Yes, it is true, I have been negecting this blog shamefully, and wiht not excuses, just explanations. Movie stuff! I have been to NYC, seen an early private screening, then joined with others* to try to re-write the final voiceover which has been a challenge...to say so much, in such limited time, I have watched and re-watched those final minutes (seconds, actually), trying to fit in not only what needs saying, but the saying of it with some intelligence and accuracy and lyricism. *I write, they tweak. They rewrite, I tweak. Words comes down from On High: make it a) edgier, b) tighter, c) ...whatever More re-writing, more tweaking. There are test screenings, and audiences fill out cards saying..I don't know what (I don't get to see)...not edgy enough; or: I don't understand it; or: why isn't he...or: LOVE IT; or: WONDERFUL. Then it is back to the drawing board, or the computer, the teeth-gnashing, the arguing, the...and eventually (but not quite yet!) a final film emerges.
*This is so different from writing a book, which one does all alone!
This weekend I head to Las Vegas (where I am told it is 108 degrees (REALLY folks?) and Jeff Bridges will join me for an interview in front of a large audience of librarians at the ALA convention. It will NOT be a replay of the "where do you get your ideas?" back-and-forth but rather a provocative and stimulating array of Qs from ALA's president. Jeff and I are pretty much on the same page but I think we will have an interesting spectrum of answers, each of us drawing on our own backgrounds.
So I have come down from the farm, in order to make my way to Boston to catch my plane to LV, and am now at my year-round home in Falmouth; and last night I got to have dinner wiht my teo grandsons. One of them at 15 taking Drivers' Ed this summer! The other, 13, heading off soon to my alma mater, Brown University, for some serious pre-college science study. "You will be surrounded by nerds," I todl him. "Those are my people," he replied.
In the meantime, I am caught in a quagmire of USPS disasters. I arranged (or so I thought) to have my mail forwarded, starting the beginning of June, from Falmouth, Maine to Bridgton, Maine, where I spend the summers. It is today June 26th and I have yet to get any mail at either place. I have been to both post offices. I have made countless phone calls. I have left my lament on many voice mails. Nothing. Somewhere, I am certain, there is a stack, a pile, a mountain of mail addressed to me. I picture it heaped in a dusty corner of a post office, on the floor, where passing mail carriers kick at it and mutter.