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I feel awful. Not all the time, but a lot of the time. Now. Probably most of the coming week. I don't know how to deal with it anymore, except in the most superficial ways. I'm having trouble writing, although when I do write it's fairly good - it's just that doing it seems pointless.
I feel good some of the time, and loved most of the time - not just by Ciro, but by a number of people in my class, and by some strangers. As a result of the work I've been doing, I have the kind of reputation almost everyone wants: as someone diligent, organized, and perceptive. People want to work with me; people want to hang out with me; people want to see the work I've done without them; people mull over even my rejected and uncompleted scripts. The class has taken me to its bosom in a way I didn't expect, and for which I am deeply thankful. When I focus on that or am surrounded by it, I don't feel peaceful, but neither am I terrified about the future.
Other times, I am. I don't have any idea how I'm going to pay off my loans after this. I don't know how to get regular paid work. I understand that I need to make friends with skillfull, connected people - which is easy for me, because they're the type of people I naturally like: confident, articulate and talented. I know that I need to do good work on films to build up a reel - which is easy because I like working on films and am in an environment where many are being made. The steps after that, I don't understand. I know there are festivals, but not what's worth sending to them, or how to exploit that exposure. I don't have the slightest idea what reasonable pay looks like. I don't have wealthy friends or a connection at a studio.
My documentary proposal was rejected, which hurt me much more than I thought it would. I'm used to rejections; among other things, I frequenly run afoul of the Blink problem - people don't tend to realize how much they like what I've said until hours, days, or months after I've said it. In snap decisions, I will always be told no. That's not something I know how to overcome. It means that in one sense I'm doing everything right - creating complex, original, thought provoking work which is building me a relatively passionate following. Nobody asks any more whether I'm an editor or cameraperson; I'm assumed to be a director foremost.
But I'm pessimistic about my chances of directing a film any time in the next year - any time a script panel has a say. The same originality, guts, and unusual perspective that would make you want to watch a film of mine in the first place also mean that without context a stranger won't immediately be able to imagine the film, no matter how well or how carefully I describe it. And if they can't instantly "see" it, it must not be filmic, and Romie why don't you write this as an essay instead, you're a great writer.
I know the fucking difference between a movie and a short story.
I feel good some of the time, and loved most of the time - not just by Ciro, but by a number of people in my class, and by some strangers. As a result of the work I've been doing, I have the kind of reputation almost everyone wants: as someone diligent, organized, and perceptive. People want to work with me; people want to hang out with me; people want to see the work I've done without them; people mull over even my rejected and uncompleted scripts. The class has taken me to its bosom in a way I didn't expect, and for which I am deeply thankful. When I focus on that or am surrounded by it, I don't feel peaceful, but neither am I terrified about the future.
Other times, I am. I don't have any idea how I'm going to pay off my loans after this. I don't know how to get regular paid work. I understand that I need to make friends with skillfull, connected people - which is easy for me, because they're the type of people I naturally like: confident, articulate and talented. I know that I need to do good work on films to build up a reel - which is easy because I like working on films and am in an environment where many are being made. The steps after that, I don't understand. I know there are festivals, but not what's worth sending to them, or how to exploit that exposure. I don't have the slightest idea what reasonable pay looks like. I don't have wealthy friends or a connection at a studio.
My documentary proposal was rejected, which hurt me much more than I thought it would. I'm used to rejections; among other things, I frequenly run afoul of the Blink problem - people don't tend to realize how much they like what I've said until hours, days, or months after I've said it. In snap decisions, I will always be told no. That's not something I know how to overcome. It means that in one sense I'm doing everything right - creating complex, original, thought provoking work which is building me a relatively passionate following. Nobody asks any more whether I'm an editor or cameraperson; I'm assumed to be a director foremost.
But I'm pessimistic about my chances of directing a film any time in the next year - any time a script panel has a say. The same originality, guts, and unusual perspective that would make you want to watch a film of mine in the first place also mean that without context a stranger won't immediately be able to imagine the film, no matter how well or how carefully I describe it. And if they can't instantly "see" it, it must not be filmic, and Romie why don't you write this as an essay instead, you're a great writer.
I know the fucking difference between a movie and a short story.
