Reframing, Slow Going, and the Essence of Something
It has been a minute. Actually, it hasn’t really been that long as previous gaps have been between entries. I’ve been trying to stay on top of writing while moving across the country, and during a new job. I am just not the kind of person who can wake up in the morning before work and write, but all of that may need to change. I’ve been saying for too long that I need a set time to write, an appointment I keep with myself. And I understand that not everyone does that, but I really don’t know how I’m going to be writing consistently otherwise. I come home from sitting in the office all day and I’m drained. I’ve been squeezing writing in, instead of having that consistent time. And I understand that’s the way it is sometimes, but I’ve really got to try and put the hours in if I can do it.
Writing for any time at all is a joy. It means something to be able to do it, even for a brief time per day. I wrote for 15 minutes last night. Instead of berating myself for not writing longer as I used to do, I’m going to reframe my thinking and say at least it was a good 15. I got the software open. I got my eyes on a project. And I feel like partly due to this reframing, I’ve the left the purity of the doing and the sparks of creativity and inspiration intact where I’ll be more inclined to open my software again and spend a longer time writing the next time I get the chance.
At this rate, though, completing my next script is going to take three years. And that happens sometimes, but I’d really like to be able to knock out another first draft of something by the end of the year. I’ve been working on the same page of something for two to three weeks. It’s an action scene, so I’m refining the action lines, taking a break, and going back to something else, refining it again. And I feel like I’ve been getting closer and closer to what I’m really trying to say. But this is taking a long time. I feel like I can see most seasoned writers reading this and shaking their heads, not surprised.
To sort of change the subject, I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the essence of a thing. Whether through taking pictures, editing, or screenwriting, I feel like what I’ve been trying to capture is the essence of what I’m seeing or feeling; the gleam that compels me to capture that thing in the first place. For example, when taking pictures, this will often involve adjusting the frame or the camera angle before I snap the photo, to eliminate details that aren’t relevant to the quality of the scene that’s compelled me to point my camera and click.
If I’m captivated by the façade of an old Victorian house, maybe the façade is all I need to take a picture of. Maybe I don’t need the walkway, the hedges, and the mailbox in the shot. And then it’s like, what about the façade compelled me to take the picture? The weathered look of the walls? The masonry? The color of the building? How can you capture the excitement of that feeling and convey that in an image?
What has helped me take better pictures is the question of what I’m taking a photo of and why. I always try to ask myself that when I’m captivated enough by something to stop and take a shot. It’s the moment where I can’t put that feeling into words, but a detail of something sparks my attention, and I’m like, ooooh. And I stop and I take my camera out and I really try and assess before I take a picture of the thing. And I ask myself, “what are you taking a picture of, and why?”
|I’ve found a lot of it comes down to subjectivity. I like the way something looks. But taking the time to stop and assess what made me take the picture has been important. That step has allowed me to refine my vision, to be in touch with things I like as a photographer and person. I’ve found I appreciate pops of color. The presence of light in certain surroundings, how it adds depth, richness, and mood to settings. But I don’t think of any of this when I take a picture. I just think, “oooh, that looks pretty!” Any insight happens with reflection after.
I hope I never lose this enthusiasm. It’s my inner five-year-old coming out. And say what you want about allowing your inner child to run free when you’re an adult, but her joy and curiosity has helped me keep my eye to the lens and snap hundreds of pictures over the course of two and a half years, and I’ve discovered a new relationship to the world as a result.