So. The thing that was going on is that I’m no longer trying to write a screenplay for Homing. I tried for a year, but as the renewal date for the option approached it became increasingly clear to me that the producers and I just didn’t share a vision of the project. They kept asking questions about Nathan; I kept parrying those off. Nathan is a ghost, a possible figment of the protagonist’s imagination. He is not the protagonist; Homing is not Nathan’s story, much as they wanted it to be.
I knew the impasse had come one night when I sent myself an email from a friend’s house. “Sorry,” I said, “it’s just I have an idea for my screenplay and I don’t want to forget it.” And so I took a break from the dinner party to type myself a hasty email.
The next morning when I read it, I almost cried. “Maybe Leah does leave the house,” the email said. “Just to go to the store, or scurry to Charlotte’s. She’s always guilty when she does it, but maybe she does it anyhow.”
If you’ve read Homing, you know Leah leaving the house is not really in the cards, for a variety of what I think are pretty good reasons. And I know, a housebound protagonist doesn’t instantly scream great film, but then again, that’s what the book is, so if a producer reads it, loves it and wants to make a film of it, they should come to the process aware that the whole housebound thing is a thing, you know?
Anyhow, I did, I almost cried. I couldn’t believe I was ready to sell out that part of my quiet little story.
So blah blah blah, I quit the project. It’s still going ahead… or at least, the company has renewed its option for the next year, and has the option to renew again after that. God knows who will write it. Maybe someone great. Maybe they’ll make a masterpiece of it. Or maybe it’ll be The Lovely Bones.
Regardless, I am done. And that is that. And I am glad to be free of it. I will make a shed and deck in the side yard with the money from the option and that’s a tangible positive out of it.
And next time I’ll know better.
Meanwhile, I dig in the garden, dirt under my nails, pulling goutweed and planting anemones. Tomato plants line up awaiting their new home. Ants are farming aphids on the climbing rose and the wild raisin. Who knew they farmed aphids? They’ve been sprayed with dish soap and we’ll see what happens. All the while, Fallsy Downsies grows too.
You win some, you lose some.
Nothing for months and then two posts in one day? Whiskey Tango Foxtrot, you may well ask.
There have been things going on about which I have not wanted to write. And in such circumstances my default is always not to write at all. I am very good in my living life at pretending that things I wish weren’t happening simply aren’t (this is how I’ve lived for a year and a half with a big hole in my living room ceiling and two or maybe three years now with a jagged hole where my basement door used to be. Living in a pre-Confederation house is fun! The holes are part of the decor! La la la, nothing to see here! Straighten the throw pillows and invite House Beautiful over!), but I am terrible at keeping stuff out of my writing. If I’m thinking about it, before long I’m writing about it, and I don’t know if you know this, but the Internet is not great at discretion.
So…cryptic, I know. And everything’s fine. And that’s all I’ll say about that for the moment.
I am writing, which is good. Every day, seven hundred and fifty words. And I think I’m going to do this, and I haven’t decided if that means an additional eight hundred words a day or what. I just found out about it today and yoga didn’t happen today, which means it’ll need to happen all the other days this week. No problem.
I applied for funding from whatever it is they call the body that replaced the Nova Scotia Arts Council. I wrote my application while on a giant road trip across the continent. And since I sent it, I’ve been thinking of all the things I SHOULD have said in the application. So we’ll see how that goes. Anyhow, I think it would be good to finish Fallsy Downsies by the end of 2011, and it seems the best approach is to get myself some time.
Not much else to say. For now. But if you know anyone who fixes holes in ceilings and where basement doors used to be, you know, send them over.
It’s always interesting to see what brings people to this website. And lately, it’s my husband. Literally, it’s people doing web searches on the phrase “stephanie domet’s husband.” I find this hilarious. It can only be because last week on the radio, I mentioned that he’d been on tour for a million years and on the way home, almost got creamed by someone driving the wrong way on the highway and being chased by the cops. What a way to wrap up the tour! Anyhow, I mentioned him and it set off a flurry of googling, apparently.
This is doubly hilarious to me because his music rarely gets played on the local CBC, because of me. Because, as one of my employers once put it, when a request came in for his music one time, we wouldn’t want people to think that he’s getting an unfair advantage because of being married to the host. Oh ha ha. As if people could ever think that. If it’s an unfair advantage to never get played on the local shows that play music…the ones I host…well then, I guess he’s got that! Anyhow… if you’re curious about “stephanie domet’s husband” (and honestly, if you like writerly, thoughtful, catchy, awesome songs that will change your life, you should be) just click this link. And tell him I sent you.