“My movie is born first in my head, dies on paper”

Why is it always so much easier to write on a computer screen?

That’s beside the point, however. I’m supposed to make a video for my bosses at the rental house – they’ve filled up the summer with tutorials in their various cameras, even making me thread a film magazine, so they also want us to learn something in addition to doing a bunch of menial labor. It’s also in order to have something to put on their Vimeo site. All their interns have videos up there, and my supervisor, when I wouldn’t give him a straight answer about what I was planning on shooting, asked if it was a violent zombie picture or some kind of dewey sweet My Little Pony affair, and I said neither. He asked if it was a love letter to our rival company and I said it wasn’t that either. He’s just gone on vacation, so it’s bad timing, but I’m taking out some equipment anyway.

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New Aquaintances

Met another intern today because I swapped shifts, and I not only found someone even lazier than I am (thank God! I thought I was too lazy, but I guess I’m just lazy enough), but also someone to tell me something that made me feel a lot better (for at least five minutes).

I told him I’m a writer, but when I corrected myself with, “Well, I haven’t really sold my work,” he replied that a writer is still a writer, even writers who haven’t sold any of it yet.

I feel comforted by that.

I told him what my professors told me – all the advice they gave (and which I ignored, and didn’t tell him I ignored).

Truthfully, I have written down something, at least, nearly every day for many, many, many years.

None of this is sellable. Certainly not 99% of the content that was on Livejournal, 80% of the content that was on Fanfiction.net (some stuff with names changed could work; just look at Fifty Shades of Gray), or let’s say 95% of the content on this hot mess here…

…But potentially…

/shakes head

I need a day job. I even told him that. I need a day job. Some kind of inspiration.

I got really lazy the other day but then it turned into restlessness and my grandmother pointed out, “You’re bored!”

I shot back I’d find fulltime work, but I must confess, I am enjoying this vacation. (“You’re on vacation,” she said another time) I have not been looking. Mostly because I still don’t have a focus and still don’t know what to say.

One thing I’d love to be able to say is, “Yeah, I interned at such-and-such.” But my supervisor told us on Day One not to tell anyone we work for them until after our last day. What the shit is that?

That’s not a valid reason for me not job searching, however. I whipped out one of the many guides to job searching that Career Services gave us, and it says that to find a job, you have to make finding a job your job – by which they mean, a targeted search that involves talking to people, calling people, sending resumes, making phone calls, sending more resumes, making more phone calls, mingling, telling people your elevator pitch whenever humanly possible, going on interviews, acing interviews, getting rejected, picking yourself back up. Etc etc ad infinitum, until you find a fit somewhere.

The only half-assed attempt I’ve made so far is to email The Catholic’s two friends the lamest networking letters ever.

What was the other thing? Oh, right, my professor wants us to write essays about our experiences. I already have acted like an asshole/weirdo to a few ex-classmates, while being a genuinely human-like friend to the others, and the Internet is terrible, and I was originally looking forward to reading my classmates’ writing this summer (it’s gonna be a BLOG! using my other WordPress account, the one with my real name; pray I don’t accidentally use this one; I already [intentionally] messaged someone I know IRL with my “Eris” Twitter account)…

…but now I’m dreading it. Our professor wants tales of success, tales of falling and picking yourself back up, some kind of inspirational advice for this summer’s new class. All I know is I need to keep myself entirely out of the equation when I write these things. They have to be optimistic. I’m tempted to say:

“You won’t learn what you need to learn at this school. You think you will. But if you went into this not knowing what you wanted, expecting to know by the end? You’ll end up with even more questions.”

Maybe I should tell them that after all. FUCK IT, I’m gonna tell them that.