Undesireable #1

I recently read that the Masters Degree is the new Bachelors Degree, that anything less won't make the cut. A lovely little factoid, isn't it? Something to mull over while you can't sleep after the stress and anxiety has kicked in.

I am a girl that has always sworn by my New York driver's license, that I will never leave the city, that I couldn't live outside of the five boroughs. And yet I have found that I am now in a desperate need for a change of pace. I need a break. If I could, I would just pack my bags and move back to Europe - live for a while in a completely different place, get my feet wet again.

I have never seriously considered doing something other than writing since I started college. Not ever. Not in a million years. And now that I am out of school, now that I am ready to put my degree to work, the only thing that I can think to do is anything but. I am now kicking myself for not being practical, for not getting that degree in International Affairs or Politics. Maybe then I'd have a job doing something that matters. Maybe then I would be making a difference. Maybe then I would be changing someone's life.

Maybe I'm just losing it.

E

The Job Crunch

So, to keep my sanity levels in check, I have decided that I must live under the assumption that I am the norm for young writers. And by norm, I mean unemployed.

Is there some sort of twisty trick to making this unfortunate reality go away? Just disappear? Because currently I am sitting in an apartment that I can barely afford trying to figure out a way to make my job application - out of all of the thousands that these companies are getting - seem worth while. I am one VERY small fish in one VERY large pond.

And by fish I mean amoeba. And by pond I mean ocean.

On one hand, this lets me live a great New York life. I go out of town almost every weekend and I have plenty of time to write for my self. I get to set my own schedule and act as my own boss. And - for the first time - I can get a tan AND work at the same time.

But there comes a point when none of this pays, when my ConEd bill comes and I have to figure out how to dish out the extra cash to support my AC habit. What then?

-E

A Sickeningly New Low

... I over slept. For the second time in my adult life. SECOND. I never over sleep. Ever. I hate it. Missing things is a major pet peeve of mine.

And what did I do?

I drugged up on NyQuill last night and went comatose for a solid twelve - 12! - hours.

Now, this wouldn't have been so bad if I didn't have a really important meeting for a business project that I've been asked to work on. And the kicker: I was supposed to meet the President/CEO for breakfast - a girl I have never met. Great first impression, right?

-E

50/50

I am very hit or miss with Seth Rogan, but I really freaking want to see this! I feel like it's going to be one of those "tear your heart out and then make you cry with joy" movies...



-E

Writing to a Beat

I've come to find myself only writing to Fleetwood Mac, Carly Simon, and Joni Mitchell ... is this normal?

-E

Day 3: A New Project!

Being on my third day in Unemployment-Land, I have officially started work on a new writing project. For the past few weeks I have been doing little ditty writing exercises here and there to clear my mind from my last screenplay, but now I am finally ready.

The plan: write an impossibly low-budget, Indie script set in New York. And I mean LOW budget. Nothing extraneous. Nada. Something very prosaic, where it's all about the people. Stripped to the bare bones of human interaction. I've never written with production in mind, so it'll be a different vantage point. I want it to be accessible to low-budget directors and producers, young artists like me looking to make a break.

I love the last two scripts that I've written, but they are by no means "low budget" - they involve wars and nuclear power plants, armies and European travels. This will not be that.

The Goal: Work long enough and hard enough to have a solid draft finished by July 1. 30 days and change for 120 pages ... oy!

I'm taking up the life of a real freelancer, writing from 9am-5pm, with only a break for lunch and errands half way through. I will be a slave to my computer, regardless of the bright sunny weather gloating me from outside my window (such as the case right now).

This is now my job, so stay tuned...

-E

Is This Real Life?

I am unemployed. I am broke. I am an artist. Today, it all feels official.

For the first time in my life I have the time to write what I want, whenever I want. No master, no authority figure. On one side, it is liberating; the only rules and bounds that I face are those that I have set for myself. The other side of the coin, however, comes with a world of uncertainty and fear.

Writing is great, but paying my rent is even greater.

A travel journal, originally, this place has seen all sides of my opinions and view points - from my thoughts on Glee to Pat Robertson - so now, it is time for another shift. This will be my outlet, a portal into the life of a nobody Brooklyn writer trying to become a somebody.

