Of the Gattuso Varietal

A few days ago, dazed by the red glare glistening at me through my rain-pelted windshield, I tried to tell myself it could be worse: my commute home could be somewhere in L.A. While I've never really done the 5 o'clock rush in the city of angels, the frustration and grip-the-wheel tension is so legendary that I swear I've felt it before.

But for some reason, during the rain and the stop-go, stop-go, good-lord-where'd-you-learn-how-to-drive, stop-go, I had a weird epiphany. One I should have had looong ago given my job.

When I'm stuck at work, when nothing's coming, I just start writing. If I'm tasked with a lengthy article and I'm not quite sure how to start it, even with an outline staring back at me (on bad days it can become a staring match), I just start writing. Randomly. I write, and I write flippantly, about things that may relate, about tangents, about what someone else might think about the topic, about - well... about whatever little thing pops into my head.

And by the time I've done that for about 45 minutes or so, a nugget pops out. I've started shoveling and shoveling, engrossed in the act of heaving down and shirking out the dirt. And finally I remember to look over my shoulder, only to find: Hey! That's valuable - I could totally use that!

From that point, the piece works itself out. I incorporate interviews or context or historic quotes, whatever it takes to polish the piece into a gem.

Well, in my spare time (hahahahaha, spare time, that's funny), I've resumed work on a piece of fiction I believe in. I think about it every chance I can. I listen to music that I envision would accompany it on the big screen (don't laugh). I construct twists and catches and pivotal moments in my head...

But when I get home, it seems like a monstrous project. Basically, I think about shoveling all day, but once I'm standing there with the spade in my hand, my Brain says: "By golly! You want me to shovel that???"

Yes, Brain. Let's start. We are going to write. We are going to write flippantly, about things that may relate, about tangents, about what someone else might think about the topic, about - well... about whatever little thing pops in mind. And the more we get engrossed, the more valuable our piece of work will be.

So there, Brain.

And who knows, maybe one day I will be sitting down with the composer (Harry Gregson-Williams or Thomas Newman?), detailing what kind of score would go best with the characters.

And if I'm really lucky, maybe Denzel would consider being my male lead.