Last year, I wrote a short film, submitted it to the screenwriting contest at Malone, ranking in the top four, and never made the film. This year, I am graduated and have never been more uncertain about what to do in my life. That's a dramatic statement, I realize, but I'm not going to downplay what I'm feeling and thinking because dramatic as it is, this really is the most uncertain time of my life. Even if I say "this is the most (blank)of my life" about a lot of things. I really mean it, every time.
So, I thought I'd do a project in the midst of all this uncertainty because I lose myself a little when I'm not creating a damn thing. Even though I'm currently writing another film, I thought I would actually film the one I wrote last year, since I finally decided that it's kind of important to me. I have some semblance of a crew put together, and I'm trying to get more crew members interested. Here is a sample of the project proposal:
Torn:
A film about the effects of talk on the perception.
I hope that the film will stir emotion and thought about how simple everyday things in life can greatly alter our view of the world and the people in it
The Story
Olive, a smart and trendy college age woman, hears various rumors about Jonah Hart’s questionable,(asshole -ish, douche bag-ish) behavior and obsessively tries to decide for herself the true nature of his character. The story is meant to portray the curiosity between one human being to the next, and the nature of how expectations change based on hearsay. Read more about the story below. . .
And of course, I've chosen not to tell you the rest of the story. You don't want to read every little detail, now. But if you ever see it, you'll know every detail. It feels good to be working on a project again.
Monday, November 7, 2011
Sunday, November 6, 2011
Dreams and waking early
I had a dream that Fiona Apple's "Limp" was made into a newer, better version. It sounded basically the same except the instrumentals during the chorus were more elaborate and slightly more poppy. It was an excellent dream. I have been listening to Fiona Apple so much lately that even when I sleep I need to listen to her. Musical phases for me usually match what's going on in my life. If I could write good music, it would sound similar to Fiona Apple's. (Apologies for the dorky, probably more transparent than necessary, self disclosure)
I woke at six this morning. I laid awake for an hour, wondering what my life is about, restless. I didn't have any spectacular revelation, no epiphanies, no deep insight on myself. I laid there thinking long enough to go back to sleep. Now that I think back, it was actually five, because of the time change. When I woke the second time, I realized that I was supposed to set the clocks back last night after mid night. So, I really didn't sleep in 'til noon. Just eleven. And that makes all the difference.
Anyway, we are having a belated Halloween party today because we at The Hideout are not good at doing these things on time. In other news, my hair is finally orange! I can do anything now that my hair is orange.
I woke at six this morning. I laid awake for an hour, wondering what my life is about, restless. I didn't have any spectacular revelation, no epiphanies, no deep insight on myself. I laid there thinking long enough to go back to sleep. Now that I think back, it was actually five, because of the time change. When I woke the second time, I realized that I was supposed to set the clocks back last night after mid night. So, I really didn't sleep in 'til noon. Just eleven. And that makes all the difference.
Anyway, we are having a belated Halloween party today because we at The Hideout are not good at doing these things on time. In other news, my hair is finally orange! I can do anything now that my hair is orange.
Saturday, November 5, 2011
Shorter entries
I've decided that maybe the trick to keeping up with a blog, for me, would be shorter entries. It makes me really sad that most people don't appreciate the art of blogging. Online journaling is amazing. I will always have it so I can look back, though I spend far too much time doing that.
Logging in to blogspot.com made realize just how forgetful I can be. I made an email address for this site and for other sites and job applications called echilensky@gmail.com. That sounds far more professional than c.chemicalgreen@gmail.com. A week ago I created yet another address with a new boring name for the same purpose. erin.chilensky@gmail.com. Wow. I'm continually doing things like this. I've fixed my resume so many times, not realizing that it was already fixed and just saved in four other documents. Do I need help?