For some preliminary information about my writing side, I am a film, theatre, and television writer with an odd love of pretentious literary fiction (I do hold a BFA after all, so it comes with the territory). I am terribly opinionated. I like what I like, and when I really hate something I always have a reason. Hate then, is separate from appreciation. I can appreciate a piece and yet truly hate the way it is written (cough, Virginia Woolf, Gertude Stein, cough), and I think that this is a necessary awareness for all writers. Appreciation of voice. Because, answer me this: what is a writer without their voice?

-E

[yes, I am aware I used "their" for "his or her" - I hate that gender neutral thing.]

Wilde+Jerz=Classic

The dramatic writer in me is doing summersaults of joy right about now...

AND THERE ARE 5 OF THEM!!!

-E

Jane Austin + Tom LeFroy

I am a sucker for passion in movies, and these scenes from Becoming Jane have to be some of my absolute favorites. I think that this entire film is just a great example of how to show a love story without being trite or frilly.

Check 'em out!





-E

The National Book Critics Circle Announces Award Winners

The National Book Critics Circle Announces Award Winners

Woo! So glad Freedom didn't win ... now on to checking out Skippie Dies and A Visit From The Goon Squad...

-E

"It's an insane thing, to write a play."

One day, as we all sat around our lounge, sipping cappuccinos, Michael West said to us, "It's an insane thing, to write a play." There we were, aspiring playwrights living in Ireland, about to start the unthinkable - write a play. We must have been mad, loons, all of us. Needless would Michael know that three weeks later he'd be winning the Irish Times Theatre Award for Best New Playwright. An insane thing, yes.

Sitting in my living room now, six months later and living back in New York City, I think I'm fully starting to realize the extent of those words. Being a writer, trying to create a world. It's an insane thing. I have completed two stage plays in my infant career (a one act, and a two act), and now that I am facing the reality of writing my second full length screenplay, I can't help but go back to those words. Have I lost my mind?

The only thing that is keeping me calm is - I think - the fact that I now personally know a successful writer. I spent 18 weeks with him, I drank coffees and pints with him, I talked about Simba and Hamlet with him. And now his success is becoming a reality. Michael's latest work, Freefall, is premiering at the Abbey Theatre in Dublin later this month, and I can't help but sit here in awe. I know him. I know the flesh and blood man that wrote that play, those words. If you don't know, the Abbey Theatre is the end-all, be-all of theatre in Ireland; it's the National Theatre, the hot tamale of the stage world. 

To think, Michael made an insane thing sane. He wrote a play. He did what I dream to do.  And now, all I can think is how much I want to be there to see it come to a reality, to watch that show grace the main stage of the Abbey in it's full fruition. 

Is truly is, an insane thing.

-E

Words From A Sudo-Pretentious Writer ...

I go to art school, I've gone to Tisch, and therefor I have a defacto air of pretension surrounding me. As much as I hate it, it is something that I am aware of and embrace wholeheartedly, but I do attempt to do everything in my power to supress my "know it all" urges.

This is not one of those times.

Being a writer is hard. It is work. End of story. It is something that you have to study and work at every day. It takes talent and skill and discipline, so it angers me when people think that they can do it, too. What has prompted my frustration, you might ask? Well, it's been a general mash-up of things, honestly. It's the pre-med student that thinks putting sentences together is easy, the architect that insists Waiting for Godot is a spiritual metaphor, or the uncle/aunt/insert-elder-here that says, "Oh, I've lived a crazy life, if I could I'd take 6 months off and write a novel." Yes. Because writing is that easy. I want to tell that person, "You do that. In fact, why don't we switch places, and while you're taking that six months off I'll go run your investment firm on Wall Street."

People forget that writing is actually a field of work, an art form. There is a reason I am earning a Bachelors of Fine Arts IN Writing. It is because I have worked and studied the craft for four years, just as a doctor has studied medicine and a business executive has studied business. So yes, I find it insulting when someone else says that they can do it too, "if only they had the time." We would all do anything if we had the time. I would be a surgeon - if I had the time - but you don't see me cutting into people just because I've watched the Health Channel one too many times.

Get into a conversation about a story or a novel or a movie with a writer and chances are you will get a debate. It's not a conscious thing; that's the way our brains work. We analyze and judge and criticize anything that makes an attempt at telling a story. If someone out there has found a way to turn that part of their brain off, then please, let me know! I do not say that a TV show/movie/book sucks because my life goal is to rain on your parade or because I think that I am smarter or more intelligent. I say that a TV show/movie/book sucks because it is conventional or stock or unintelligent. I say that a plot is cliche because it is, and nine times out of ten, I've seen Faulkner, Joyce, Saunders, O'Connor, Murakami, Marquez, Pamuk, MacDonagh, Wilder, or Beckett do it better.

