"Give Me Sex Jesus"

I watched Give Me Sex Jesus, a documentary about the Christian evangelical purity movement, for the first time last night.

That title though.

The film is streaming for free on Vimeo. 

Background: I've had my eye on this documentary ever since the Kickstarter campaign in 2012 when the title was "Jesus, Don't Let Me Die Before I've Had Sex." I attended the same church as Matt Barber (the director) for a few years, and I know some of the people interviewed. 

No, I never signed an abstinence pledge (though memories of doing so are notoriously tenuous) or wore a purity ring--though I might as well have. 

Purity culture raised me, and I fully embraced its principles. 

So, watching this documentary, I had quite a few thoughts and emotions--

I laughed. I cringed. Many of the interviews were some combination of funny, poignant, and heartbreaking. In the end, I wanted more.

I wanted to know how it all turned out--how the gay son of a prominent Christian family worked out his faith and his sexuality, if his dad ever spoke to him again or invited him to family dinners.

I wanted to know what happens when getting married doesn't give you the amazing sex life you were promised, how purity culture affects Christian dating culture, and how the filmmakers came to make the film that they made. 

Truthfully, it is the story behind the story that intrigues me the most. And it's a quite a story: 

Matt Barber left his faith and his marriage during the making of this film, as he details in this Life After God podcast. He is currently in a relationship with producer and co-filmmaker Brittany Machado.

Machado tells a similar story about leaving Christianity. She writes about having sex for the first time in college after a youth spent embracing purity culture:

"If my faith were a Jenga tower, then this brick of sexual truth was pulled from the bottom of the stack. From there everything started wobbling a bit."

This. This is the story that I'm interested in. Matt and Brittany's stories make plain what I have long suspected: That if you give up on the sex part, then you might as well give up on the Christian part too--

Richard Beck at his blog "Experimental Theology" writes about how purity is a metaphor, and not a good one, for sexual morality. Unfortunately, the purity metaphor seems to hold true in another way: 

Essentially, just as there is ONE way to have sex (in heterosexual marriage), there is also only ONE way to think and feel and talk about sex. Anything I might think or say or feel about sexuality that contradicts this doctrinal purity throws my entire faith into question. 

It feels like heresy--which is probably why I find stories about leaving Christianity so fascinating.

Watching this documentary, I realized that for me, sexual morality and what I do with my body are so intertwined with my identity as a Christian, that I can't even begin to untangle them. 

It's hard to imagine other aspects of my identity in the same way:

For example, if being a feminist or a writer or a college graduate or heterosexual or writing about racism seemed to be incompatible with Christian faith, would I have left long ago?

Maybe this happens to us all. We hit a wall--something that seems irreconcilable--whether it's our sexuality, our beliefs about the nature of men and women, racism, evolution and the study of science, "Christian" political beliefs, etc. 

In the end, I don't think it's about sex (YES IT IS! EVERYTHING IS ABOUT SEX!), but about purity--about a certain kind of certainty that I can no longer embrace.

It's about asking the kinds of questions that I want to ask, having the kinds of conversations that feel taboo, writing about what I want to write about.

Wanting these things and pursuing them doesn't feel like leaving Christianity, but it does feel like leaving behind being a certain kind of Christian, if that makes any sense.

Even if I didn't have to give up faith itself, I would have to take a leaving of a different sort--leaving behind evangelical Christianity and the community that has felt the most like home here in Los Angeles.

More conversation:

Watch the film HERE
Life After God podcast
Hot Buttered Shame on the Dana Gould podcast
How Christians Have Sex - Personal response to watching "Give Me Sex Jesus" from a lapsed Christian (?) slash LA comedian

If you've watched the film and want to talk about it, or you haven't the watched the film and want to talk about it, I'm here. Let's talk.

Like a Kick in the Ass

Welcome! Do you need need some slightly violent motivation? You've come to the right place! Tis the season for a kick in the butt.

Is there a novel you've always wanted to write? An exercise regimen you've been meaning to start? A guy or girl you've had your eye on for a few weeks (years) now?

