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jakebeI was (mostly) working from the time I got up yesterday: after dropping off R. at the airport, I came back and meditated, had breakfast, and dived into the day job. There were a few moments of downtime where I watched an old BBC documentary about the end of the world, but mostly it was making sure the SOs I had worked on previously were buttoned up as well as they could be. Once K. came home from the office, it was right to the gym for our back workout. Then, the local Apple Store to pick up his new Macbook Pro and back home, where I could NOT handle the dirty dishes in the kitchen anymore.
At that point I was too tired for anything else, so it was vegging until bed. One of the habits I'm coming to seriously dislike is the endless scroll, where I'm looking for something to watch but nothing sounds good -- so I end up scrolling through a bunch of stuff without really taking in any of it. Once I'm left to my own devices I get somewhat paralyzed by choice. There's a lot of stuff that could be good, but it won't scratch whatever vague itch I'm feeling.
I think, in the future, when I catch myself mindlessly refreshing and scrolling YouTube (or any streaming service for that matter), I'll just stop and ask what I'd really like to be doing. I get the feeling I'm looking for something numbing that will keep me in a free-floating headspace where I can just coast on autopilot. I'm not even sure auto-pilot is what I want; it's just a comfortable void for me to sink into when I'm done with everything else.
We did watch Twin Peaks last night. Season 2, Episode 7: sometimes called "Lonely Souls". It's a big one, written by creator Mark Frost and directed by Lynch himself, and where Laura's killer strikes again -- revealing their identity to the audience in the process. The murder sequence is wrapped around the main setting for the final act, the Bang-Bang Bar, where Julie Cruise lulls us into a trance with her low-key, hypnotic singing. Suddenly, the Giant appears to Cooper and tells him "It is happening again." We see the murder before coming back to the bar, where Bobby, Donna, and James are crying. It feels like they're experiencing the psychic trauma of Laura's murder all over again, which is a note I hadn't caught before.
This rewatch really confirms how firmly Twin Peaks is lodged into my storytelling sensibilities, and how much influence he has over my instincts. I see Lynch as primarily a vibes-based director who happily abandons logic and realism to achieve the specific nightmarish vibe he's going for. Talking over it with K. this morning, I was really surprised to learn he spent most of the murder scene annoyed at the victim's stereotypical slasher-movie behavior -- screaming, running, flailing, instead of escaping. That's something I can take as an artifact of the time, or at least a minor quibble, just because the scene itself is so disorienting and viscerally disturbing. It caught me off guard that the victim's unbelievable terror killed the scene for him, and I found myself trying to defend it as if it were my own choice.
And this is a problem I'm mortally terrified of in my own writing; carefully setting something up toward a load-bearing scene that captures the emotional heart of what I'm doing, only to find out that some simple oversight kills it stone dead for the audience. It's also a good reminder that you can do a LOT to get people to buy into the scene, but there's always going to be a disconnect for someone. You just do the best you can to get the effect you want, and learn how to do it better next time.
Today promises to be another full day. Work, then gym, then dinner and a movie with E., a new friend I've come to really like. He sees me as the "cool mom" between R. and I, and that's a designation I'll happily accept. He loves musicals more than I do, so I'm not sure what we'll watch tonight -- but that's almost beside the point. Just spending the time will be fun.
At that point I was too tired for anything else, so it was vegging until bed. One of the habits I'm coming to seriously dislike is the endless scroll, where I'm looking for something to watch but nothing sounds good -- so I end up scrolling through a bunch of stuff without really taking in any of it. Once I'm left to my own devices I get somewhat paralyzed by choice. There's a lot of stuff that could be good, but it won't scratch whatever vague itch I'm feeling.
I think, in the future, when I catch myself mindlessly refreshing and scrolling YouTube (or any streaming service for that matter), I'll just stop and ask what I'd really like to be doing. I get the feeling I'm looking for something numbing that will keep me in a free-floating headspace where I can just coast on autopilot. I'm not even sure auto-pilot is what I want; it's just a comfortable void for me to sink into when I'm done with everything else.
We did watch Twin Peaks last night. Season 2, Episode 7: sometimes called "Lonely Souls". It's a big one, written by creator Mark Frost and directed by Lynch himself, and where Laura's killer strikes again -- revealing their identity to the audience in the process. The murder sequence is wrapped around the main setting for the final act, the Bang-Bang Bar, where Julie Cruise lulls us into a trance with her low-key, hypnotic singing. Suddenly, the Giant appears to Cooper and tells him "It is happening again." We see the murder before coming back to the bar, where Bobby, Donna, and James are crying. It feels like they're experiencing the psychic trauma of Laura's murder all over again, which is a note I hadn't caught before.
This rewatch really confirms how firmly Twin Peaks is lodged into my storytelling sensibilities, and how much influence he has over my instincts. I see Lynch as primarily a vibes-based director who happily abandons logic and realism to achieve the specific nightmarish vibe he's going for. Talking over it with K. this morning, I was really surprised to learn he spent most of the murder scene annoyed at the victim's stereotypical slasher-movie behavior -- screaming, running, flailing, instead of escaping. That's something I can take as an artifact of the time, or at least a minor quibble, just because the scene itself is so disorienting and viscerally disturbing. It caught me off guard that the victim's unbelievable terror killed the scene for him, and I found myself trying to defend it as if it were my own choice.
And this is a problem I'm mortally terrified of in my own writing; carefully setting something up toward a load-bearing scene that captures the emotional heart of what I'm doing, only to find out that some simple oversight kills it stone dead for the audience. It's also a good reminder that you can do a LOT to get people to buy into the scene, but there's always going to be a disconnect for someone. You just do the best you can to get the effect you want, and learn how to do it better next time.
Today promises to be another full day. Work, then gym, then dinner and a movie with E., a new friend I've come to really like. He sees me as the "cool mom" between R. and I, and that's a designation I'll happily accept. He loves musicals more than I do, so I'm not sure what we'll watch tonight -- but that's almost beside the point. Just spending the time will be fun.
