You never forget your first time.
I'm talking about directing. What did you think I was talking about? This is a respectable blog. Well, most of the time at least.
Strangely though those two firsts have some commonalities:
1. It's hella scary before you do it.
2. At first you're all insecure and timid.
3. Once you have a basic grasp of how it works though you begin to notice how much fun it is.
4. And as soon as you've done it once you'll want to do it again and again and again.
While one has happened for me quite a while ago the other experience has been a more recent one. Last Saturday I had a ten hour directing workshop scheduled at film school. I was wary, at best, of spending ten hours on my feet when I currently get exhausted by about two hours of running errands. I also had no idea whether the teacher was going to be any kind of good or all kinds of bad. But I packed my energy rations (coffee, water and nuts, never leave the house without nuts, and some chocolate) and an extra dose of Ritalin in case my Concerta wore off to fast. I printed out the scene I was going to work on and hopped on a curiously empty Saturday bus on a lovely spring day.
Boy was I wrong to be apprehensive! The teacher turned out to be fantastic, running us trough the basics of directing, giving immensely helpful feedback, and he even has a sense of humour (sadly, that's not always a given). Otherwise he pushed us into the deep end - the best thing he could do.
About two hours after arriving I was already in the middle of DP-ing for one of my colleagues, sketching storyboards on a whiteboard and discussing the benefits of purposely jumping over the axis. Then, before lunch break, I set the lighting for another colleague's scene and watched from the side as they took their first tries at directing.
The differences in style are completely fascinating. Everyone has a different way of easing into the job, of talking to the actors, the crew. I was learning a lot just by watching. Suddenly it was my turn. I jumped right in, assembled my crew, briefed the actors, and there I was, doing a first read-through already, then setting up the scene, blocking, sketching floor plans, figuring out the best camera angles with my DP. Shooting. Tweaking. Shooting another take. Working with the actors. Giving my DP the chance to get a focus change just right considering the limited amount of time we had for our practice shoots. Shooting another angle. Another take. Saying "Action" (although I prefer the more friendly "Aaaand go") and "Cut". Thank you, you were wonderful. Great camerawork. Everyone take a break. I got great feedback from the teacher, the actors, the crew.
And all of it - ALL OF IT! - felt so fucking right. Much like, fish... meet water.
Felt like I was meant to do this. Never supposed to do anything else. Like every other job I'd ever had was just a youthful indiscretion before getting hitched to this wonderful thing called directing. I fell in love, fast and hard.
I suppose this isn't surprising. Because me and directing, we were set up ages ago. After all, I grew up watching my father direct. He started out as a theatre actor, then became an editor at the Austrian Broadcasting company. He started directing for TV even before I was born. I suspect he did some work on documentaries early on but I mostly watched him direct television broadcasts of operas, concerts, theater productions, ballets etc., both recordings and live broadcasts. My mother was his assistant director a lot of the time then became a director herself. When I was older I even worked with them as a floor manager.
Sure, it's a bit weird working with your parents (though it didn't even take me that long to hammer it into their heads that it was definitely not okay to call me by my embarrassing childhood nickname on set) but I learned so much from listening to my dad's voice transmitting through my headset. The way he maneuvered the giant and intricate system of cameramen/women, sound mixers, lighting technicians, cable pullers etc. through live broadcasts has given me a certain instinct for directing. He was always respectful, never without a sense of humor, knew that everyone on set was indispensable and took care to treat them as such.
He knew how to talk to people, knew when to be strict, when to be diplomatic. Ironically, his communication sucked big time in familial settings but while working he knew what he was doing. He felt safe, I assume, like he had a spot in the world that fit him just right. I'm lucky to have seen him work, and while I wasn't aware of it at the moment, soaking up all that I could learn from him.
I was way to scared during my first directing stint last Saturday but I think if I had been viewing myself from the outside instead of, well, being wide-eyed and in the moment, I would've been able to spot a lot of my dad's directing style in my work. I choose to believe that had he seen me in that moment (and maybe he has, I'm agnostic after all) he would've been proud of his director daughter. I'm finally proud of myself as well.
Here's to my dad who unwittingly taught me a lot while I unwittingly learned from him. You would've loved seeing me do this, dad, I just know :)
I love you.
Showing posts with label scared shitless. Show all posts
Showing posts with label scared shitless. Show all posts
Objects in the rear view mirror....
2011.
2 0 1 1.
Asshole. Friend.
Fucked me up and built me up.
I honestly don't know what to think about this year. Maybe it's time for a pro/con list?
...
OK, I tried making a list, but apparently my life is not list-able. Instead I got this:
I got fired. From a job that could've been done by Grawp the giant.