-E

The TED Is Coming to Pratt!

One of my favorite addictions (that I will opening admit to) is coming to Pratt this year! That's right, world -- the TED!

Who, pray tell, are they inviting, you might ask? Well, I'll just tell you ...

• Hosts
• Scott Heiferman
• Chris Kazi Rolle
• Speakers
• Dr. Haresh Lalvani
• Barbara Bush
• Nelson George
• Swoon
• Ben Bronfman
• Daniel Iglesia
• Dr. Prabhjot Singh
• Karl Chu
• DJ Spooky
• Nate Ball
• Ami Dar
• Tracie Morris -- (my old studio professor!)
• Sam Cochran
• Dr. Mitchell Joachim
• Fabien Cousteau
• William Katavolos

This is epid. That's right. EPID. I can't wait.

-E

Michael West still dominates my life.

I'm just saying.

Here is his latest interview, describing his play Freefall from Edinburgh ... by far one of the best professors that I've ever had.

-E

An Insult To ... Everything.

The only thing worse than this poster is the actual movie.

I will opening admit that I loved the series. I own the DVDs; I remember watching the series finale when I should have been studying for an exam. I've been rooting for it from the get-go. I even stood by and repeatedly watched the first movie and I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy it (Charlotte shitting her pants, aside). So, I went with 3 of my girlfriends after work and caught the Court Street 4:20 today, hoping for -- at the very least -- some high fashion.

Unfortunately, I didn't even get that.

First off, let me start by saying that I was offended and embarrassed as a women and as an woman. The constant repitition of "gay wedding" was completely unnecessary, uncalled for, and out of character. Awesome, two men are getting married. This shouldn't be a huge shock for them. The level of offense only continued to rise and then explode throughout the entire UAE section. On the whole, the 4 characters played completely into the trashy American stereotype imaginable, but Samantha was by far the worst. I can usually forgive her character, but this took thinks too far. Her actions were inexcusable under any circumstance. 

Where did the smart writing go? Their once quippy, smart dialog was downgraded to poorly placed puns that happened about once ever 20 frames (Lawrence of my Labia ... seriously, MKP? seriously?). And EVERYTHING was a cliche. I mean everything. The only moment that held any essence of the original series was when Charlotte and Miranda were mulling over the plight of motherhood. Until it was ruined with a line about those poor unfortunate mothers who get by without their, "help." 

These 4 women used to be strong, independent, relatable! And now? Maybe it's just me, but as a struggling student, writer, and New Yorker I couldn't feel anything but abhorrence towards them and their "oh look at me, I'm rich but still have problems," attitudes. Give me a break!

Finally, on a more superficial level, the clothes were either boring or atrocious. I was expecting to be wowed with a moving Vogue ad, but instead I was left with monotonous cliches or blinding gaudiness.

The only 3 things that brought me joy:

1.) The Danish man's body.

2.) Carrie's Butler's personality.

3.) Miranda's happiness.

The top 3 things that brought me pain:

1. The Arab women changing their clothes.

2. Samantha's purse dropping sequence.

3. Carrie leaving her passport (seriously?!).

I'll usually see any movie twice. Sex and the City 2? Not unless forced.

-E

You should read this book...

I know that I will. Just look at the cover. It's incredibad. And by that, I mean wonderful.

-E

Krapp's Last Tape, Gate Theatre

Tonight was the opening preview of Beckett's Krapp's Last Tape at the Gate Theatre here in Dublin, and I have to say that I still don't quite know what to say aside from the obvious: spectacular.

I do have to preface this by saying that I have never seen a Beckett play live, so this was an overall first. The feeling you get is strange, surreal even. I found myself becoming hyper-sensitive to my surroundings. Every sound mattered. Every feeling meant something. During the performance, I found myself thinking about the time and how long the performance was, and then the overhead went out and, like a fleeting moment, it was over all too soon.

Michael Gambon owned the stage as Krapp, a 69 year old curmudgeon in the process of recording the final tape of his life. The lighting, wardrobe, and set were absolutely wonderful. The desk, specifically, lived up to my expectations.

As far as Gambon's performance was concerned: Nearly flawless. The way his tone shifted between recordings and reality was right on cue. His shuffling was appropriate and consistent; his facial expressions were priceless.

