of life, different points of view, and different movie preferences and bring them together in a well-done, smart, enjoyable movie.

I don't think anyone's reading.....

So I started this blog months ago and I really suck at it. I'm thinking I need a better disciplinary action here........so I'm going to force myself to write on here at least four times a week even if I think I don't have anything to say. Just so you know.....in case anyone out there is actually reading this.

I've been highly transitory this summer.....from Tuscaloosa to Huntsville and back.....not to mention the two weeks I was going between B'ham and Tuscaloosa like always but also going to Huntsville on the weekends......then to the beach then back, then to Tuscaloosa to get moved. The part 1 of our moving day was a lesson in travel in itself. Since we couldn't move into our new apartment for two weeks, we drove between Tuscaloosa, Montgomery, and then back to Huntsville to stay with my parents for a few days. We're now in Atlanta, seeing grandparents and biding our time until we can complete part 2 of the move and actually get into our apartment.

All this moving makes me think about the first year I was married. Something about say "I do!" turned on a little button inside me that screamed "NEST!" I'm sure this wouldn't surprise anyone who knows me well at all. We were poor as any newlyweds usually are, and we couldn't afford for me to decorate anything, so of course I was all hot and bothered by this. When I was being really honest with myself, I could admit that I really wanted a house. I wanted to paint the walls, hang curtains, and plant a garden, regardless of the obvious fact that my mere presence kills plants. None of that mattered. I felt like, as a married person, I really needed a permanent home with my fine china displayed, linen on the table, and a regular schedule of friends coming over for wine and cheese.

This is why I married my husband. He spent most of his time assuring me that the life we were leading is how most people do. And even if that weren't true, we were glad that all our furniture was hand-me-down, and that we never had anywhere to unpack our china to. This would keep us light and spontaneous, able to move easily and follow our dreams at a moment's notice.

This was hardly encouraging to me.

But in the years since, I've been thankful. In the (almost) three years we've been married, we've lived in 3 different apartments and we're about to move into the fourth. We've been able to shed and trade furniture at will, never worrying about what we paid for it or whether or not we had paid it off yet. We can still fit everything we own in a 17 foot van, and I've finally gotten up the courage to do something wild and crazy--move to LA. Something in me knows that if I had nested that first year, settled into a condo or house I loved, painted walls and planted a thriving garden (harty har har), that dream would never have happened.