But getting fired gave me the impetus to finally start being creative full-time.
I started running regularly and felt great about it... but my knee got fucked up and I had to stop doing sports altogether. Still can't run :(
I finally got diagnosed with ADHD and realised that a lot in my life was not my fault. But now instead of feeling crappy because I never managed to get anything done I felt crappy because of all the time I had lost.
I also learned that there are meds that could help me. But some of the meds fucked me up BAD. Like Charlie! But Charlie the elephant pales in comparison to throwing up into a trashcan at Praterstern underground station. Disgusting and humiliating - brought to you by Strattera (tm). Back to Ritalin then. I'm still not sure they're the right ones. However, when they do work, it's magical. I mean, shit is getting done! And instead of being "a person with tons of creative potential" I turn into a proper "creative person".
I finally had the courage to submit a short story to two literary competitions. I didn't get shortlisted for either one though.
I also submitted my first film treatment ever. This time I only barely missed the shortlist and ended up joining the team in a different capacity anyway.
I lost some friends. Because, apparently, 2011 was the year of people being pissed at me but not letting me know this. (Not a mindreader, I am.) To this day I still don't know the reason for one of those people's anger at me.
I made some new friends though.
And re-established contact with some out-of-touch old ones.
I wrote more than I ever did before. I didn't write nearly enough to satisfy me. But I started work on my first film.
I started film school.
I still don't have a paying job. But I feel I'm getting to a point where I could handle one.
My mother is nice to me again. Unfortunately, I think it is because now that I have a diagnosis she thinks I'm damaged goods and that I can't be held responsible for my own actions - and not because she sees her own faults in last year's ordeal. Oh, the irony!
I LEARNED TO SAY 'NO'!
We went to New York.
I FINALLY WENT TO NEW YORK!
I saw Beirut and Tori Amos and Amanda Palmer live.
I gave Neil Gaiman my short stories and didn't get any feedback.
A friend of minegave basically forced Lee Sheldon to read my script and short stories and I got the best, most useful feedback ever.
I don't want to jinx it but so far NO ONE DIED THIS YEAR!
I realised what exactly it is that I'm exceptionally good at.
I finished therapy.
But most of all I fulfilled the one New Year's resolution I had: I scared the shit out of being scared.
Looking up/back at this I'm drawing the conclusion that 2011 was quite an okay year, all things considered. Definitely better than 2010. And hopefully 2012 will be even better.
What I wish for besides the basic health-no-one-dying stuff:
- Getting the meds thing worked out
- Making a good movie and getting it seen
- Lots of love and great music and good friends and some travelling
edited because I saw this on twitter and found it incredibly wonderful:
2 0 1 1.
Asshole. Friend.
Fucked me up and built me up.
I honestly don't know what to think about this year. Maybe it's time for a pro/con list?
...
OK, I tried making a list, but apparently my life is not list-able. Instead I got this:
I got fired. From a job that could've been done by Grawp the giant.
But getting fired gave me the impetus to finally start being creative full-time.
I started running regularly and felt great about it... but my knee got fucked up and I had to stop doing sports altogether. Still can't run :(
I finally got diagnosed with ADHD and realised that a lot in my life was not my fault. But now instead of feeling crappy because I never managed to get anything done I felt crappy because of all the time I had lost.
I also learned that there are meds that could help me. But some of the meds fucked me up BAD. Like Charlie! But Charlie the elephant pales in comparison to throwing up into a trashcan at Praterstern underground station. Disgusting and humiliating - brought to you by Strattera (tm). Back to Ritalin then. I'm still not sure they're the right ones. However, when they do work, it's magical. I mean, shit is getting done! And instead of being "a person with tons of creative potential" I turn into a proper "creative person".
I finally had the courage to submit a short story to two literary competitions. I didn't get shortlisted for either one though.
I also submitted my first film treatment ever. This time I only barely missed the shortlist and ended up joining the team in a different capacity anyway.
I lost some friends. Because, apparently, 2011 was the year of people being pissed at me but not letting me know this. (Not a mindreader, I am.) To this day I still don't know the reason for one of those people's anger at me.
I made some new friends though.
And re-established contact with some out-of-touch old ones.
I wrote more than I ever did before. I didn't write nearly enough to satisfy me. But I started work on my first film.
I started film school.
I still don't have a paying job. But I feel I'm getting to a point where I could handle one.
My mother is nice to me again. Unfortunately, I think it is because now that I have a diagnosis she thinks I'm damaged goods and that I can't be held responsible for my own actions - and not because she sees her own faults in last year's ordeal. Oh, the irony!
