Things I Do Passively

There are many. Sometimes I feel I ride in the wake of those who are more energetic than I and would barely do anything other than sit on my couch without their catalytic force. I feel I am very fortunate in this regard, as friends who call invite me to leave my house, neighbors stop by and invite me to play volleyball. The one thing I do contribute is that I say “yes,” and then must follow through.

Example: This weekend, for the first time, I traveled to both Alligator Point—a beach area an hour and change to the south of us, and Blue Springs Park in Marianna, a bit farther to the west. While I often think of spontaneously hopping in the car and taking a trip to such places…I think of it in a remote “I might do that” kind of way that has almost no relation to anything I would actually do on any given weekend, when I usually feel accomplished if I make it out of the house by three and go to a movie.

So anyway, one of Paul’s film school acquaintances invited me to audition for her short film. I said yes Thus on Saturday I got to swim in the bathwater warm ocean, and Sunday got to dive into a very chilly but super clear spring.

If anyone has ever been swimming with me, they know that cold is not something I do lightly…or quickly. I can easily spend the better part of an hour acclimated to the water, inch by inch, so that by the time people are ready to leave, I am almost submerged to the neck. In this case, my acting role required that I dive straight in and swim toward the underwater camera, as if reaching for someone at the bottom of the ocean. Rolling film is money, and scared I would chicken out on the clock, I struck a deal with the Assistant Director, where I would bend over in that ‘learning to dive pose” from swimming lessons when I seven, and when the director called “Action” she would push me in. Passive, yet efficient.

For the first take, I had not been in the water yet, and it definitely knocked the wind out of me. I couldn’t get as deep as I needed. Take two was my best—good splash, remembered to open my eyes right away, had breathed out before the push so it was easier to get deep (although for some reason holding my breath out is more panic inducing that holding it in). Unfortunately, I was told upon surfacing, the camera had not been rolling, so back to the diving board I went…Third time was a charm, and I felt very athletic and accomplished—like I had just swum the English Channel or something.

So, thanks be to the forces that pull me along and make life more interesting than I really deserve!

Out of the Cave

Today is Friday. When I can avoid it--though this is not often, I don't leave my neighborhood on Fridays. Perhaps it is just a throwback perception from my time in L.A., but I feel that even here in Tally, the traffic is at the same time slower and scarier on Fridays, especially by afternoon.

So today I mostly tooled around our underlit and undercleaned house, answering emails and reading. At one point I went outside to pick up the mail. I then sat on the front steps to leaf through it, thinking "Look at me, I'm outside!"

The moment I sat, a very large cartoon ant scurried around my foot toward less occupied pastures. Of course, he was not really a cartoon ant, but really, he looked as fake as one. He was about four times the size of the largest ant I've seen heretofore, and he was fire engine red, with a black stripe. He was so fake-looking, I didn't even flinch when he strode right by me.

Twenty seconds later, other, more innocuous looking insects started lightly stinging my legs. I waited to make sure I was not imagining this. I wasn't. I went back inside: Total estimated outside exposure: approximately 90 seconds.



I have googled the strange looking ant, and found he is actually not an ant, but a wasp, and not a he but a she (the females do not have wings). And the nickname for said insect is "cow-killer," not because it could actually kill a cow, because when it stings you it "hurts enough to kill a cow."

Answer: Self-Imposed Writing Exile

(Question: Where am I?)

And rightly so, I find. When I occasionally emerge, I have little to talk about except the screenplay I'm writing, and when I talk the story instead of writing it, my listener (more often than not, my husband) invariably has issues with my plans for plot, characters, etc. Because I have respect for said listener, when I go back to the keyboard I have to battle not only the little red demon that sits on my shoulder, but the several others I have inadvertently (or is it inadvertent?) invited over for a tea party.

Thus in my cavelike dwelling I must stay this week, until I can emerge, full rough draft in hand, for my Thursday deadline.

I also recently had another conversation with a friend about writing, and the subject turned to blogs, about what it means to leave one's mental notebook laying about open to the public, and with what intentions a person would do so. This, too, has set loose some miniature naysaying dragons breathing little spouts of fire about my ears when I start to write. After some consideration I've decided that slaying them is on my To Do list.

As soon as I get back from the cave.