Something towards the end did specifically catch my attention, though. Krapp croaked, "begin again, begin again."

Now, if I am remembering the text correctly, the line should have been "be again, be again," so I am torn between two worlds: understanding and confusion. I have to believe that everything that happens on a stage is intentional (and I have the faith in Gambon to up hold that standard) but I also know that the Beckett Estate is not the friendliest of establishments. Adjusting Beckett simply isn't done.

After only an hour of sitting in the Gate, I found myself wanting more, needing more. I wanted to know what further pain Krapp could suffer and how his life would go on, another day without his wife.

AND WE SAW MICHAEL GAMBON AFTER THE SHOW AND IT WAS AMAZING.
THE END.

-E

Dear Mr. Martin McDonagh,

Dear Mr. Martin McDonagh,

I am a screenwriter and would like to be your intern/personal assistant.

Is there any chance you'll be staying in the New York Metro Area until your play finishes (or maybe even through Tony season)? If so, I would thoroughly enjoy working with you for free.

Also, I feel as if I can relate to Katurian's need to sacrifice his self for his craft in The Pillowman and would love to hear your thoughts on the matter.

I look forward to hearing from you.

Sincerly,

Emily M. Ventker

PS. I'm a big fan.
PPS. Do you know Sara Keating from The Irish Times?
PPPS. She's my professor.
PPPPS. You + Me + Fintan O'Toole = coffee date?
PPPPPS. Do you know Michael West?
PPPPPPS. He's my professor, too.

Pitch 'n' Putt with Joyce 'n' Beckett

because this makes the literary nut in me squeal...

This Week In Review

So, the week is almost at an end so I thought I’d do my best to fill the void with an update.

Sunday:
We made friends with random people in our hostel -- aka 3 guys from Sri Lanka, a guy from Namibia, and then a Parisian from Gambon who confessed his love for me after about 10 minutes. His name was Barton and he looked like Djimon Hounsou.

Monday:

The Huntarian Museum at the University of Glasgow was closed for the 3rd day in a row, so Jaime and I wandered around the city for the entire day. Found these really awesome bridges and ended up wandering through the equivalent of Scottish New Jersey on the North Side of the city. It was pretty epic. There is photo documentation. Then we saw A Single Man and I fell in love. It was wonderful.

Tuesday:

We took a cab to Glasgow airport at 0500, only to arrive at 5:30 and learn that we were in fact at the wrong airport (no one bothered to correct us). So we ended up taking a £100 cab ride to the correct airport an hour away and luckily got there just before the gate closed. Then after security they weighed our bags (which has never happened before) and we ended up having to pay £35 each for carry-ons that the flight crew didn’t even check. We finally got back to our flat in Dublin around 0900, just in time for Jaime to get to class. Thus ... the actual day began.

Went to lunch at Chorus, where we ran out of time so Sirus let us take our plates and silverware to class and then bring it back. It was pretty great. Kerry and I just walked in to Susanne’s class with these massive plates of omelets and chips ... people were jealous and we were full. In class I had to suffer the torment that was the movie Adam and Paul, and I’m pretty sure I am the only person that hated it with a burning passion. In a word: boring. I just wrote a review on it, so I might share my thoughts in a little bit, have no fear.

Then around 0930 Steven and Kristen finally got here (apparently the immigration guys looked me up in the computer to varify that they were staying with me and that I was a valid temporary citizen -- WEIRD) and we went to grab a pint over at Farrington’s. The music was great, but not gonna lie, we were dead. The day felt like a week.

Wednesday:

Fintan O’Toole came and spoke to us. It was pretty epic. I’ll be honest though, since he’s a theatre critic and all I definitely thought he was going to be talking to us about, you know, Irish theatre, but the entire thing ended up being about post-Celtic Tiger Ireland. It was incredibly interesting, actually, and I really want to read his new book now. After class Steven and I skyped into our first Orientation Meeting back at Pratt and were pretty amused. It was a fun time, seeing people and thinking about all the stress that awaits us back in the states. Joy.

Thursday:
Oh, today. Did I mention that the first draft of my full length play is due in less than 24 hours? Fun, right? Not. Lies. All lies. I’ve been teetering page 56 for the past week and can’t seem to stretch things out any further so far. It’s awesome. So, instead, I am watching Eraser with Kristen and Steven, drinking my third cappuccino of the day, and eagerly awaiting my take-away from Queen of Tarts.

Tonight is going to be a looooooong night.

-E