Wellywood Woman

I’ve nearly finished writing that novella, Grace Notes , and it’s taking me places I never thought I’d go. I imagined 1000 words a day would be no problem, but it’s 500 or so on a good day. And whenever I reach 500 words I get this enormous desire to clean, like the hormonal nesting zoom I used to experience before giving birth. Exercise, often walking or gardening, always helps me work out what I'll write next, and I planned to paint the verandah as well this summer (haven’t got far with that, because of the wind and the care necessary when cleaning off lead paint). But this cleaning urge is something else. The windows and the pantry and the kitchen cupboards sparkle as never before. I’ve emptied, cleaned and refilled the earthquake water bottles. The hall ceiling is next. I think what I'm doing is somehow related to this Lisa Gornick drawing , but am not sure. lisa gornick storyboard for work in progress As I clean, my mind whirls about like a little coloured windmill o

I want a great big screen. With all the necessary plug-ins. So I can participate fully and easily in media convergence: search the net, watch movies and web series from downloads and discs, watch television, read and write scripts and stories and emails, chat on Facebook and Twitter, pay my bills, talk and view on Skype, look at, edit and upload photos and clips, play and create games. And all of it from my bed. One wall in my bedroom is already a kind of screen, a great big window. Total entertainment, day or night. When I lie down, and turn my eyes right, I see the sky, which is always changing, the birds that come and go and sit on the power lines, stars at night, the moon. When I sit up, I see the sea and all the traffic going around and in and out of and over Wellington harbour: container ships, ferries, tugs, cruise ships, yachts and little sailing boats, canoes and rowboats, planes and helicopters. Swimmers sometimes. At night, a beacon. Hutt City’s lights over the other side

David Mamet’s statement that drama is about the creation and deferment of hope really helped me when I started writing scripts. Still helps me. A simple, obvious, idea, I know, but I like the simplicity. A drama ends when a hope is realised, or lost for ever. Or, in a bittersweet ending, there’s a possibility that a hope may be realised in future, or has been transformed in to hope(s) for something entirely different. Thanks to David Mamet, I use the same idea when I analyse news about women who want to write and direct feature films. Does it restore hope that many more of us will see our stories realised onscreen? Does it fuel hope that before too long women will write and direct 50% of all features? Or does it defer hope? The annual United States awards season, now in full swing, tends to highlight hope’s deferment. This morning, I’m thinking about Danish filmmaker Susanne Bier, whose Hævnen ( In a Better World , or, translated literally, Revenge ), won the Golden Globe for Best