Facing Facts

I was angry at her. I was so angry at her.

I was tired. We were tired. I left a note saying we were going for pizza. Call me. Yes, I get she felt excluded. Yes, I was part of making her feel excluded. I didn't want her there. I wanted her studying on movie-making, learning the business side, figuring out how to enter film festivals, doing producer-type stuff.

I didn't want our days spent discussing shots, her swishy-snow pants swishing, the inevitable cutting remarks that I felt would be directed her way by X. I could visualize his scorn spreading to the others, making her the omega wolf, the one picked on, despite it was her drive that brought all of us together.

I felt I was protecting her.

I was wrong to do that.

I wanted to be entirely in control, to not have to argue with her about what to do, defend shots, scenes, lines. To avoid another discussion where she tells me we need to have a dream sequence with Y because she has two friends willing to go topless in a car wash and boobs sell movies.

I was so angry. I was angry at Sound Guy coming in and pointing out all the holes in the ship - holes I knew about and was the reason I called him.

I was angry this dream, making a movie, wasn't fun. I was angry my friend, the guy I trusted to shoot the movie, fucked off on me. I was angry I felt pushed into doing this, that there was no way to go but forward, ever since she said we had an investor.

I felt so alone, nobody to turn to to complain we weren't taking log notes. In the back of my mind, I knew every day meant another tape I would have to go through later, take by take, to figure out which was best.

I wasn't staring down the camera. I was angry that every day was such a complete tiring mess where I wondered what exactly I was shooting here. I was angry she said our relationship was over once the movie ended. I was doing this for us, I told myself.

And if there was no 'us', what was the point of anything? Being dumped on any day is never the best. It was only a slight drop below being stranded at the alter.

I was angry when she told me we were through. I said fine but we could we finish the movie first. We finished, hooked up for one more night and then I was angry she expected me to continue to fly back and forth to edit the movie, knowing the relationship ended.

I was angry I didn't get a choice in the editor - not even a fucking demo reel from the guy. We already got burned for $800 by the 'FX guy' for a shit totem grade school kids could have done in 20 minutes and a fake head so realistic I had to shoot it mostly from the back. Then there was my original DP, then there was the new DP who left town with one master tape still in his possession.

And now she was saying I wouldn't get a choice in who was editing this fucking mess? Were they aware we had no log sheets? Was he going to go through 18 hours of tapes for free?

So she kicked me off my movie. I was furious. She even got the investors to all sign something saying I was fired. I still have it. Along with a ream of angry letters sent over the next few months.

I was angry that I loved her, agreed to do this movie because of her, that she made me decide between the movie or her in the middle of filming.


I hated her. I hated her so much I moved across Canada. I hated her so much I sent her the masters after making my own copies and told her to go ahead. I hated her so much I had to ask her cancer-fighting sister if she was seeing someone else as she was recuperating in a hospital bed. I hated her so much I spent $1500 on a camera just so I could edit it myself. I hated her so much, I learned to edit. I hated her so much I would call her business phone from 3000 miles away in the middle of the night just so I could listen to the sound of her voice on her messaging machine. I hated her so much I never left a message.

I hated her so much I kept all her letters, a dying art, the angry letter - all capital letters, hand-written. I still have them, that's how much I hated her. I have pictures of her in my memory chest, from happier days of course, when I loved her and thought she loved me back. She was as old then as my wife is turning now.

(... that made me pause).

I hated her so much I yelled Happy Birthday to her when I saw her on the street five years later. I hated her so much I tried to say Merry Christmas to her when I saw her selling something in a department store. I hated her so much I left chocolates on her car door that night. She knew they were from me. I hated her when I saw her car beside mine, her staring ahead - either unaware I was right beside her or painfully aware.

I hated her for killing my dream, for no longer being part of my life. I hated her for making me feel like I could do anything and then telling me I couldn't. I hated her for the amount of times she'd blow me, far more times than actual sex. I hated her for pretending to believe in me. I hated her for all her arguments about her 'editor'.

I wanted nothing more than to win her back. I thought if only I edited this whole mess into something, entered it into a few film festivals on our behalf, then maybe she'd see I was doing it all for us. I wanted her to believe in me again. I needed her belief in me.

And when it was gone, so was I.

Life happened. I got cancer. She didn't acknowledge that. I moved back home. Not even a peep. I left, came back, got married, got divorced. Met someone else, and we are still together, two kids now. Happy life, happy wife.

