Wednesday, May 26, 2004 · posted at 11:10 PM
Evolution of the lazy writer.When I was younger, it was my dream to write a screenplay. There were many things that seemed ideal about writing screenplays. 1) You'd be invited to movie premieres and get to hobnob with stars while maintaining distance from celebrity gossip and tabloids, 2) I grew up on movies and often thought in terms of scene changes, voice-overs, fade-ins and outs, and 3) How hard could it be to write a manuscript that, when read aloud, totaled about 120 minutes?

Then I discovered that screenplays were all dialogue. I suck at dialogue.

Dialogue is all structured talking. To excel at dialogue, you probably have to be good at talking in real life. My penchant for talking to people on similar wavelengths as me has allowed me to get away with half-formed thoughts, horrible semantics and a lack of articulation due to numerous "you know"s. The problem is, when they DO know, it never has to be explicitly said. Also my wariness of people has inhibited the ability to hone my dialogue skills. I recently found out that when I call someone's cell phone, a graphic of people pops up, to which I can only attribute to 1) irony or 2) process of elimination – all the other logos were taken.

Following the screenplay debacle, I decided my true life’s passion was to write short stories. The problem for me with writing novels was that I never had the patience to follow it through until the end. I just wanted the story to be over, for everything to be resolved. Short stories suited my equally short attention span. Another advantage of short stories was that they could be incredibly obscure. One short story can yield thousands of analyses simply because there is not enough evidence in the story to support or refute any one theme or conclusion. I learned this in my introductory fiction class in college. I wrote a story about my childhood days playing on the signature 70’s orange carpet and how when I got older, my parents replaced the worn carpet with marble tiles. Someone in my group commented on the symbolism of the flooring – how the carpet was warm and welcoming to the child, while the carpet was cold and indicative of the transition that this was no longer a child’s play space.

Really, I was just writing about carpet.

As I read more books like Party of One and Sex, Drugs and Cocoa Puffs I decided that observational essays were really the way to go. Something like Autobiography of a Fat Bride would be ideal as she writes about her friends, family, job, etc. without constructing story arcs or plotlines. And it’s easiest to write what you know, right?

Aisha Tyler’s Swerve came out at the beginning of the year. It’s overall entertaining, humorous, insightful (and I say this with 90% honesty and 10% jealousy) despite a “what is this?” chapter (similar to Chuck Klosterman’s chapter on serial killers) on a friend’s experience with a foursome, and Tyler’s proclivity for motivational Samaritan talks about working out (it’s good for you and makes you feel good), charity (it’s a few hours of your life, but makes a world of difference) and women empowerment (be independent ladies – throw your hands up at me). Mostly when I read the book, though, I thought, “I’ve said this!” and “I can do this!” Tyler even runs off on tangents for pages (hello, “but I digress?” It’s like looking at my writing in the mirror!). Publishers Weekly writes that Tyler uses “Countless meditative, incomplete sentences, words such as ‘fergawdsakes,’ italics, witty footnotes and parenthetical commentaries.”

I’m shocked that those aren’t Banshee-patented.

Reading Swerve inspired me to believe that I, too, could publish my own low-culture manifesto or reckless observations. Then I realized that I’m currently ranting to an audience of four for free. What makes me think that a publisher, let alone a consumer, would pick up a book about my reflections of the world when I’m not a 6-foot Maxim 100 beauty, comedian, ex-Talk Soup host and recurring guest star on Friends?

Damnit. It's my turn to say damnit.

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