Lost [between the] Lines.

Have you ever heard of an actor getting too caught up in their trade?  One that gets so stuck in a particular role that they forget who they are?

Did you ever think that maybe a writer can do the same….?

It’s a heinous sort of feeling, getting caught up in your own story.  One that, I’m afraid, I’ve got right now. 

I’m not here to air out my dirty laundry, even though it might interest some of you more than what I’m about to say. But I will give you a glimpse into my notebook, something I hold as sacred as the right to breathe.  This morning I wrote the following:

I’m tired of story-book significance that fades at the next plot twist.

[Insert sentiment here] because I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel anymore.

There feelings aligns with the line of a song by Motion City Soundtrack that’s always resonated with me: “The coup de grace that set me off would have made for decent fiction”

The French phrase “coup de grace” means “A finishing stroke or decisive event.”

Have you ever felt the significance of a moment that wasn’t meant to be significant?  The possibility of a bright, engaging storyline that just drives you crazy because its simply not meant to be? The strain between what you're hoping for, and what's actually happening?  

I have…
and it gets me into all sorts of trouble.

My preoccupation with fiction seems to have sentenced me to a particular sort of doom that I know everyone experiences, but seems to be especially problematic for me.  I will plunge head-long into a scenario, envisioning in my head every minute detail of how it ought to go, and what everyone involved is supposed to feel…. And then it doesn’t happen.

One of my absolute favorite movies, 500 Days of Summer, addresses this very issue.  In one poiniant scene, the main character, Tom, goes to a party that he’s been invited to by Summer, the girl he wants to love him back.  Throughout the scene there is a split screen, one side labeled “Expectations,” and the other “Reality.” Needless to say, the two sides differ significantly.

Later in the movie Tom makes a speech about the nature of what we feel and express, claiming that most of it is unreal, created only by the great sense of sentimentality that exists in our art.  In a meeting at the greeting card company where he’s employed, Tom says:

“We’re liars. Think about it, why do people buy these things? It's not because they wanna say how they feel; people buy cards because they can't say how they feel, or they're afraid to. We provide the service that lets them off the hook. You know what? I say to hell with it. Let’s level with America at least let them speak for themselves, right? I mean look, look. What is this? What does this say…with all the pretty hearts on the front? I think I know where this one’s going. Yup "Happy Valentines Day sweetheart.  I love you." Isn't that sweet? Ain't love grand? This is exactly what I'm talking about. What does that even mean, love? Do you know? Do you? Anybody? If somebody gave me this card Mr. Vance, I'd eat it. It's these cards, and the movies and the pop songs, they're to blame for all the lies and the heartache, everything. We're responsible. I'M responsible. I think we do a bad thing here. People should be able to say how they feel, how they really feel, not ya know, some words that some stranger put in their mouth. Words like love, that don't mean anything.”

Somehow, the emotionality of our society that Tom so eloquently explains here, with our Hallmark cards, valentine chocolates, and all of the romantic comedies with happy endings have just left us… with what?  This sense of being stuck in an alternate world... reality. Flowery words and fairytale-esque scenes don't belong here.

And I have been worse than anyone.  As an observer, an actor, and a teller of tales, I have forgotten what meaning actually means. It’s left me disillusioned like Tom, and wondering if maybe, it really is a bad thing that we do.  I don’t suppose I can make the judgment that realism is the only medium we ought to use in art, but I feel a renewed conviction to keep my feet planted on the ground.  And I’m wondering, If my writing doesn’t leave the reader prepared to engage the real world again after they’ve experienced it, what good is it?  If I ever become just one more voice creating hype, and impossible expectations, then I, like Tom, am bowing out.