The last time I saw her, and I've googled-creeped her name many times over the years to see where she was to no avail, she was entering a furniture store. I was inside, holding my months old baby daughter in my arms. I turned quickly, kept my back to the door as she entered. When she passed, I exited.

And that was the end of her. Physically.

Yet, she's still inside me. She found people willing to invest $15000 in our vision. It was an amazing, awful, one of a kind experience which will never happen again. For a few months, I was a filmmaker.
For a few years, I tried to recreate that lie, believing in an impossible goal, 3500 miles away from her.

Do I still hate her?

She did her damage.

Do I still hate her?

Did I ever hate her?

Or did I always hate the choice I made?

The Hilarity of Depression

Sometimes, I want to laugh at how depressed I get because I'm pretty good at hiding it. I think most people with depression know how to hide it; they remove themselves emotionally and physically from everyone.

I know that the more productive one is, the less depressed they tend to be; like the act of keeping the mind busy will keep those nagging thoughts at bay.

So here is my morning.

I wake up and get the kids to school. No problem so far, my mind is busy with the kids, we walk, we talk, we say goodbye.

Now I'm in trouble.

But wait, a friend's wife is running for council in our local election. She's off to put up some signs with her 2 other children not yet in school. I'll totally help, for I was busy trying not to think of what
I'm going to do today to avoid being with myself.

That takes about 30 minutes and then I'm back at the house. I have so much I could do so I'm going to take a long shower first to figure out my plan.

Such a long shower.

Here's a list of things I think about that I can/want/should do;

• research some lit agents (3)
• research similar publishing houses
• update my social media
• read and review some homework
• watch a movie that my wife probably wouldn't want to watch
• take out the compost
• buy tickets to a bucket list item. 
• go to firehall and work out
• apply to EI (hours recently cut back)
• update resume
• take the dogs for a walk. 
• Do some editing of Karmageddon
• Do some writing of anything
• clean up spare room for son #1
• dismantle legos and put on kijiji
• clean up carport
• unlock some more characters in Lego Batman 2. 

I go through all this and then decide I will do the last one first. But only until 10am.

I figuratively give my head a shake. I realize that's the least important. What's most important to me? Probably the computer stuff. But then I need to go downstairs, unpack the laptop, log in.
Just the thought of that is overwhelming in this mindset. Let's get dressed first. Make some coffee.

So I broke it down into little goals. And while it might seem to go down 2 flights of stairs may only be a problem if I was morbidly obese (I'm not), it is.

But first I make a coffee. I find the laptop. I go downstairs, clear off my desk. I power it up.

And now I'm here and it's 10am.

Deep breath...

Cracks in the windshield; synchronicity

I'm struggling again but this time I'm more accepting of it. I realize I am struggling. Not just in writing but in all things. The 'do it' part is missing. I'm stuck on 'just'.

I need to hear that song now but the random Internet slot machine will play Lucky for me.

I'm on a roll
I'm on a roll this time
I feel my luck could change

Kill me, Sarah
Kill me again with love
It's gonna be a glorious day

Pull me out of the air crash
Pull me out of the lake
'Cause I'm your superhero
We are standing on the edge

The head of state has called for me by name
But I don't have time for him
It's gonna be a glorious day
I feel my luck could change

Pull me out of the air crash
Pull me out of the lake
'Cause I'm your superhero
We are standing on the edge

We are standing on the edge.


Nice song. 


I guess I should be happy I'm just on the computer. I was standing in the shower, delaying getting out. I have so much to do today. I took a breath. I told myself that today was not going to be hard. I could do it.

Just. (also by Radiohead)

I will sit in front of the computer for an hour. So far it's been 23 minutes, I think. OK Computer (rocking this Radiohead).
I still don't know what is wrong with me, I mean, other than that I have depression and I am getting old and I'm confused as to what I should be and everything that comes with being nearer fifty than forty or thirty.
Shit, yesterday I played Lego Batman on my PS3 and then mowed the lawn. Priorities...

I got another thanks but no thanks from a literary agent and I told myself that these rejections hurt less the more you get them. And that's true and also not true at the same time. But I still delay on trying again. It's been six months and no word on Karmageddon. Time to throw it somewhere else.

Yet, here I sits. On one hand, good for me. I'm finally sitting here. Yet, I'm not submitting K anywhere. I'm choosing to write this instead, to question why I'm avoiding and yet also to be the immediate answer as to why I'm avoiding.

