Too much is not enough
Oct. 30th, 2006 09:31 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
smokingbootAn update, yes, I want to do an update; it's been fun but weird, beginning with a call from my producer and a conversation that went like this:
'OK, I really want our viewers to get to see the real [boot] a deeply passionate woman. You know you write poetry?'
'Er, no, I write prose'
'I knew it was something like that. You can write poetry though?'
'I could possibly write very bad poetry. What I actually write is prose.'
'Look, I know this is short notice [i.e three hours before we're on air] but do you have any of your poetry available?'
'No, because I don't write poetry. I write pr-'
'-Only we need stuff about you and art and creativity.'
OK yes, I'm flattered, I'm sold. 'Look, I don't have any poetry here, but I can try to find poetry that's inspired me and is about passion, how about that?'
Q frantic emails and phone calls that must have left such victims ascyanidemigraine completely baffled, and we had a show that just happened to include some of my choice poetic loves, Yeats and Rumi and Blake, not forgetting a gifted but modest Scottish poetess known to the cognoscenti as happybat. Permission was generously granted for usage of said poets, and the show went well. Stevie Smith was left out because, as one of the crew pointed out in disgust; "We can't read this! There's a metaphor in it!' Ewwwww, metaphors. Too highbrow for our viewers, apparently, until one phoned in and read her own poem out on air. She wasn't highbrow, she was part of the East-Enders-watching-Heat-reading-Jade-Goody-obsessed demographic of whom we love to despair, and she rocked, with puns, metaphors, sincerity, powerful delivery...
Bloody real. She made that show, not me, she's the poet. Don't know why there's such a warmth in remembering this, cos I didn't do a thing. But it felt really good.
Producer and moderator caught me after a show and praised me a great deal. I will not repeat it here or I really will die of bloatyhead disease; but I must recall that I was praised and remember it when I feel down about my work, for I continue to make very silly mistakes. And then an offer was made to put a showreel together for me. A showreel takes time and skill to create: they offered to do it for free, one of them being the awe-strikingly talented director whose film I saw recently. All I could think was Guys, you really don't have to do this. And they don't. They're just really nice. It makes me feel shy.
Finally, there was the Samhain ritual created, televised and directed bymamapusscat and decribed by bytepilot and ravenrigan in their journals. All I can add is that I am neither as gifted nor as flirtatious as these two describe, but I certainly got drunk afterwards. I am glad that it went well, but if ever such a thing is attempted again, things like schedules have to be ferociously adhered to; I'm not a great fan of organisation in general but if I had died of alcohol poisoning that night, a post-mortem would have revealed the word REHEARSAL carved into my heart...
Tomorrow is the last day of the old year.
A lot has happened. Time to carve my pumpkin.
'OK, I really want our viewers to get to see the real [boot] a deeply passionate woman. You know you write poetry?'
'Er, no, I write prose'
'I knew it was something like that. You can write poetry though?'
'I could possibly write very bad poetry. What I actually write is prose.'
'Look, I know this is short notice [i.e three hours before we're on air] but do you have any of your poetry available?'
'No, because I don't write poetry. I write pr-'
'-Only we need stuff about you and art and creativity.'
OK yes, I'm flattered, I'm sold. 'Look, I don't have any poetry here, but I can try to find poetry that's inspired me and is about passion, how about that?'
Q frantic emails and phone calls that must have left such victims as
cyanidemigraine completely baffled, and we had a show that just happened to include some of my choice poetic loves, Yeats and Rumi and Blake, not forgetting a gifted but modest Scottish poetess known to the cognoscenti as happybat. Permission was generously granted for usage of said poets, and the show went well. Stevie Smith was left out because, as one of the crew pointed out in disgust; "We can't read this! There's a metaphor in it!' Ewwwww, metaphors. Too highbrow for our viewers, apparently, until one phoned in and read her own poem out on air. She wasn't highbrow, she was part of the East-Enders-watching-Heat-reading-Jade-Goody-obsessed demographic of whom we love to despair, and she rocked, with puns, metaphors, sincerity, powerful delivery...Bloody real. She made that show, not me, she's the poet. Don't know why there's such a warmth in remembering this, cos I didn't do a thing. But it felt really good.
Producer and moderator caught me after a show and praised me a great deal. I will not repeat it here or I really will die of bloatyhead disease; but I must recall that I was praised and remember it when I feel down about my work, for I continue to make very silly mistakes. And then an offer was made to put a showreel together for me. A showreel takes time and skill to create: they offered to do it for free, one of them being the awe-strikingly talented director whose film I saw recently. All I could think was Guys, you really don't have to do this. And they don't. They're just really nice. It makes me feel shy.
Finally, there was the Samhain ritual created, televised and directed by
mamapusscat and decribed by bytepilot and ravenrigan in their journals. All I can add is that I am neither as gifted nor as flirtatious as these two describe, but I certainly got drunk afterwards. I am glad that it went well, but if ever such a thing is attempted again, things like schedules have to be ferociously adhered to; I'm not a great fan of organisation in general but if I had died of alcohol poisoning that night, a post-mortem would have revealed the word REHEARSAL carved into my heart...Tomorrow is the last day of the old year.
A lot has happened. Time to carve my pumpkin.
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no subject
Date: 2006-10-30 11:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-31 07:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-31 02:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-31 07:11 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-31 09:19 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-31 11:19 am (UTC)People are just very nice.
no subject
Date: 2006-10-31 11:01 am (UTC)hearts beat faster with desire,
sultry gaze of Boot.
no subject
Date: 2006-10-31 11:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-31 12:09 pm (UTC)As for sweet, 'tis not I who has the honeyed tongue...
*well intentioned doggerel