I LEARNED TO SAY 'NO'!
We went to New York.
I FINALLY WENT TO NEW YORK!
I saw Beirut and Tori Amos and Amanda Palmer live.
I gave Neil Gaiman my short stories and didn't get any feedback.
A friend of mine
I don't want to jinx it but so far NO ONE DIED THIS YEAR!
I realised what exactly it is that I'm exceptionally good at.
I finished therapy.
But most of all I fulfilled the one New Year's resolution I had: I scared the shit out of being scared.
Looking up/back at this I'm drawing the conclusion that 2011 was quite an okay year, all things considered. Definitely better than 2010. And hopefully 2012 will be even better.
What I wish for besides the basic health-no-one-dying stuff:
- Getting the meds thing worked out
- Making a good movie and getting it seen
- Lots of love and great music and good friends and some travelling
edited because I saw this on twitter and found it incredibly wonderful:
you are how much you love - pt 1
I've been more or less staring at this empty blog post page for hours now. I have been doing other things in between of course, I am ADHD after all. But this has been open at the back of my browser and the back of my mind. I want to write about it but it's not easy. It's rather complicated because I am only in the process of figuring it out. Which is why I want to write about it. Hello, vicious circle, nice to meet you - again.
The hardest part is probably that I am somewhat scared of judgement this time. Which is funny since I talk openly about depression, my ADHD and my bisexuality which is in the process of morphing into multisexuality (think Jack Harkness minus the aliens). I have never ever been afraid of backlash or judgement regarding these parts of me. But this one... it's tough because it's a topic that might touch some people deep down at their core values and possibly even offend them much like some people are offended by gay marriage. Is that okay? Definitely not. But it's something that - even if they are not attacked nor affected by it - people might want to take a stand about. And it's something, I think, only a few people will be able to handle without judgement - be it uttered aloud or not. You might accept me through all my crazy and queer but what I'm going to tell you next might just be a bit too much to handle. I say might. Because, of course, I hope.
But here goes.
(I just had to take a fucking deep breath.)
I do not believe in monogamy.
I do not believe that love is finite.
I believe in compersion (more on that further along probably in another blog post but you can find some stuff about it on wikipedia).
I believe that even if it might not take a village to raise children, in the end a bunch of people loving them and being there and available for them might just be the most perfect thing in the world.
I believe (though I have no way of knowing for certain) that I am indeed polyamorous.
This is not the throwaway line of the cheater claiming that "humans aren't made for monogamy" to still their fighting conscience.
It isn't an excuse to just "shag around" a bit when marriage becomes boring.
Funny, I don't actually believe in swinging. I realise I might be influenced by the image of a bored 50ies married couple fooling around with the neighbours and people group shagging to the backdrop of some impeccably ugly 70ies wallpaper. Whatever the reason, it seems a bit ghastly to me to go and meet a couple with the purpose of exchanging bodily fluids. Or, gods forbid, even go to a club where couples gaze demurely at other couples with the distinctive plan of picking something that strikes their fancy, much like you would chose the prettiest grape from the fruit bowl and pop it in your mouth.
It is not about sex.
It's not about fucking around.
It's about love. (Go on, call me cheesy, I know you want to.)
And it's something my life circles back to again and again.
When I was 16 I loved my boyfriend and I loved my best friend. And I didn't see much of a difference between those loves except I was having socially accepted sex with only one of them.
When I was about 19 my friends and I were quite open with one another. Relationships were more fluid than ever before or afterwards. It came with the partying and the utter absence of a readiness to settle down, I guess. With some people it was just about sex but there was a tightly knit group of people that actually loved each other. Naturally, we had no idea what we were doing and experimented the hell out of it. It was a damn sloppy mess and people got hurt in the process. And then we grew up and apart and returned to monogamy, mostly.
Since then about eight years have passed and for six of them I've been in the most serious relationship of my life. But polyamory has been on my mind. We got married last year. And still polyamory is on my mind. It's not a constant presence but it has been part of my inner conversation on and off again.
I am not currently in a polyamorous relationship. I am probably in what one might consider an open relationship but we find we still lack the words to properly describe this work in progress. It is definitely not monogamy. But it's a theoretical non-monogamy. And I'm fine with that because we just haven't met the right people yet. But at some point, I want to take it from concept to tangible.
Since this is running quite long already, I've decided to do this in two parts (at least). You just read pt 1. Now stay tuned for pt 2. In wich I will take you along on my little polyamorous daydream.
