Echo

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/22857051

Hmmm.

I think the correct term would be: yippie ki yay.

I’m back.

The weirdest thing happened.

The writers went on strike. And I stopped writing.

It’s like a sychronicity took hold.

I thought it was because I had a stalker, but truthfully, it’s nice to have a more secret hiding place.

So here I am. In my new home.

It’s been raining this whole week and I’ve been equal parts miserable, equal parts enthralled. There’s something spiritual about the rain. My mom comments many times that I’ve inherited her love of rain. Maybe there are things passed down through generations, something more abstract than genetics. Maybe souls have families, too.

So what have I been up to?

Man, I don’t even know where to start.

I fell of the face of the earth. Went into super privacy mode, trying to be a ghost. When people forget that you participate in this drama we call life, they start letting you move through their world like shadows. So I’ve been watching people and understanding those little things about life that you take for granted.

The funny thing is that people have these immediate reactions to me. They’re convinced that who they’re seeing is a living, breathing person, when I’m giving them a mask. They believe that this person I’m projecting exists. And their conviction is so strong, that I’m able to watch them interact with my projection almost as a silent observer.

The thing that I’m most awed by is how complexly simple humans are. There’s almost a beauty about their naivete, about their straightforward earnestness. You see their challenges, you see their fears, but at the end of the day, there’s this need to move forward and find a positive light to it all. Then there are people who want to take these things away from people, to take away that simplicity, to destroy that innocence. The more I watch of human interaction, the more I feel protective of people, and the more I appreciate individuality and uniqueness.

I’ve been thinking a lot about my past, my accumulated experiences, and trying to find the meaning to it all. If I were to write the movie of my life, what genre would it be and what kind of themes would it have. What is the dominant storyline? Is it one girl’s struggle in a hostile environment, all the while trying to protect her vulnerable brother. Or is it the wanderer who explores life like an anthropologist, always reluctant to get involved? Is it about an alien trapped in a host body, struggling to find its way home. Or is it a quirky romantic piece about the introspective loner who finds love in the most unexpected of places? Is it a dark comedy, as I once thought it was, or is it an independent drama full of hope and angst. Will there be car explosions? Or stuntmen needed to fall through glass windows. Will there be a leading man, or a tragic love triangle? Maybe it will be passionately explosive, or maybe it will be repressive, cold and brimming with repressed lust, where just the passing touch of skin on skin makes your entire body shudder. Maybe it will be more bitter than sweet, or maybe in an improbable twist, it turns out more sweet than bitter. Maybe everything wraps up nicely in a neat little box, or maybe there’s room left for a sequel. But no matter what, just adhere to three act structure, and only the necessary, significant characters should have lines of dialogue. Watch the plants to be paid off later, and make sure your characters have distinct voices so you can explore them all. Do lots of scenes where you’re looking pensively into a mirror, and maybe throw in a gun or two. But no matter what, make the movie truthful. Because at the end of the day, an audience can always sniff out bullshit.