On Saturday, writer and blogger Billy Mermit is offering a seminar at UCLA titled "Exploring the Core Elements of Storytelling in Film and Fiction." which will deal with the similarities and differences of "story" in movies and literature. It sounds like an exciting seminar. While thinking about the subject matter last night, it occurred to me that one difference is obvious — the writer of fiction must use the written word to convey EVERYTHING, while a filmmaker has many tools, such as visuals and music to manipulate the audience. We all know the cliche "a picture is worth a thousand words." One glance of a movie actor can equal ten pages of description. Visual content seems to always do a better job in capturing our attention. As an example — yesterday, I spent a good amount of time writing my "sexology" post. I spent one minute uploading the photo of the "penis bed." Can you guess which was talked about twice as much in the comments?
Some of you are amazingly good writers. You convey all of your emotions and information through Words. You create imagery and poetry through the English language.
I’m a lazy writer. Words frequently fail me. That’s why I reach for every trick in the book — photos, songs, cheap sex jokes.
Some of my favorite blogger-writers are meeting in New York this weekend for TequilaCon 06. I’ve been excited about this event for over a month. Even though I already have an airline ticket, I unfortunately needed to cancel my trip, since I have some pressing matters I need to deal with in Los Angeles.
I am very disappointed about not going to New York this weekend and meeting some of you. I hope those who attend will think of me as there in spirit. I hope everyone has a great time in New York. I wish I could better communicate my emotions to you, but, as usual, I can’t find the words. So, I guess I’ll need another way of showing you my love — through the magic of tap dancing.
ORCHESTRA STARTS PLAYING.
I rip off my clothes to reveal a tuxedo underneath. Sophia throws me a top hat and cane. I jump on top of my bed. The entire bed levitates and a staircase folds out in front of me, covered with flickering lights A neon "New York City Skyline" descends in the background. I start to SING:
Come and meet those dancing feet,
On the avenue I’m taking you to,
Forty-Second Street.
Hear the beat of dancing feet,
It’s the song I love the melody of,
Forty-Second Street.
Tap Tap Tap Tap
Tap Tap Tap Tap
Tap Tap
Tap Tap
Tap
Tap
Tap Tap Tap Tap Tap Tap Tap Tap
Tap Tap Tap Tap