And please, please, my dearest lurkers - I know you're out there - this would be a good time to come out of hiding and give me some fucking feedback because I'm scared shitless about this as is :)
The hardest part is probably that I am somewhat scared of judgement this time. Which is funny since I talk openly about depression, my ADHD and my bisexuality which is in the process of morphing into multisexuality (think Jack Harkness minus the aliens). I have never ever been afraid of backlash or judgement regarding these parts of me. But this one... it's tough because it's a topic that might touch some people deep down at their core values and possibly even offend them much like some people are offended by gay marriage. Is that okay? Definitely not. But it's something that - even if they are not attacked nor affected by it - people might want to take a stand about. And it's something, I think, only a few people will be able to handle without judgement - be it uttered aloud or not. You might accept me through all my crazy and queer but what I'm going to tell you next might just be a bit too much to handle. I say might. Because, of course, I hope.
But here goes.
(I just had to take a fucking deep breath.)
I do not believe in monogamy.
I do not believe that love is finite.
I believe in compersion (more on that further along probably in another blog post but you can find some stuff about it on wikipedia).
I believe that even if it might not take a village to raise children, in the end a bunch of people loving them and being there and available for them might just be the most perfect thing in the world.
I believe (though I have no way of knowing for certain) that I am indeed polyamorous.
This is not the throwaway line of the cheater claiming that "humans aren't made for monogamy" to still their fighting conscience.
It isn't an excuse to just "shag around" a bit when marriage becomes boring.
Funny, I don't actually believe in swinging. I realise I might be influenced by the image of a bored 50ies married couple fooling around with the neighbours and people group shagging to the backdrop of some impeccably ugly 70ies wallpaper. Whatever the reason, it seems a bit ghastly to me to go and meet a couple with the purpose of exchanging bodily fluids. Or, gods forbid, even go to a club where couples gaze demurely at other couples with the distinctive plan of picking something that strikes their fancy, much like you would chose the prettiest grape from the fruit bowl and pop it in your mouth.
It is not about sex.
It's not about fucking around.
It's about love. (Go on, call me cheesy, I know you want to.)
And it's something my life circles back to again and again.
When I was 16 I loved my boyfriend and I loved my best friend. And I didn't see much of a difference between those loves except I was having socially accepted sex with only one of them.
When I was about 19 my friends and I were quite open with one another. Relationships were more fluid than ever before or afterwards. It came with the partying and the utter absence of a readiness to settle down, I guess. With some people it was just about sex but there was a tightly knit group of people that actually loved each other. Naturally, we had no idea what we were doing and experimented the hell out of it. It was a damn sloppy mess and people got hurt in the process. And then we grew up and apart and returned to monogamy, mostly.
Since then about eight years have passed and for six of them I've been in the most serious relationship of my life. But polyamory has been on my mind. We got married last year. And still polyamory is on my mind. It's not a constant presence but it has been part of my inner conversation on and off again.
I am not currently in a polyamorous relationship. I am probably in what one might consider an open relationship but we find we still lack the words to properly describe this work in progress. It is definitely not monogamy. But it's a theoretical non-monogamy. And I'm fine with that because we just haven't met the right people yet. But at some point, I want to take it from concept to tangible.
Since this is running quite long already, I've decided to do this in two parts (at least). You just read pt 1. Now stay tuned for pt 2. In wich I will take you along on my little polyamorous daydream.
And please, please, my dearest lurkers - I know you're out there - this would be a good time to come out of hiding and give me some fucking feedback because I'm scared shitless about this as is :)
being scared
"I'm scared right now, I'm just talking a lot so you can't tell." - Merlin Mann
I've been thinking all day today: Dear Universe, I'd like to read a book called "How to become a writer if you're scared shitless".
So I googled it.
Then I found Merlin Mann's talk from Webstock, which sort of comes close.
I have an inclination, a history and a habit of being scared. A lot. I'm not scared of spiders, I mean, I don't particularly like them, but they don't paralyze me. If there ARE spiders that can actually physically do that - just don't tell me. No, I'm not scared of bad stuff, at least not more than other people, I think. I'm scared of the good stuff.
I want to be a writer. But I'm scared of actually writing a book.
I want to make films. I'm scared of making a film. Hell, as far as I get is a screenplay!
Then I get scared and paralyzed and can't go on. But it's not like I can let go either.
But why would I be scared of creating something? Shouldn't that be something positive? Sure, if I lived up to expectations. Whose? Probably my own perfectionist view of myself.
But somehow I see a much bigger chance that I could create something that is complete and utter shit. And maybe my friends wouldn't have the heart to tell me and let me go on believing I made something fantastic. And how sad would THAT be? (btw if we're friends and you've read my stuff and you think it's shit: TELL ME!)