Logging in to blogspot.com made realize just how forgetful I can be. I made an email address for this site and for other sites and job applications called echilensky@gmail.com. That sounds far more professional than c.chemicalgreen@gmail.com. A week ago I created yet another address with a new boring name for the same purpose. erin.chilensky@gmail.com. Wow. I'm continually doing things like this. I've fixed my resume so many times, not realizing that it was already fixed and just saved in four other documents. Do I need help?
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Ready, Confess, Action
Dear God, I confess. Kbye.
What is the point of confessing? Is it so that a sound mind can be achieved? A guilty conscience can be alleviated? Is there an empty room after the dainty and dirty thoughts and emotions have been cleaned up, swept away, and polished?
Lately I’ve been neglecting blogging, or writing in general because my heart is heavy and when that happens, I refuse to process it. But as I write this, I’m aware that I am confessing my concerns to you and myself just as I have done to God. I am forced to process.
This morning I dreamed that I was in the swimming pool of a rich man with my brother. I was holding on to a giant, obnoxiously yellow floating device as if I had forgotten how to swim. A voice in my ear told me to hold my nose and go under water. So I did. When I could breathe no longer and came back up for air, it was storming. My brother was floating face down. In a panic I suddenly remembered how to swim. I swam to him and took him and brought him to land. We were suddenly in my back yard where I grew up and played as a kid. My parents were there, concerned. He seemed to be still alive. But as we towled him dry, he suddenly became a little girl. I looked in her face to realize that she resembled me. I more hastily dried her off.
I’ve been sinning more than usual and I feel its effects. Sinning is like lying: you have to keep doing it to cover up your previous errors, or so you think. In turn, it also affects your sense of entitlement. I want pleasure, I want gratification, I want vindication, I want love. These are mine, I’m entitled. But wait, what about everyone else? I’ve got to walk a straighter line, here. There is temptation, there is despair, and there is me, right in the corner of the page, that little stick figure. Temptation and despair are the storm, and then there’s me, trying to remember how to swim to save me from drowning.
As I’m faced with strange and new challenges, I must remember that’s it’s not only confessing that’s important. It’s not merely a list of rules in the bible that we’re supposed to follow. Does self gratification have a place in the perfect Kingdom which is made not just for you, but for others? Does vengeance have a spot in our place of rest? No. If any of these things did, the Kingdom would be chaotic and not perfect. Let’s not wait ‘til we die to start building this place. Confession is nothing if I don’t ask myself what’s in God’s will. Asking myself that question is what gives me direction as to what action I’m to take. I’m to pray for my enemies and not murder them in my own heart? Wow, that will be a daily struggle. Confessions are mere thoughts without action; thoughts that can be revisited comfortably. The action that follows confessing is what makes it uncomfortable. If there’s anything I’ve learned in this past year, God is not concerned with your comfort. He is more concerned about whether or not you drown in that pool. Sometimes the air is harsh on the lungs of someone who’s been drowning for a long time.
What is the point of confessing? Is it so that a sound mind can be achieved? A guilty conscience can be alleviated? Is there an empty room after the dainty and dirty thoughts and emotions have been cleaned up, swept away, and polished?
Lately I’ve been neglecting blogging, or writing in general because my heart is heavy and when that happens, I refuse to process it. But as I write this, I’m aware that I am confessing my concerns to you and myself just as I have done to God. I am forced to process.
This morning I dreamed that I was in the swimming pool of a rich man with my brother. I was holding on to a giant, obnoxiously yellow floating device as if I had forgotten how to swim. A voice in my ear told me to hold my nose and go under water. So I did. When I could breathe no longer and came back up for air, it was storming. My brother was floating face down. In a panic I suddenly remembered how to swim. I swam to him and took him and brought him to land. We were suddenly in my back yard where I grew up and played as a kid. My parents were there, concerned. He seemed to be still alive. But as we towled him dry, he suddenly became a little girl. I looked in her face to realize that she resembled me. I more hastily dried her off.
