Tag Archives: amwriting

The Lake Woods

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Lake + Woods

I just recently spent six days at Chelan in the woods — “the woods” is code for “there was no wifi” — with a good friend and it was everything I needed. I leaned into all the -ings. Eating, reading, writing, sleeping, cooking, dreaming, staring, nothing. A whole lot of nothing. I read Crazy Rich Asians. Played Yahtzee. Went bowling during half-price day, and walked along the water. She found Kingsman in the cabin’s DVD collection, so we made vodka cocktails (heavy on the lime) and watched that one night with our feet up. It was probably the eighth time I’d seen it because I’m a COLIN FIRTH FANGIRL. I think he’s my #1 on the ole celebrity exception list, now that Alan Rickman is gone. This is perhaps the most American thing I may say in my lifetime, but the fight scene (tw: very graphic, lotsa murder) where he kills 40 people in one long, continual church scene is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen, and the only time in history when “Freebird” was the perfect soundtrack. 

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GOT Recap, S8 E5: No, Thanks

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So accurate it’s painful.

“What is dead may never die” and yet I’m ready to pull the plug on Game of Thrones. Better that than watch this sloppy, predictable, dementia-riddled death at the hands of writers who ultimately chose to serve themselves over the actual story.

As someone who loves television, I’ve always been fascinated by writer’s rooms and the creative process by which these complicated stories get made. And I imagined so many scenarios around the Game of Thrones writer’s room; how they potentially built on each other’s strengths and mapped out George R.R. Martin’s epic fantasy tale together. Was it an austere writer’s room, was it messy, was it thoughtful? I envisioned spirited debates over plot points, and late nights where crafting an incredible fantasy series was worth missing out on dinner with the kids or having a girlfriend. I imagined being part of something greater than yourself, writing your name in the annals of television history, and building worlds for people of all backgrounds to dive into, even if just for an hour. The responsibility seemed great, but so did the honor. “Those writers are so lucky,” I thought. “They must be at the top of their game.”

Now it’s clear that the process for writing this show is furiously masturbating onto a pile of old TV tropes, lighting the pile with misogynistic wildfire, feeding the ashes to a woman suffering in silence who wasn’t given any lines, watching her HORK the flaccid remains onto a typewriter from 1984, then naming her vomit “Game of Thrones, Season 8, Episode 5.”

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GoT Recap, S8 Ep3: G’Night, King

 

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“WE’RE ALL GONNA DIE.”

You know how we do when it comes to battle episodes: To emoji battle at Winterfell!

There were about 14 minutes and exactly 45 English words spoken in the time before the White Walkers finally got on-screen. In those 14 minutes, we saw our favorite eyes get bigger and bigger with the anticipation of certain death — or did we? I couldn’t see a goddamn thing thanks to winter (it came! like a thick wool blanket dropped over our tv) and the moodiest of mood lighting.

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GOT Recap, S8 Ep2: Fireside Chats

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“Giant’s milk.”

With only four episodes left, we need to discuss something important: When a Game of Thrones moment lands. Throughout the series, the joke in our living room has been “Oh no, that was a really nice moment between him/her/them. DEATH IMMINENT.” But now we’re actually in Moment = Perish territory, and the moments happening — everywhere at Winterfell, between everyone — cannot be ignored. Every sweet word, meaningful look, frank conversation, bear hug — I wonder if George Arr! Arr! is setting me up and they’re destined for the Night King’s army aka Obliterating My Spirit Until Time Dies…which I guess is Bran now? It makes all these lovely moments feel like emotional traps and I don’t know how many panic attacks I can take in the next four weeks.

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Hello | Goodbye | Hello

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FREEDOM IS BLINDING

Psssst. Hey. Hi. Hello.

Been trying to figure out how to present this with as little fanfare as possible, so here goes: This is an update, a confession, two amicable break-ups, and of course a live birth.

So we went on vacation, pictured above, and I promptly had a social media midlife crisis.

What does it all mean? What does anything mean? Why am I doing this, why does anyone do this? Can I ask Facebook for a break, is that even allowed? Can we just get a quiet divorce without anyone in the family finding out? I can’t live like this anymore, something BIG has to change. It’s time to call this what it is: an ill-fated mountain fling that’s doomed to end with “I wish I could quit you,” angry fishing, two failed marriages, and death.

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