Archive for the My work Category

So I Said “Off Hiatus” …

Posted in My work on 15 October, 2009 by sonal

Um, will you take the excuse, my homework ate my blog?

It’s true, I’ve too busy to procrastinate. Really.

It’s the start of week 4 in film school and so far I’ve handed in 2 short film scripts – a 3 min black and white silent short and a 10 minute studio based piece which had to be completely rewritten in the space of two and a half days after being ripped to shreds in a workshop (I started a new short today – the first draft is due on Monday). I’ve changed my screenwriter case study from Jonathan and Christopher Nolan to Harold Pinter after a minor freak out about being a absurdist playwright in a cinematic world (yes, Jean, that hang up is going away …), a work and research journal to maintain (chunks of which are handed in each term) and the usual additional reading of hand outs, recommended books and other screenplays.

It’s quite full on. But I’m loving every minute of it. So much so that I can’t bring myself to procrastinate on the blog with it … too much to do.

In brief: My class is an insanely large 20: 6 women, a couple of Indians, a Canadian, a American, a Greek, a Bulgarian, a Serb, a couple of Germans, a South African, a Swede, a handful of Brits, a fella from Portugal and a New Zealander (that’d be me). Only a hand full are newly graduated, the rest of us have been kicking around for a while. And everyone has a different writing style. So very different.

Also, I’ve managed to be late only twice, so far …

Back to it – more later.

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From the Graveyard

Posted in My work on 13 March, 2009 by sonal

I’ve been digging through boxes of old notebooks, desperately looking for inspiration to turn into film scripts … why film scripts? It’s a long story.

A very long story.

One day, when I can laugh about it, you will hear. At the moment, it’s not funny. *sigh*

In the meantime, going through 15 years worth of notebooks ranging from yearly diaries, napkins, coasters, ringbinders and spiral bound bits of paper has revealed these things:

I really thought I was funny as a teenager.
I was actually a bit of a smart arse.
A not funny smart arse who was an angry, angry little girl.

But then there is, however clunky, some things that I like as I grow into my skin and my writing voice – like this poem I wrote for Kathryn when I was 20:

Oh Kathryn, why is it, when you are so tall,
Have a friend like me who is a tad small?
When we walk down Courtenay Place
People stop and stare and hide the smirk on their face.
“The Long and The Short of it” they say with a grin,
Whilst secretly thinking “my wit’s setting in”.
But little do they know that we’ll have our day
For on every topic we’ll have something to say
And if they dare ask to try and outwit us,
They’ll get the full force as if they’ve been hit by a bus.
Questions on weather? We’ll answer “yes”.
“Yes what?” they ask, we reply “guess”.
“What do you mean?” say they who are quite confused,
We’ll then say “you’re welcome” and leave them bemused.

I can see it now like Thelma and Louise,
We’ll drive in big cars, running free in the breeze,
Reckless, gorgeous and young, we’ll never grow old!
(But don’t forget the cardies, cos it might get a bit cold)
We’ll take on the world and see what they will do
When it’s not one quick witted chick, but a very smart two!

The world will be blown away, when we’re centre stage,
The media will cover us on every front page.
“Angelic sweet girls, or demons from hell?”
Eventually, in time, the world will know us well.
We’ll become role models for every young girl
And now is where the marketing machine begins to whirl …

I see t-shirts and dolls and maybe shampoo
And a marketing strategy we’ll have to do.
We could make millions overnight,
If we get our planning right.
Start off slow and give them plenty of tease,
The rest will then follow with much ease.

With this plan in hand we’ll be set up for life,
No more doing dishes or living in strife!
Stick with me, I’ll show you the way
That we can spin gold from something like hay …

Four Calling Birds

Posted in Holiday 55s, My work on 28 December, 2008 by sonal

It was very kind of you to stop …
No worries.
You have no idea how hard it is to get a cab on Christmas day …
I know.
.
Anyway, we’re very grateful … so, is there much demand for turkeys on Christmas?
You’d be surprised …
Yes, but live turkeys?
*gobble gobble*
Don’t worry about him. He likes you.

Three French Hens

Posted in Holiday 55s, My work on 27 December, 2008 by sonal

Yes …. I realise that I should have booked a cab last night but … yes, I know it’s a busy … hello? Hello? They’re fully booked.
.
Don’t look at me like that.
That’s the fifth company you’ve tried.
And it’s not my fault they’re all busy. It is Christmas. What? What do you want me to do?

Two Turtle Doves

Posted in Holiday 55s, My work on 26 December, 2008 by sonal

Fucking pigeons!
Let’s walk, he says. It’ll be fun, he says. Work up an appetite, he says.
I’m right here.
I know.
Look, it can’t be long until we get there. See? We’re here. And Kath’s is … here!
That’s her old place.
Well where is she then?
Turn to the next page. And again.
Oh.

A Partridge In A Pear Tree

Posted in Holiday 55s, My work on 25 December, 2008 by sonal

Is the cab here?
Nope, we’re walking.
We’re what?
Walking – I’m not paying £37 for a £2 bus journey.
There are no buses! It’s Christmas!
And we’re walking.
To South London?
Yes.
Across the river?
Yes.
It’s going to take us 4 hours to get there!
Well we had better be off then.
.
I hate you.

4.

Posted in My work, Random, The Ramblings Of ... on 26 October, 2008 by sonal

Delirious visions of you
Chocolate dipped and candy coated, floated with icecream and just the right amount of coke
This sugary haze, my fluey daze equates you with all manner of diabetic delights and things that are not really right for grown adults to indulge in on an hourly basis.

Delirious visions of me
Green eyed and goat horned
Trying to navigate the waters of scorn, resistance, love, desire, hope, sarcasm, cynicism, enduring confusion and self inflicted delusions of happiness, contentment, that I am fine and cool and not really thinking of you
At all
Ever

Delirious visions of this world I live in
Not rose tinted or grey hued
Not a series of jump cuts or long languorous takes where the heroine waits under cherry blossoms slowly raining petals as she contemplates, meditates upon a life of success, satisfaction and love requited, delighted and without the emotional shipwreck of baggage or broken hearts left in the debris

Instead her fever breaks and she soon awakes to a world more real than she wanted with feelings unresolved and less clear cut than a thousand magazines or books or friends would have her believe
A place where there is no easy solution, no quick resolution, no one size answer, approach, dictum, manifesto or statement that will fit everything that bugs her at the moment
Delirious visions give way to the frightening conclusion that she must do this on her own

I, me, myself, as companions we wait, we hesitate as we decide, debate and ultimately procrastinate on picking up the phone …