I’ve been sinning more than usual and I feel its effects. Sinning is like lying: you have to keep doing it to cover up your previous errors, or so you think. In turn, it also affects your sense of entitlement. I want pleasure, I want gratification, I want vindication, I want love. These are mine, I’m entitled. But wait, what about everyone else? I’ve got to walk a straighter line, here. There is temptation, there is despair, and there is me, right in the corner of the page, that little stick figure. Temptation and despair are the storm, and then there’s me, trying to remember how to swim to save me from drowning.
As I’m faced with strange and new challenges, I must remember that’s it’s not only confessing that’s important. It’s not merely a list of rules in the bible that we’re supposed to follow. Does self gratification have a place in the perfect Kingdom which is made not just for you, but for others? Does vengeance have a spot in our place of rest? No. If any of these things did, the Kingdom would be chaotic and not perfect. Let’s not wait ‘til we die to start building this place. Confession is nothing if I don’t ask myself what’s in God’s will. Asking myself that question is what gives me direction as to what action I’m to take. I’m to pray for my enemies and not murder them in my own heart? Wow, that will be a daily struggle. Confessions are mere thoughts without action; thoughts that can be revisited comfortably. The action that follows confessing is what makes it uncomfortable. If there’s anything I’ve learned in this past year, God is not concerned with your comfort. He is more concerned about whether or not you drown in that pool. Sometimes the air is harsh on the lungs of someone who’s been drowning for a long time.
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Begin: Damages, Changes
“I’m always anxious thinking I’m not living my life to the fullest, you know? Taking advantage of every possibility, making sure I’m not wasting one second of the little time I have.” -Clementine
It’s times like this when I should be sleeping, but something keeps me from going straight to bed. It’s almost three and I wanted to go to church in the morning. But the thought of going to bed unfulfilled leaves me restless. I was lying before, it’s not insomnia, it’s dissatisfaction.
As I finished writing for the night, I thought that for some reason I should watch a movie, even though I’d rather sleep. I haven’t actively watched a movie in a long time.
Sometimes when I think about how many things I do throughout the day that I don’t enjoy doing I get anxious. What am I doing? Why am I doing it? More importantly, why am I getting so upset?
I still feel the wear of LA on my mind. Compared to where I’ve been, LA is startling. At first it was in a bad way, and now it’s in a good way. When I first arrived here, I was angry at God for so insistently clearing the path for me to come. Okay, I get it. This isn’t a feeling, this is knowledge: I’m supposed to be here. I was angry and sad as I felt the bonds of comfort being ripped out of me. My family, my friends, all important to me and I to them. It was not an unfamiliar feeling: I know what loss is like, I know what it’s like to realize something or someone in your life has run its course and it’s time to let it be. There will always be the wound, the damages done. We learn from getting hurt; we grow from ruin.
I was mad at God for making me grow yet again. My attitude was that if growth came at the cost of pain, I didn’t want it. I’d rather stay the way I was. I was tired.
I’ve since realized that growth doesn’t come from just one incident where a thorn is plucked from the skin, but from too many to count. It happens every day if you let it. Sometimes it happens whether you let it or not.
I’ve been hiding behind routine and my cool nature as an excuse for not embracing growth at every opportunity I get. And the routine is killing me. It’s the quickest way to carelessness. And by carelessness I mean unfeeling, robotic, passionless, actions which will only lead to complacency, the opposite of growth.
I realize I’m using a lot of abstract words here, but I know that the dissatisfaction which keeps me from sleep comes from routine, not taking advantage of every possibility only because I’m afraid it might make me change or grow. What’s so great about this shell that I work so hard to keep intact? The work it takes is not worth the fruit that it bears.
I know I have not been updating all of my California experiences on this blog. I’m sure I could talk about what I did and what I saw, but it doesn’t really mean anything to me. What I feel like writing about is how my time here has been a spiritual journey that I wasn’t expecting. When I first got to LA, I had dreams every night that I was going home, back to comfort, back to what I already know. Now I have dreams about going home and regretting it. I used to be afraid of coming here because of the unknown. But when I think of going home, to routine, to complacency, my stomach turns a little. Going back to Ohio scares me.
