I’m Back On Top And I’m Missing You, Baby Baby Where’d You Go?

Just the other day, I was thinking to myself, I haven’t had a popular article on Time’s Entertainment Blog for awhile. Have I lost “it”? and then, today, I look and see this:

So, here’s the funny thing: The #1 story? That’s mine. The #10 story? That’s a story from a year ago that I linked to in my story that apparently resonated with people. Look at me, resurrecting traffic for long-forgotten material! I feel inordinately smug about that.

In any case, here’s this week’s Time story, about the Moonlighting Curse and why it’s a myth. And, because I was out of town last week when it went live, here’s last week’s story, too.

Outlook Unclear; Try Again Later

I said I was crazy busy, right? That’s why I’m not even going to try and dress this up: Look! It’s my new Time essay, this week about political conventions and comic conventions. It’s another one of those that turned out being written multiple times; the first time I wrote it, I ended up going out on an entirely different journey than I’d intended to and, more importantly, than what I’d pitched to the editors. It wasn’t a bad journey, but it wasn’t what I’d promised, and that was a problem. Sometimes, such things happen, and occasionally they’re a good thing – I love the happy accident of writing, I promise – but I always wish that they’d take less time when they do happen…

All Apologies

As you could likely tell from my silence yesterday, my schedule hasn’t exactly settled down just yet. To be fair, I was absent because I was watching the first episode of the new Doctor Who season (It’s very fun), but still. I’m back now and will try to stay on top of stuff a bit more, apart from when I’m on vacation for a couple days in the near future, but that should be vacation and that’s good and and and… Hey! Go read my Time piece from this week instead of me rambling here. That’ll be so much better.

Meanwhile…

And, of course, how remiss would I be to not link this week’s piece I’ve cooked up for Time’s Entertainment blog? That would be here, as I try and work out whether or not the terrible new Bourne Legacy movie is about to usher in an age of blockbuster movies where story isn’t even a consideration.

Yes, I disliked Bourne Legacy that much. Really.

No Time, No Time At All (Special Time Edition)

It’s definitely one of those days that has definitely gotten away from me, and so instead of my usual rambunctiousness in linking to the Time piece of the week, I’ll just say that I didn’t expect to write this and come away from the experience in favor of NBC editing the hell out of its Olympics coverage, but I did. There’s more for me to work out about what the future of factual television programming is in the mental aftermath of all of this, but that’ll have to wait for another day…

Cutting Room Floor, Etc.

Who is John Blake?

Well, as anyone who’s seen The Dark Knight Rises already knows, he’s the true moral center of Gotham City with more impassioned belief in justice than either Commissioner Gordon and Bruce Wayne seemingly put together, and more detective skills than either, as well. More to the point, as anyone who’s seen The Dark Knight Rises already knows, his name isn’t even John; it’s Robin. You know, as in Batman And…? There’s a reason – beyond the need for a last minute twist, the “ahhhhh” that comes from recognition and realizing that you’ve been outsmarted all along (even if the last minute twist seems to come from nowhere) – that The Dark Knight Rises saves the true identity of Joseph Gordon-Levitt’s character until the very end of the movie, after all. It’s not just that identifying his character as Robin from the get-go would’ve left you spending the entire movie waiting for him to put on his own mask and tights at some point, wading into the action to kick-ass and save Batman’s butt in some surprise denouement, either (That role, instead, is filled with Catwoman, with a quip about gunplay that feels curiously off-color, considering recent events). No, the reason that Christopher Nolan and cohorts needed to keep the identity of the latest Robin a secret is this: It apparently sucks to be Robin.

That’s the opening to an entirely different version from this week’s essay for Time’s Entertainment section than the one you’ll see. It was another of those weeks where I wrote the thing, thinking that it was one thing, only to discover many hours later – Seriously, the first version took me most of Monday – that I was entirely wrong and I needed to start from scratch and angle it an entirely different way altogether.

Part of that comes from the fact that this was one of those times when Stephanie Abrahams, my fine fine editor, pitched me the story instead of the other way around, and I didn’t necessarily have a good enough handle on it when I started writing the first time. Another part comes from the fact that I started it within an hour or so after leaving The Dark Knight Rises at the theater, and that is actually a stupidly short amount of time to try and process what I’d just watched – I have to say, I think I liked TDKR as much as I disliked The Dark Knight, which is saying something – but, really? Most of it comes from the fact that, I thought this story was Thing A, only to discover in the process of writing the final paragraph, that it was actually Thing B all along. Literally, even as I was writing the end of the first version, I was thinking “Oh shit, oh shit, this is what I should’ve said instead!” I got up from the desk after finishing, trying to work out if I really wanted to junk 1500+ words worth of effort, and immediately started outlining the version of the piece you can actually read on Time Entertainment by hand, knowing that I was going to end up doing it.

(I wrote the outline by hand, then went to the gym to give myself some space to consider whether it was worth throwing away everything I’d done and starting over, knowing that it’d mean I’d be writing until midnight most likely, and then having to start again the next morning at something like 6am in order to meet the deadline. Depressingly, I just ended up more convinced that it was exactly the right thing to do; in my favor, it turned out that I only needed to start work at 7am on Tuesday to make it happen.)

There’s something to be said, for me and my process at least, in knowing when you’re defeated and need to start again. I find a value in writing things that end up entirely discarded, even if they’re just roadmaps about where not to go the next time around – although, I admit, I’d rather find pieces of writing I can lift wholescale and put into something else later. Mind you, if I could know when to cut and run earlier, I wouldn’t have any real problem with that.

Word Synaesthesia, What You Do To Me

This week’s Time piece is an essay inspired – if that’s the right word – by seeing Safety Not Guaranteed last week and watching trailers for Ruby Sparks and Lola Vs beforehand, with each film seeming curiously like the others. It was one of those things that just killed me to write; I ended up starting over and trying to find what I was trying to say more than once (I almost ran one of the abandoned versions here, but then thought better of it; there’s only so much of my dirty writing laundry that I can expect other people to want to see, after all), and only realized after a number of hours that what I was thinking about as the middle of my piece was actually my end point.

Along the way, it made me realize a couple of things about the way I write things. Firstly, and frustratingly, I can’t redraft; I have to start over, and rewrite from the beginning, even if all I’m doing is rewriting things that worked the first time around until I get to the problem parts. I have no idea why this is the case, but it is; cutting and pasting things into a different order or working around them just doesn’t work for me, my brain doesn’t hold the information the same way. Secondly, and more interestingly to me, I think of essay structure as song structure. The part I ended up pushing to the end of the essay? I found myself thinking of it as “the bridge” at one point, and then as “the coda.” I constantly worry about the rhythm of what I write, too. Maybe I’m a frustrated song writer and I didn’t know it.