Shouts From Down Under

Schindler's List; a masterpiece of doing what we can

Said it before.

I hate missing a blog. Or two.

I just watched Schindler's List tonight, yes first time I've ever seen it even though hearing so much about the movie, and the book.

Sometimes works such as this give me very strong doubts of my ability. It's not the writing. It's not the technicals of writing. It's not the ideas or lack of. It's not the characters being AWOL.

What it is that brings black gloom, is that I don't know how I could research my stories / books so well. The detail in movies such as this, and no doubt the novel itself, are mind boggling. it looks so real. You are immersed.

Some movies are an effort to really sink into their world. There's always some little thing that, while this is petty moaning and whinging, the little things disappoint. It's most likely the acting or script. They try too hard. Just a tiny whiff of that, and the magic is gone.

No wonder Directors (Direktors) are portrayed as such hot headed pedantic people always yelling CUT, and screaming and shouting to do this or that; to get that extra special realness into the actor or actresses voice, face, walk, mannerism, accent and so on must take special talent to marshall.

So it is with putting away these doubts. As a certified Nutter (Bi-polar 2) I'm allowed the odd black dog of despair moment, after all, it's all about mood swings. Some things in life, if we didn't get a bit depressed then we'd be as mechanical and boring as a lawn mower or a photo copier.
You don't see them having a bad mood. They do break down occasionally, but unless it's some sort of oil leaking out, I've never seen real tears.

When we doubt ourselves, it's best to face it head on. That's what I think. Say it.

I doubt myself, my ability to write well enough to not just "get published" but more importantly, well enough for someone to elbow you out of the way to read it.

We are best to remember times past when people did want to do this. They thought enough of our work to forget politeness, forget that they might be giving us a giant compliment, when they casually say, "well? what happens next?"
Or they might just say, "Yes I wish he'd hurry up and get it published so we could pay some bills around here!"

But of course, that's not always what people say, is it. And if we doubt ourselves, what hope have they got?

Yes, rush head on into the whys and wherefores of our downness. We have the means to write. We have many thousands of publishers out there we haven't submitted to yet. We can e publish. And this world is a big bonfire of material, just waiting to be dug up with pickaxe and shovel, pushed along in a coal truck on rails of purpose and determination to the surface of reality, ready to be emptied out at the end of the line, where people are lined up on either side of those tracks, some cheering, some with their hats out in need, some doffing their hats to us, some admiring, some with grim lips in a straight line. ("he will never be any good that boy. No, I always said he'd be a no hoper.")

The hand cart of optimism will be upended of our work, our writing, our masterpiece. Wether it's a pile of gold, a cloud of useless dust, or a giant bit of coal to give to naughty kids at Christmas time (other celebration for Jewish) , we made it to the end of the road, to the final destination.

Despite the black times of despair. Despite the laziness. Despite it being 1;24am.

Sparky