Vampires.

Dear reader,
In an attempt to avoid hyperbole, I'll tell you that words like "train wreck" and "nuclear meltdown" could be used to describe the week in which I'm currently mired. Read the preceding text as if I'm speaking in a British accent, please.

So, instead, let me talk about vampires. You heard me, vampires. I've had two awesome vampiric artistic (ish) experiences recently that I've loved in very very different ways. The first is the film, Let the Right One In. This is a Swedish horror movie that some of my lovely work friends and I went to see in Kendall Square this past weekend. It was so sparse and cold looking, with that specifically northern loneliness that can only be visually communicated through shots of snow at night. Really gorgeous. I didn't know what the hell I thought of the movie after I left the theater, but a few hours later I decided that I'm crazy about it. It was so heartfelt and innocent, but also really filled with torment and grief, but in the end, it was a love story.


A real weirdo love story, but a love story. Go see it, but not if you're feeling kind of strange to begin with. If you're feeling strange, rent Anchor Man.

The second stop in our vampiric journey is...yup, you guessed it, the Twilight series. Guys. Seriously? What's going on? I loved the first book and am buying the second today. Am I fourteen? It's crack.



BookCrack. Every woman I know wants to have relations with Edward Cullen (Harry Potter's Cedric Diggery for those of you who have stared at the movie posters scratching your collective adorable head). It's hard to explain. Just read it the books, it will only take you about a day.

So, thank goodness for vampires, folks, or else I may have brawled with myself Fight Club style in a public place. And it's only Wednesday!

Someone buy me a coffee or something?
Love,
erin

Briefly...

Oh folks, have I been writing. I just passed by the 50% mark, and I'm exhausted. But I've got to keep going! I'm just a few weeks away from having a novel. I real, honest to goodness novel. Yes, it will need gigantic amounts of revision and no, I don't know for sure where my characters will find themselves at the end...but it's a process.

Last night we had a fabulously fun Bastards Inc. show at Improv Boston. It's been uniquely terrific performing with Ryan and Taylor every Thursday. My chief problem with all this is that I keep laughing on stage during scenes. Which is both a lovely and utterly infuriating problem to have. They're just pretty awesome.

This weekend is going to be filled with writing, movies, writing, comedy, and I might try to write a little.

Miss you too.
Love,
erin

A Question of Love

I'm at about 16,000 words on my novel so far, sorry for the never-posting.

I feel a lot of things about prop. 8 and have not been able to articulate them effectively. I think Keith does it pretty well for me (us). What an interesting time to be an American...





xo,
erin

Here's The Thing...

I'm doing this nanowrimo craziness and it's seriously cut down on my blogging. I understand that that sentence might be entirely nonsensical to many, many people. Basically, I'm trying to write a novel and trying to keep up with daily word counts. It's hilarious and maddening and really fun. At this very moment I am behind, but not for long! I'm at 4,815 and I should be very close to 6,000.

So back I go. To writing, working, etc.

VOTE, for Obama.


kisses,
erin

The Art of Being Alone

I spent many years of my younger life with my nose in a blank book, thinking very intensely about the trials and tribulations of my little life. Oh, trials! Starting somewhere in middle school and continuing through most of college, I'd write almost every day -- lots and lots of unrequited love, boredom, frustration, gross stuff. I can't read that junk now for its terrible earnestness, but there's something great to be said for just writing whatever is on your mind.

Maybe the most positive side-effect of this kind of writing is that I would often seek out places where I could be alone in a crowd like a museum, park, library, cafe, and just immerse myself in the activity. When I was living in Europe for a bit in college the train rides were almost always my favorite part of a trip because it allowed me the opportunity to sit quietly, watch scenery fly by, and write. It was the closest I've ever come to actual meditation.

I just don't do that anymore. Maybe because it feels self indulgent (says the blogger), or because I just can't take myself seriously enough to write about my feelings. I'm a comedian (kinda) after all and we're pretty much wired to spot and exploit silly behavior in other people. I probably make fun too much. Which is fun.

Maybe I'm afraid to document what I'm thinking, convinced that some bully is going to rip it away from me and read it out loud to the rest of the class. Then everyone will know how I got my period in sewing class and that's actually why I got dismissed*.



I'm making an effort lately to be alone more. I like talking to people and being busy, but I think it's important to not let being busy take over completely.

So, essentially I just blogged about journaling. I think I've crossed some kind of postmodern line and will probably implode pretty soon. So listen guys, you've been great. I'm going to document this all in my journal.

introspective and crap,
erin

*true story

In Ya Face

When riding public transportation, I tend to go elsewhere mentally. Especially when it's the morning and it's a very familiar route. Usually there are headphones on, and a lot of staring at the seat in front of me or half-reading a daily paper that's been discarded on the floor. Something that can readily break me out of this haze is being bopped on the nose by a dude.

He didn't mean it, he kind of fell into me, but he bopped me right on the nose. He was just some normal guy in a North Face jacket, totally non-threatening, a little lost looking, bop. We kind of looked at each other after it happened, he to apologize, I to assess this person who just randomly touched my face.

The true weirdness of the experience made me realize that it's very very seldom that someone touches another person's face. I mean, it's really limited to a mom or a boyfriend, in my experience. Face touching is weirdly intimate. I keep using the word "weird" in this post because it best describes the unexpected situation.

Made me think about boundaries, routine, barriers, collective numbness...meh, it's Friday.

In The Wee Small Hours...

The new fun game I'm playing is called "Insomnia: The MUSICAL!" only it's not a game and there's no music. There is however a blessed pocket of time each night between 2am and 5am wherein my body says, "wake on up, erin!" and my thoughts race like I'm on speed. This is usually followed by an accelerated heart rate and lots of makeshift breathing exercises. I'm going to try to have some quiet tea and meditation time this evening to ward off the wake-up, we shall see! This trend makes for real special mornings in which I star in "Frustrated Rage: The MUSICAL!" This one has lots of singing**.

I'm still super excited for nanowrimo -- and I'm batting around ideas for what will become a very hasty masterpiece. I found this description of a "Byronic Hero" on Wikipedia. Think Mr. Rochester from Jane Eyre...

* high level of intelligence and perception
* cunning and ability to adapt
* sophistication and education
* self-criticism and introspection
* mysteriousness, magnetism and charisma
* struggle with integrity
* power of seduction and sexual attraction
* social and sexual dominance
* emotional conflicts, bipolar tendencies, or moodiness
* a distaste for social institutions and norms
* being an exile, an outcast, or an outlaw
* "dark" attributes not normally associated with a hero
* disrespect of rank and privilege
* a troubled past
* cynicism
* arrogance
* self-destructive behaviour



A Byronic hero is apparently sexy and bad for you - nice! I've got a lot to plot and plan and I wish it was legal to start writing before November 1st, because then I could really utilize those wee hours in the morning for something at least ostensibly productive.

more coffee,
erin

** swearing.