I feel like I don't have the tools (camera, lights, action) that I need to make something wonderful. But acquiring those tools scares me even more because then there'd be the possibility of failing under more favourable circumstances. See, that way I'd KNOW what I'd be doing and if I do it badly then... well then it would be even more my fault.
The funny thing is, my mother thinks I am over the top confident, to the point of arrogant. Yeah right. And although all I have are my words they desert me every single time she throws that in my face. If I had confidence in myself, in what I was doing, I'd actually have something to show for it. But she doesn't consider that. That I am constantly doubting myself to the point of paralysis. That what I do end up doing is never enough. Not for me. That a huge chunk of this specific blame goes to my parents for making me feel like success was just naturally to be expected. She doesn't remember it like that, but this is the memo that I continually got. And it is how I became this person ridden with fear. Fear of not being good enough.
And by not finishing anything I don't run the risk of finishing anything badly.
But really this is not an option anymore.
Mann shows an index card in his talk: "I was scared I wouldn't build anything important." He also shows AFP's index card "I was afraid that everybody would find out I was an inauthentic fraud performing my own life". This shit speaks to me.
But these people have done what they were scared of. And succeeded. I'm sure they sometimes failed too. I could fail. But then I already do that by giving up, don't I?
So I guess, this is the point where I, like Mann says, I have to start running through the shit storm. Because really, if I don't run, the shit is just going to cover me anyway with the distinction that I won't get out of it.
I'll start with a postcard (I don't have index cards at hand). And then I'll go write a little I think in oder to become less of a fraud.
Mann says "Everyone is scared shitless." I think he might be right but can't help wondering: Are they? Are you? What is it that scares you shitless? What is it that you want to do that scares you?
I've been thinking all day today: Dear Universe, I'd like to read a book called "How to become a writer if you're scared shitless".
So I googled it.
Then I found Merlin Mann's talk from Webstock, which sort of comes close.
I have an inclination, a history and a habit of being scared. A lot. I'm not scared of spiders, I mean, I don't particularly like them, but they don't paralyze me. If there ARE spiders that can actually physically do that - just don't tell me. No, I'm not scared of bad stuff, at least not more than other people, I think. I'm scared of the good stuff.
I want to be a writer. But I'm scared of actually writing a book.
I want to make films. I'm scared of making a film. Hell, as far as I get is a screenplay!
Then I get scared and paralyzed and can't go on. But it's not like I can let go either.
But why would I be scared of creating something? Shouldn't that be something positive? Sure, if I lived up to expectations. Whose? Probably my own perfectionist view of myself.
But somehow I see a much bigger chance that I could create something that is complete and utter shit. And maybe my friends wouldn't have the heart to tell me and let me go on believing I made something fantastic. And how sad would THAT be? (btw if we're friends and you've read my stuff and you think it's shit: TELL ME!)
I feel like I don't have the tools (camera, lights, action) that I need to make something wonderful. But acquiring those tools scares me even more because then there'd be the possibility of failing under more favourable circumstances. See, that way I'd KNOW what I'd be doing and if I do it badly then... well then it would be even more my fault.
The funny thing is, my mother thinks I am over the top confident, to the point of arrogant. Yeah right. And although all I have are my words they desert me every single time she throws that in my face. If I had confidence in myself, in what I was doing, I'd actually have something to show for it. But she doesn't consider that. That I am constantly doubting myself to the point of paralysis. That what I do end up doing is never enough. Not for me. That a huge chunk of this specific blame goes to my parents for making me feel like success was just naturally to be expected. She doesn't remember it like that, but this is the memo that I continually got. And it is how I became this person ridden with fear. Fear of not being good enough.
And by not finishing anything I don't run the risk of finishing anything badly.
But really this is not an option anymore.
Mann shows an index card in his talk: "I was scared I wouldn't build anything important." He also shows AFP's index card "I was afraid that everybody would find out I was an inauthentic fraud performing my own life". This shit speaks to me.
But these people have done what they were scared of. And succeeded. I'm sure they sometimes failed too. I could fail. But then I already do that by giving up, don't I?
So I guess, this is the point where I, like Mann says, I have to start running through the shit storm. Because really, if I don't run, the shit is just going to cover me anyway with the distinction that I won't get out of it.
I'll start with a postcard (I don't have index cards at hand). And then I'll go write a little I think in oder to become less of a fraud.
Mann says "Everyone is scared shitless." I think he might be right but can't help wondering: Are they? Are you? What is it that scares you shitless? What is it that you want to do that scares you?
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