Something about this time in the evening gets me positively wacky. I become so nostalgic for things that I have never even experienced, like I lived in a Norman Rockwell painting at one point. The sunset casts beautiful shadows upon Salt Lake City, with contrasting orange hues. Suddenly, I find myself wanting to write a film noir.
I am returning to my scripts again. I have been trying to make sense of the leftovers from my last manic writing sessions. This is why we finish what we start, kids; because when we come back later, it's going to horrify and perplex us.
Today I listened to some of John August's podcast on screenwriting; something that also puts me in a strangely nostalgic mood. It's not as if I've listened to John August before, and certainly not in my childhood. But something about fall is haunting that way. While listening to him, I found myself wanting to write stories about the East Coast, and my childhood. Is anyone who reads this thing from the east coast? If you are, is it safe to assume that you feel my longing for the east during the fall? The smell of foliage, the look of the changing leaves...everything.
Well, that's where I'm vacationing in my brain. Won't you join me? And for those of you who live on the east coast, won't you open your doors to us? We promise we won't occupy your wall street or anything... we'll just enjoy your leaves.