Indeed, my head is a-buzzing, ideas swarming around, like a plague of locusts, feasting upon the delicious and plentfiful crop that is my indecision. Seriously, I've written less than a hundred words here and look how many metaphors I've packed in. I'm a machine. But like all machines, I need discipline. And oil.
It's filth, it really is. I feel like..., well, me in a porno store.
I'll stop now.
But seriously, ideas everywhere. I feel unbelievably creative. And what have I done with all my new found inspiration?
Bugger all. That's what.
Though, this doesn't necessarily mean I've made no progress. I'm a great mental worker. At school I was always crap at maths, but pretty good at mental maths. It was the writing of things down that confused me. And, yes, I'm aware this sounds completely preposterous.
When I get an idea for something and I do actually see it through, I spend weeks thinking about it. I don't like notes. I keep it all up here. I remember I once saw an interview with Peter Jackson, I think it might have been on The Two Towers DVD, and he said that he hadn't finished editing Return of the King, but had the whole movie up in his head. I was like, "That's right, Jacko, you don't need any of that paper crap."
Everytime I've written a script in the past I've thought the idea throygh completey, then just started writing. I struggle to work any other way. Well, I struggle to work any way, but you get the picture.
The product of all this is, that I now have character. Not a main character, but a character that would provide comic relief. A sort of Jay and Silent Bob-ish character, if you will. And no, it's not Asbo Dave.
More on this soon, but my last point leads me nicely onto who I'm going to make textular love to this post. And believe me, it would be love indeed, as this guy is my absolute hero.
Anyone who knows me knows how much I love Kevin Smith. I could listen to that pimp talk for hours (and do frequently). He's so much more than just a filmmaker: he's an all round class act. That is, of course, if you consider a class act to be a fat guy who goes into reasonably explicit detail about the sex he has with his wife.
You're likely to have heard of at least one of his movies (Clerks, Mallrats, Chasing Amy, Dogma, Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back, the infamous Jersey Girl and, most recently, Clerks 2), though he is most popular in the cult sense.
I model myself on him, not physically, ofcourse, but he has had my dream career. Clerks has remained my favourite film since I first saw it five nearly five years ago. The other day my good friend Sam (Matthew from Alice Still Lives Here) asked me what my favourite film was these days, and I told him that it was still Clerks, simply because what it means to me.
It's a different kind of filmmaking. It's so character based, it's obscene. Which is exactly what I love, comepletely falling for a character. If I could write a character people'd love as much as Randal I'd die a happy man.
Of course, I can already die a happy man, as I was lucky enough to meet Kevin Smith last week. I went to see him do a Q and A in London, and as a complete stroke of luck I bumped into him, his wife and friend Malcolm Ingram in the back streets. Needless to say I could barely string a sentance together, but I managed to get a photo out of it.
Sure, he probably thinks I'm an idiot now, because I was all "Oh man, I wish I could find the words, but I'm totally in awe of you!" but I don't care. I love that man, and will do till my dying day.
The Albominable Snowman
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