Nothing is messier than creativity.
Not even a two year-old could ransack my apartment the way I can just getting ready for a staged reading.
Papers. Reference books. Cups of tea. Half-eaten bowls of microwave popcorn. And all of this scattered amidst the usual daily mess of dirty clothes and Duane Reade bags.
In general, I’m a pretty tidy person. A place for everything and everything in its place and all that.
Unless I’m on deadline.
I was once on deadline while staying with a friend who had a maid. That poor maid. I pitched in to help her clean up my mess and even gave her an extra twenty dollars for the trouble.
And, after writing my first screenplay a few years ago, my apartment looked like this:
Happily, a few months later, I ditched the typewriter and FINALLY got a computer. I’m a little slow on technology. Up until a few years ago, I still had a rotary dial phone.
Tonight I get ready for the shoot tomorrow and my apartment is covered in bits of cardboard as I try to create a prop. Elmer’s Glue Stick is all over my floor and my feet stick to the floorboards as I walk back and forth. My desk is completely covered in paperwork. Dishes are piled up in the sink. Laundry scattered all over the place. And, to be honest, I’m lucky I have such an understanding cat---though she’s starting to step dubiously through the cat box.
Despite the mess around me, my head is perfectly clear. Solutions to script problems come easily. I finally see the mistakes I made on page 17. And how to solve them.
Tonight my apartment stays messy for fear of disturbing the mental clarity too soon. It’s not that I don’t have a few minutes to clean---I just don’t want to disturb the lovely mess.
Well…except the cat box. Poor Bessie shouldn’t suffer for art.
I find myself rapidly losing interest in this blog. Twenty-six days ago, the journey seemed to have a purpose. Today, I suddenly feel completely cured. It must be how people feel at a certain point during therapy.
I've never been in therapy. Not very New York of me, I know. And I'm sure I (and probably everyone I know) could use it from time to time. In general, I tend to get thru things the old-fashioned way. By talking with my friends and family. And writing. That helps. I've written my way out of pretty much every problem I've ever had. For me, it works. Helps to clarify the situation. By turning myself and my problems into a character---I can view it from the outside. From a writer's standpoint. How do I get my character out of THIS situation?
And I'm a pretty good writer. My writer's sense is probably more finely tuned than any psychologist out there---after all, don't all psychologists get into the field so they can figure out themselves?
My fear is that I would wind up with a therapist who wasn't as smart as me. Writing and filmmaking are essentially problem-solving mediums. And therapists are always touting that they don't solve your problems---you solve them yourself. So unless the therapist is a better writer than me...I think I can figure out my exit and the transition to the next scene all by myself, thank you.
I don't think there's any therapist out there who thinks outside of the box as much as me. I'm not saying there wouldn't be a point where their services would come in handy---but for a simple matter of Artistic Scurvy, well...I think I've cured myself.
Really. I think I'm done with my therapy. This has been great and it's been really nice knowing you, but I really think I'm cured.
However, like penicillin, I suppose I should complete the full dose.
I said 30 Days and you're going to get 30 Days.
Apparently, it's in the contract. Missed appointment fee, or something like that. So I'll show up. Can't promise you much---being that I'm cured and all. But I'll be there. If that's what I'm supposed to do.
Please don't take it personally. You've been a great therapist and I'll recommend you to all my friends.
Just send me the bill. I'll try not to lose it in the mess on my desk.
But a mess is a good thing, right?
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