Time management. My life sometimes feels like a series of band-aids on top of each other. And I hear stories and I watch stories and realize I'm not as bad off as others. So I should appreciate that. But I still have so much to do. Just do it, jay. Just do it.

I've got a lot to do today.

And now the Internet has given me this sadly timely U2 song that hits home on my Radiohead station: 

Tough, you think you've got the stuff
You're telling me and anyone
You're hard enough

You don't have to put up a fight
You don't have to always be right
Let me take some of the punches
For you tonight

Listen to me now
I need to let you know
You don't have to go it alone

And it's you when I look in the mirror
And it's you when I don't pick up the phone
Sometimes you can't make it on your own

We fight, all the time
You and I, that's alright
We're the same soul
I don't need, I don't need to hear you say
That if we weren't so alike
You'd like me a whole lot more

Listen to me now
I need to let you know
You don't have to go it alone

And it's you when I look in the mirror
And it's you when I don't pick up the phone
Sometimes you can't make it on your own

Say, say, say

It's been an hour. Baby steps. On to the next thing.

Outside. In Rainbows. (Radiohead)

Still avoiding...

Once again, I've reached the summit of how far I'm willing to address the cancer/Pestilence thing.
I can say it is a lot of things, time, Spring, etc but really it's just me avoiding these demons.

I talked w/ my mom about that summer - 2003 as it turns out, making it almost 15 years this July. She stayed with me after the operation until I flew home with her. I, however, insisted I take her to a tea cafe in Halifax before we left. I have no memory of this. She also gave me a Radiohead fan magazine to read and Douglas Adam's Salmon of Doubt while I was in the hospital. Intensive care as one of my lungs partially collapsed during surgery. I recall the man beside me was often delirious. He had septic shock I could see his colostomy bag hanging off his bed.

Mom and Dad stayed with my landlord, who keep in mind, inherited a cancer boarder only 2 short months ago. I wish I could remember his name as well. He was very kind to take in my family and my problems on such short notice.

Dad left on a Sunday. Mom says he didn't believe I had cancer and so kept a letter from my Dr. identifying it as such... something -carcinoma. I plan on talking with him about his version of that time.

I then came home and recuperated in my Mom's basement. I don't recall much of this; listening to Bif Naked on the computer, avoiding everything as best as possible. I lost a lot of weight - I recall being about 185.

Somewhere during this time I learned my ex-partner's sister had brain cancer. I don't know if this is intertwined but there was another family friend who also had very aggressive cancer - he was down in Vancouver's cancer ward. These are only slivers of memories but I recall thinking how awful this all was. I partially hoped my cancer might somehow bring us back together only her sister had it too and all thoughts of the movie were set aside for both of us, I'm sure.

I went down to Vancouver in my step-brother's car. I recall this as I was pulled over on S. Marine for something and I had to explain why it was my license but my brother's registration. I don't think he was allowed to drive at the time. The cop was a bit confused but it was the truth and so I was let go, perhaps with a warning. I don't recall.

I had this plan to go visit both J and B in the cancer ward. I had this idea I would give J two flight passes so her sister could fly down and visit her sometime. And who do I see waiting for a bus stop on Oak? L. Crazy coincidence, right? So i loop around, park the car and go meet her.

She's not happy to see me. I don't recall most of this incident, other than she's making a scene and the other bus patrons are grateful for this bit of drama. I give her the flight passes and walk away.

I go to visit her sister, she's doing well. I recall asking something about L and another guy - figuring I might as well get it out of the way. L finds out I visited and yells at me some more. Don't know if it was by phone or letter as to this day I don't think she has a computer, having google-creeped for any evidence of her existence a few times over the years. For this journal I actually tried again but still nothing.

But I get ahead of myself. So, I go to visit J and I visit B - he's far worse off, bald, plump, hooked up to so many bags he looks like a technological Buddha.

I believe it turned out my Mom and her husband were there the day before? He had tracked dog shit in on his shoe into the ICU which made it so memorable.

I must have driven back to PG. I also had to go back to Halifax. I think I was given four weeks off for medical leave. I should have asked for longer as I was definitely not ready to return to work. I was there very briefly, gave my notice and flew home after a quick coffee date with the nurse who took a shine to me while I was in the Halifax ICU.

to be cont'd.

