I’ve taken a short break for the past two days. I went for an interstate drive and visited friends. There’s something about getting out of one’s own home for a while to recharge, vent, decompress. Anyway, it’s been quite nice, relaxing. We spent most all of yesterday watching old Josef von Sternberg flicks starring Marlene Dietrich and two movies starring Gene Tierney. They don’t make movies like those anymore, and by that I mean they don’t make movies as classy, cool, and glamorous… or as sexy, sassy. All very understated yet quite forceful and immensely entertaining. Quality stuff.
Garden Variety is piecing together in my head still, coming along here and there. I’ve got some visuals I know I want to see, as well as a few key plot-developing scenes. Several characters are beginning to coalesce as well, which is nice. I have a few anchors for my imaginings now, not just (seemingly) random bits and scenelets. One thing is still missing, and I’m glad of it. That is message/social commentary. I don’t want to know what the message is or might be construed to be until after someone else reads it. I am firmly of the opinion that message should always take a back seat to story while writing. That is it ought not be the goal of the story but should spring forth from it as a matter of structure and course. I absolutely detest preachiness of any kind in movies, unless those movies are documentaries. Seriously, the best way to deliver a message is to not let people know up front they’re getting one, to let it dawn on them as if it’s their own idea. That’s my opinion anyway. Let the story do its job. If it’s well crafted, it will deliver the goods. They may “get it” or they may not, but they won’t be able to say it was a bad story.
One a totally unrelated note, I didn’t sleep well last night. Memories of a very special woman in my life kept streaming through my mind. It was a brief affair, hers and mine. It kept me going at a time when I lacked direction, and the experience of having known and loved her (and having been loved by her)… made me a better man for it. She genuinely gave of herself, wholly. That kind of love can’t be forgotten. She was remarkable. She still is. Life proceeds and weaves apace, though. And so it goes.