I just came home from watching Lady Gaga in the new remake of A Star is Born and please tell me I can’t be the only writer who, (after viewing a certain scene which I’ll call the “Aww Awwww AWWWWW…” scene” and you can watch it yourself right here starting at 1:20 if you promise to come back and finish reading!) really wishes that the act of writing was something more performance oriented. Something concretely tangible, or auditory and visual that an audience could enthusiastically cheer for as they watch mesmerized and spellbound with enormous respect and admiration.
Just picture this:
Another Star is Born
Bradley Cooper: I’d like to call up to the stage a good friend of mine who writes funny blogs so you can all witness her doing some incredible work in person.
Me: (In the wings offstage, shaking my head in humbled protest. My modest demeanor about to disintegrate any second as Bradley comes closer to me with that low, grumbly-rumbly voice of his, pulling me up firmly by the wrist, and whispering in my ear.)
Bradley Cooper: Here’s what we’re gonna do. You’re gonna come out and write that article I love.
Me: No, no, I can’t do it.
Bradley Cooper: You’re coming. Here we go. All you gotta do is trust me. That’s all you gotta do…”
Me: (Nervously climbing on stage in front of tens of thousands, taking the microphone and lowering it way down to the level of my laptop computer.)
Audience: (Screams, whoops, hollers, bursts of applause as a whirring noise emanates when the power is turned on.)
Me: (Tap, tap, tap, tap, point n’ click, copy n’ paste, looks up to sky, Googles ‘synonym for small horse.’ Types “pony.” Looks down at floor. Tap tap tap. Blows breath forcefully out from mouth upwards into a long sigh causing tuft of hair bangs to lift slightly toward the sky. Delete, delete, delete DELETE…. takes a slight awkward bow.)
Bradley Cooper: Let’s give her a big hand, folks!
Audience: (Filing out of seats to get ticket refunded.)
Alright so maybe there are other movies more suitable for substituting writing into the plot that might work better than a singing one. Let’s try . . .
Scene: Stephanie — a wild dark-haired neurotic woman, sits isolated in the back of a dimly lit room, bent over a computer with her hands moving violently over a keyboard, trying to find the submission guidelines for an online publication.
Patrick Swayze: Nobody puts Babyephanie in a corner!
Okay so maybe not a dancing film either. Let’s see…I know! Ice-skating, like the Tanya Harding documentary.
Stephanie rapidly types in fits of hysteria trying to get her brilliant words out before she forgets her own character’s motivation. A shadowy figure lurks behind and maniacally smashes down a hammer upon innocent Stephanie’s right hand, fingers and all. As she turns toward her attacker, Stephanie catches the eye of none other than Margaret Atwood. “I heard I might have a little competition with Handmaid’s Tale,” Margaret utters and then disappears through the open window.
What? It could happen!
But maybe this is a more likely scenario — Trying to get into the prestigious masters program for creative writing at the University of Iowa, (instead of Jennifer Beals auditioning to get into the famous ballet dance school in NYC)
What a Feeling!
(Cue familiar music right HERE)
But a slow hunt n’ peck dream
That your typos seems to hide
Deep inside your mind.
Silent consonants full of pride
In a world full of editors
Made of stone.
Close my eyes, feel the rhythm
Take a hold of my shift key!
I can have it all
Now I’m typing for my life.
And give it a clever caption!
Stories come alive
You can publish right through your life…
Author Stephanie Lewis sacrifices all her energy, time, children, and her busy social life to the total dedication in the pursuit of saving old-fashioned writers back in the typewriter era from getting poisoned by the new toxic rules of single-spacing after a period. She researched until her fingers were bloody raw and finally came up with this irrefutable evidence in order to form a class-action lawsuit and bring back double-spacing at the end of sentences for good, making her a hero to other midlife writers and the publishing industry extremely sorry they ever rejected a novel of hers that wasn’t in compliance with their dumb new rule.
Okay Readers — So what famous movie scene do you kinda, sorta, definitely fantasize you could realistically be in? Tell me in the comments.