I’ve got two weeks. It’s time to embrace opportunities for growth instead of waiting for them to be forced on me.
“Even in this eternal city, one must always be prepared for riotous and endless waves of transformation.” -Elizabeth Gilbert
It’s times like this when I should be sleeping, but something keeps me from going straight to bed. It’s almost three and I wanted to go to church in the morning. But the thought of going to bed unfulfilled leaves me restless. I was lying before, it’s not insomnia, it’s dissatisfaction.
As I finished writing for the night, I thought that for some reason I should watch a movie, even though I’d rather sleep. I haven’t actively watched a movie in a long time.
Sometimes when I think about how many things I do throughout the day that I don’t enjoy doing I get anxious. What am I doing? Why am I doing it? More importantly, why am I getting so upset?
I still feel the wear of LA on my mind. Compared to where I’ve been, LA is startling. At first it was in a bad way, and now it’s in a good way. When I first arrived here, I was angry at God for so insistently clearing the path for me to come. Okay, I get it. This isn’t a feeling, this is knowledge: I’m supposed to be here. I was angry and sad as I felt the bonds of comfort being ripped out of me. My family, my friends, all important to me and I to them. It was not an unfamiliar feeling: I know what loss is like, I know what it’s like to realize something or someone in your life has run its course and it’s time to let it be. There will always be the wound, the damages done. We learn from getting hurt; we grow from ruin.
I was mad at God for making me grow yet again. My attitude was that if growth came at the cost of pain, I didn’t want it. I’d rather stay the way I was. I was tired.
I’ve since realized that growth doesn’t come from just one incident where a thorn is plucked from the skin, but from too many to count. It happens every day if you let it. Sometimes it happens whether you let it or not.
I’ve been hiding behind routine and my cool nature as an excuse for not embracing growth at every opportunity I get. And the routine is killing me. It’s the quickest way to carelessness. And by carelessness I mean unfeeling, robotic, passionless, actions which will only lead to complacency, the opposite of growth.
I realize I’m using a lot of abstract words here, but I know that the dissatisfaction which keeps me from sleep comes from routine, not taking advantage of every possibility only because I’m afraid it might make me change or grow. What’s so great about this shell that I work so hard to keep intact? The work it takes is not worth the fruit that it bears.
I know I have not been updating all of my California experiences on this blog. I’m sure I could talk about what I did and what I saw, but it doesn’t really mean anything to me. What I feel like writing about is how my time here has been a spiritual journey that I wasn’t expecting. When I first got to LA, I had dreams every night that I was going home, back to comfort, back to what I already know. Now I have dreams about going home and regretting it. I used to be afraid of coming here because of the unknown. But when I think of going home, to routine, to complacency, my stomach turns a little. Going back to Ohio scares me.
I’ve got two weeks. It’s time to embrace opportunities for growth instead of waiting for them to be forced on me.
“Even in this eternal city, one must always be prepared for riotous and endless waves of transformation.” -Elizabeth Gilbert
Friday, February 11, 2011
Tweets
Sometimes I tweet instead of blog, because random (or not so random) phrases will come to mind, or a lyric from a song, or a saying that I was thinking about writing down later, or just plain complaints. All of them have to do with whatever I'm feeling at the time. I am so emotional that I barely understand anything but feelings. I don't understand how someone can make a decision without first feeling something about it. But that's me. I realize that plenty of people aren't like that. The thing is, I should probably put all of this energy into blogging or my screenplays or my journal. Or if I'm going to explode tweets everywhere, making a mess, I might as well copy some of them into my journal, or at least explain what each one of them means. So here's some tweet from the last week, with explanations:
Just walked back with five bags of groceries and I don't think I'm in good shape. #myshouldershurt. -->I hate grocery shopping. I wanted to stalk up so I didn't have to go again for the next two weeks. I guess I thought I could handle walking back with all of that.