Artistic Therapy Part 4

I've dredged through pre-production and production. I've taken a break from this therapy. I could say that it is because I've gotten too busy what with the kids on spring break, which is kind of true. Or maybe I can just say I'm 'avoiding'.

But I also promised myself 2 weeks ago I would submit my latest manuscript to a chosen publisher - and I still haven't done that. So maybe, I am avoiding not only that but also this. Maybe the two are connected.

And now I'm thinking - where would my energy be better spent? Here or on polishing that manuscript.

I'm going to spend 15 minutes here at the very least.

Artistic Therapy Part 3

Previous Artistic Therapy here.... 

The Credits:

CREW
Me - struggling creative type, wanting to write and direct. 
Winnie - Producer and ex-gf
Mel - my ex DoP
Lester - The New DoP
Ned the Assistant Director
Boris the Assistant Camera Guy
Tony - the Sound Guy

CAST
Herb, the American Jock
Ash, the Quiet One
Tim, the Joker
Demi, the Native Girl
Rachel, the Trophy Girlfriend
Amy, the Angry Woman


Pestilence Part 3.

So, we're now in production. We have a 3 man crew, not including me. I can't recall much of that first week - it's a blur of waking early, driving 45 minutes to the set, lighting the stove in our crew/cast cabin.

But this isn't really a memoir, this is my memories of some of the struggles I went through, most of it after filming so I'm going to skim through most of this.

I recall near the end of the week thinking we were in a deep hole. The cast was great, I was barely holding on to an image of things were going swell. My DoP and I were the only ones who had been on actual film crews before. One of the cast had experience as an extra and wanted to make acting a career.

I called up an old friend from film school who wasn't working at the time and willing to fly up and help out. 'Tony' stayed at my mom's place with me. After his first day he pointed out a shitload of problems I was facing, none of them new to me. It was the reason why I called him. I was taking on too much of the AD role, not through any fault of Ned, just more because I had experience and wasn't able to properly delegate things to him.

So I patiently listened as he told me everything wrong. It was tough to sit through and not lose my shit. I knew all the problems. I needed someone to hold the boom and be an all around grip. Ironically, by the third day Tony had severe bowel problems and came down with the flu, causing him to hole up at my Mom's for a day or two.

Days later, Tony and Les the DoP ge in a huge shouting match one day, far from civilization. I don't know what it was about but it was just another small thing to try and mend. They managed to stay civil to each other for the rest of the script but you bet your shit there was tension building between 'them' and 'us'. The us being me, Winnie and Tony, who was guilty by association. I have no doubt there was a lot of shit talk after we'd call it quits for the day back at Herb's basement suite. Why? Because it's human nature to bond over things we are mad about and here I am, trying to make them famous through an indie film during a typical Canadian winter.

My Personal Curse of Pestilence

Part 1 of Many

Artistic Therapy.

Pestilence; The Spaghetti Incident Edition

One of the few remaining transitional stills
I photoshopped for the movie.

I made a new friend recently. I told him I once made a movie. He wanted to see it so I gave him the DVD to watch. He called later to say there was no DVD in the cover. I laughed and said something to the extent of 'oh, that sucks'. I haven't bothered to look for the actual movie yet and that was three months ago. Just another big chunk of my life gone with no souvenir to show for it. Even all my publicity work for is stuck in one of my old hard-drives from some old computer tower, waiting for me to see if I can mine it out.


Everybody has their skeletons in their closet. My biggest on, in terms of my artistic aspirations, was a movie with the working title of Pestilence. This is that story.

I've lost track of many of the people involved over the years; some became Facebook friends for this story pre-dates Facebook. For their own privacy, if they read this, they can feel comfort in knowing I have not used their real names. Except for Trey, cuz Trey was a jerk.

Now, I've always fought a personal philosophical battle of 'going with the flow' or 'fighting to make it happen'. Many of my jobs came because of personal connections, not necessarily because I was the one best suited for the job. I've often taken a passive role in my life and sometimes I am surprised I am still alive. In truth, I wouldn't be if it weren't for many of the friends I've made along my way that have encouraged me, made me laugh, and made me believe in being able to attempt my dreams. Not that it was always the best thing for me but often, we choose who we want to hear.

I pitched a movie idea to John Henson (of Muppets fame) because a fellow PA said I was 100% guaranteed to not have it happen if I didn't at least try. I met him half-way, mailed him my pitch instead of telling him in person. I'm still here...

So this is a story about 'Going with The Flow' vs. 'Making It Happen'.