How "The Help" Helped Me

Tonight I made a rare trip to the theater to see the film adaptation of "The Help." I read the book not too long ago. I didn't love it, but it was very nice. I mostly went because I adore Emma Stone and wish we could be best friends in real life. The film was pretty great, but what resonated most with me was just one of the end credits: "Based on the novel by Kathryn Stockett." This whole movie was made because one day a woman sat at her computer and began to type.

I started writing a novel almost exactly one year ago. It wasn't my first attempt. There are drafts written in pencil on college ruled notebook paper going back as far as second grade. And for my fifth grade yearbook ambition, I wrote that I wanted to be an author. In high school and college I cultivated my love for writing through creative writing classes, screenwriting classes, and other studies of what makes for a great story well-told. Once I got my first real job though, writing sort of took a back burner to bill paying and mindless TV watching.

While I was pretty much unemployed during the first part of 2010, I was finally able to exercise my long lost creativity. I started working on a script with a good friend of mine. We made it two-thirds of the way through a promising coming of age adventure story inspired in part by the Goonies before we hit a wall. Plot-wise we were stuck. And it was time for me to go back to work where I actually got paid. And so the story sat unfinished in the dark recesses of my aging laptop.

Since it was looking like that would never again see the light, I decided to once again try my hand at novel-writing. Screenwriting has so many rules. Relentless formatting, keeping descriptions succinct, letting directors and actors decide how a line should be delivered instead of instructing them, and what pitfalls to avoid lest your script appear juvenile. All that for little pay, less credit, and the joy of seeing your baby be torn apart by people who don't know a good script from their Aunt Mildred. With a novel, you can pretty much do whatever you want. Sure you have to keep to a basic story structure if you want it to be successful. But there is so much more you can do with tone, setting, and characters. You can really develop where you'd have to hold back in a script.

With this somewhat bitter attitude, I began my novel. It was semi-autobiographical even though the concept of a writer writing about themselves as if they are the most fascinating subject in the world irritates me. But you have to write what you know and just hope that others can relate. (That is, if you hate doing any kind of strenuous research, like me.)

I went back just now and read the first 11 pages. I only read 11 because that's as far as I got last September. But as I read those few pages, I was pretty damn proud of myself. Normally I go back and read something I wrote and cringe ever so slightly. But I made my future self laugh out loud! So now I'm inspired to go back and if not finish this book, at least keep heading in the right direction. Any progress is better than none.

Because some day I want to see "Based on the novel by C-------- H--------" on the big screen just like Kathryn Stockett. (Not that she's my new hero or anything. Tina Fey will always be number one. But I figure if she can do it, why can't I?)

The Bad Writers Club

One of my favorite subjects to write about is how much I hate writing. Actually that's a lie. I don't exactly hate it, I just never seem to do it. How can someone who claims to love something so much never get around to actually doing it? It's one of life's great conundrums. Ever since I graduated from school, I've had no one to hold me accountable for writing. I need deadlines, structure, and pressure from external influences. That's how this blog came about. But now that work has been crazy and I haven't had a lot of free time, it's been so easy just to watch Saturday Night Live on my Netflix, drink a pink lemonade vodka tonic (a cocktail I invented and call WHITE DIAMONDS!! which is a 30 Rock reference and not an homage to Elizabeth Taylor) and go to bed early.

WHITE DIAMONDS!!

Luckily, the other day I was purging my spam e-mails (as I am wont to do when not writing), and I discovered a notice from Meetup.com (which is not a dating site even though it totally sounds like anonymous kinky sex). They send me junk mail all the time because I'm too lazy even to unsubscribe. If you've never heard of it, it's how I discovered the Sally Tomatoes, my a cappella singing group which kicks complete and total ass. Whatever you're interested in, there's a group for that. It's great for when you just move to a city and don't know anyone and therefore have nothing to do. Usually the e-mails are about groups I have no interested in. Like the West Coast Custom Grill Enthusiasts Club, or the Batty Old Ladies Knitting and Competing over Grandchildren's Accomplishments, or the Skanky Sluts in Tiny Cocktail Dresses who Get Drunk on Smirnoff Ices and Say WOO a Lot. But this group was called the Bad Writers Club for LA Television writers. Whoa (not woo)! That's me! It's for writers with bad habits. Like not writing. Or not finishing what you start. Or getting distracted like a kitten with a bit o' string. I have all of those bad habits! These are my people!

Self-Portrait.

So even though I'm no longer a joiner by nature, after having burned myself out on extra-curricular activities in high school trying desperately to get into college, I joined the ranks of the Bad Writers. I might as well, seeing as I am their Queen, Pope, and Magistrate. Today is my first meeting with them at a "Coffee and Bitch" session in Westwood. But now that today is today, I'm kind of feeling over it already. After a long week which I can only describe with the terms, "Witness Protection," "Saudi Princess," and "Tila Tequila," I just want to retreat into Saturday Night Live (my current obsession and future goal to be a part of, whether it's host, cast member, head writer, sporadic contributing writer, or even just audience member). But the number one reason I don't want to go is because parking is a bitch in Westwood. I used to work there, so I know. And I won't go somewhere if I know parking sucks. Even on Sunday when I think the meters don't apply.

It's a rare occasion that I get to type these words.

So being lazy is preventing me from going to a meeting about lazy people. I'm procrastinating the meeting of Procrastinators Anonymous. I'll probably end up going because I made such a big deal out of the Bad Writers Club and how this is just the thing to get me off my ass and start writing. And I'd hate to disappoint my public (*waves condescendingly).