True Grit 1969 is far better than this Coen Brothers - thing. I wish this younger generation could appreciate the beauty of the original.
6 Feb -->I don't think I have to explain this too much. Everyone I know likes the new True Grit. Even that father of mine who raised me on John Wayne. Not to say that I'm a John Wayne fan. But there's some nostalgia there.
I'm diggin' your laugh and I'm lovin' your quick wit. I even love it when you're fakin' it. #IckyThump 8 Feb --> The White Stripes broke up on February 2nd. Since then I've been having a marathon. I didn't particularly feel like the lyrics suggest at the moment toward any particular person but I would like to.
Getting an eerie feeling that I'm being watched or something.
8 Feb --> My Skype status is always set to online. Hardly ever are other people onlline unless I set up a time with them, but when they are online, I mistakenly think that they can hear me. Though I know they can't until we are on the phone.
@cliffy4all and not anymore. :/
8 Feb --> Was skyping, and was not anymore. Nadia and Cliff's internet sucks.
"I'm getting old, my skin's coming off, nothing makes any sense to me. Nothing makes any sense."
9 Feb --> I feel like Clementine half of the time. On this day I was angry at everything and I felt ugly and stupid.
I wouldn't raise my child inside the city anyway.
10 Feb --> yep. This is a lyric. Regina Spektor, "Boababs." But I really wouldn't. I used to think I would. But not after being here. They really would grow up too fast.
Reading through my old tweets. Why am I so dramatic? Why are there so many typos? #whereismymind 10 Feb --> I didn't like myself while reading them. I suddenly became terrified of becoming my mother.
I would write some more explaining these tweets but I'm dangerously teetering on the edge of becoming a narcissist.
Just walked back with five bags of groceries and I don't think I'm in good shape. #myshouldershurt. -->I hate grocery shopping. I wanted to stalk up so I didn't have to go again for the next two weeks. I guess I thought I could handle walking back with all of that.
True Grit 1969 is far better than this Coen Brothers - thing. I wish this younger generation could appreciate the beauty of the original.
6 Feb -->I don't think I have to explain this too much. Everyone I know likes the new True Grit. Even that father of mine who raised me on John Wayne. Not to say that I'm a John Wayne fan. But there's some nostalgia there.
I'm diggin' your laugh and I'm lovin' your quick wit. I even love it when you're fakin' it. #IckyThump 8 Feb --> The White Stripes broke up on February 2nd. Since then I've been having a marathon. I didn't particularly feel like the lyrics suggest at the moment toward any particular person but I would like to.
Getting an eerie feeling that I'm being watched or something.
8 Feb --> My Skype status is always set to online. Hardly ever are other people onlline unless I set up a time with them, but when they are online, I mistakenly think that they can hear me. Though I know they can't until we are on the phone.
@cliffy4all and not anymore. :/
8 Feb --> Was skyping, and was not anymore. Nadia and Cliff's internet sucks.
"I'm getting old, my skin's coming off, nothing makes any sense to me. Nothing makes any sense."
9 Feb --> I feel like Clementine half of the time. On this day I was angry at everything and I felt ugly and stupid.
I wouldn't raise my child inside the city anyway.
10 Feb --> yep. This is a lyric. Regina Spektor, "Boababs." But I really wouldn't. I used to think I would. But not after being here. They really would grow up too fast.
Reading through my old tweets. Why am I so dramatic? Why are there so many typos? #whereismymind 10 Feb --> I didn't like myself while reading them. I suddenly became terrified of becoming my mother.
I would write some more explaining these tweets but I'm dangerously teetering on the edge of becoming a narcissist.
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Walls
I haven’t updated in a long time. I apologize for that, really. I am scolding myself for not being more of a regular writer when it comes to writing about my life.
As I settle in to California life I find myself hopeful. I am a bundle of quirks and flaws. I take a long time to adapt to things, I lose focus easily, and I have a hard time making decisions. But luckily, this transition is an improvement from my transition to college. Freshman year, it took a whole semester before I even started feeling comfortable to trust people. This time, it only took a month.
I intern at a company called Industry Entertainment. I read scripts and write coverage for them. My first week was awesome. I work three days a week, Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, 10am – 6pm. At first I thought these days would be long, and that they’d cut in to my lovely days of laziness (though I prefer to call them days I set aside to reflect and have fun) but they don’t seem to be long at all. Working in an office as opposed to working in a cafeteria makes quite a difference. Reading scripts? Hell yeah. My eyes hurt at the end of the day but whatever. On Friday my boss praised me for the coverage I wrote. He was going to give me feedback but couldn’t find anything. He was further impressed that for my first time writing it, I wrote it in two hours. It was then that I realized it was safe for me to let my walls down just a little. I often believe the false statement that since I’m an Ohioan living in LA, I don’t know anything. It was then that I realized - or remembered – that I do know something. It’s not really that big of a deal, but I was pretty encouraged.
What’s great is that I am becoming more focused as I read more scripts for my job. Yes, my mind wanders a lot. Yes, I have to read the same paragraph over and over sometimes. But I feel improvement taking place.
I don’t know what the heck to write about. I’ve wanted to be attached to my next big project for some time now, and I can’t seem to stay put with just one idea. I’ve started three new stories over the last few months. I’m currently trying to stick with my latest. What do I really care about? Going to the Writer’s Guild panel discussion was helpful; particularly hearing Nicole Holofcener (writer of Please Give) and Aaron Sorkin (The Social Network) talk. Nicole said that just she starts writing, takes it one step at a time. She just hears her dialog. I miss the times when I used to do that. I didn’t care about much else. I just did it for fun. That was the stuff that turned out to be the best. But what do I know? I’m still learning, there’s much more to learn. I’ll always be learning.
As I settle in to California life I find myself hopeful. I am a bundle of quirks and flaws. I take a long time to adapt to things, I lose focus easily, and I have a hard time making decisions. But luckily, this transition is an improvement from my transition to college. Freshman year, it took a whole semester before I even started feeling comfortable to trust people. This time, it only took a month.
I intern at a company called Industry Entertainment. I read scripts and write coverage for them. My first week was awesome. I work three days a week, Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, 10am – 6pm. At first I thought these days would be long, and that they’d cut in to my lovely days of laziness (though I prefer to call them days I set aside to reflect and have fun) but they don’t seem to be long at all. Working in an office as opposed to working in a cafeteria makes quite a difference. Reading scripts? Hell yeah. My eyes hurt at the end of the day but whatever. On Friday my boss praised me for the coverage I wrote. He was going to give me feedback but couldn’t find anything. He was further impressed that for my first time writing it, I wrote it in two hours. It was then that I realized it was safe for me to let my walls down just a little. I often believe the false statement that since I’m an Ohioan living in LA, I don’t know anything. It was then that I realized - or remembered – that I do know something. It’s not really that big of a deal, but I was pretty encouraged.
What’s great is that I am becoming more focused as I read more scripts for my job. Yes, my mind wanders a lot. Yes, I have to read the same paragraph over and over sometimes. But I feel improvement taking place.
I don’t know what the heck to write about. I’ve wanted to be attached to my next big project for some time now, and I can’t seem to stay put with just one idea. I’ve started three new stories over the last few months. I’m currently trying to stick with my latest. What do I really care about? Going to the Writer’s Guild panel discussion was helpful; particularly hearing Nicole Holofcener (writer of Please Give) and Aaron Sorkin (The Social Network) talk. Nicole said that just she starts writing, takes it one step at a time. She just hears her dialog. I miss the times when I used to do that. I didn’t care about much else. I just did it for fun. That was the stuff that turned out to be the best. But what do I know? I’m still learning, there’s much more to learn. I’ll always be learning.
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