There are only three rules here: 

No shame
No blame
No excuses

In my opinion, a kick in the ass has nothing to do with exposing your character flaws or blaming you for not meeting your goals. Besides, shame is a terrible motivator! No, this is about giving you the right push in the right direction so you can take action. You can do it!

As for "no excuses," there will be no, "The economy is terrible right now" or "You're right, there really are no Ryan Gosling lookalikes out there who can change a tire, read Dostoyevsky and make a mean peanut butter chocolate cheesecake (at the same time)." 

In sum, the time for sympathy has passed. The time for ass-kicking has arrived. 

You hate your job:

No! Stop updating your LinkedIn profile!! Go out there and actually APPLY for a JOB. It doesn't have to be your dream job. It just has to be a job. Better yet, contact someone you know and ask them if they've heard of any openings (More effective than applying to some random job on craigslist and an excuse to reach out to an old friend. It's a win/win).

You're getting paid less than you deserve:

Ask for a raise. Write out, point by point, why you deserve a raise--not why you need a raise (to pay for that Sock Panda subscription), but why you are such a stellar employee and how you've contributed to the health and well-being of your company.

You want to start eating healthier: 

Put down that donut! Kidding. I love donuts. I've got nothing for you. Sorry. You're on your own with this one. 

You like someone but haven't asked them out: 

Ask them out. What do you have to lose other than your dignity, your self-respect, and every last shred of fear that's holding you back? That's right. Show that fear who's boss. 

You're in an abusive relationship...with facebook: 

You deserve better. Anything or anyone that demands that much of your time but gives so little back deserves to be cut out of your life. Or at least limited. 

You haven't signed up for health insurance yet: 

DAMMIT! SIGN UP FOR HEALTH INSURANCE!

You call yourself a filmmaker but haven't actually made a film at any point in the recent past: 

*crickets*

None of these apply to you? 

Here's a trick. Think of someone you know who really needs a kick in the ass. Write out what you would say to them if you were really being honest. Now read it back and apply it to yourself. [It's called projection. I know this because I'm in therapy.]

Or, think of yourself 1, 2, 5 years ago. Think about what you needed to hear at the time. Write it down. Apply it to your current situation. 

Or, even better, write a letter to yourself from the future (no shame, no blame, no excuses). Send it. 

You're welcome. 

Resolutions: A 2012 Retrospective

So, last year I made a few New Year's resolutions. This is a recap of what I actually did. Warning: Yes, it is depressing.

1. Read more.

Er, well, maybe I read more. You see, in 2011 I spent most of the year working at a bookstore warehouse surrounded by books, many of which I wanted to read, but couldn't (you know, what with working getting in the way and all).

I was textually frustrated.*

In 2012, I got another job, and then ANOTHER job, neither of which involved books. I did read a few books. I did not read as many as I would have liked.

New goal: get paid to read books.

Truthfully, I still read all the time. Probably for hours a day. I just read online material: blogs, Slate, articles, more blogs.

2. Write more.

I did write more (mostly for this blog). I did not, however, get published all that much. I kind of stopped trying after submitting to two places and not getting published.

One blog post that I wrote, Are You Experienced?  I originally submitted to Relevant. They didn't take it.

However, I don't regret the effort that I put into that essay. I worked a little harder than I normally do on the craft of it, and I took the time to be really honest with myself about not only what I felt but why I felt that way.

I think it paid off.

It's gotten more of a response than any other thing I've written.

Although my top post of all time is still How to hit on a girl on facebook. Thanks, Google.

3. Think less.

There's no real way to measure this. Did I go with my gut more? Worry less? Overanalyze less? Now I'm thinking about thinking!

4. Participate.

I'd like to think I participated, at least a little bit. I also blew off social commitments and plans for no other reason than that I was tired. I was that lame person who fell asleep by 11pm on New Year's Eve. I was the person who RSVP'ed on facebook and then never showed up. Sorry everyone.

5. Shoot more.
This one was actually kind of a success--I shot a lot, especially toward the beginning of the year.

I shot a short film with my sister. I shot footage for a music festival near San Diego, I shot a friend's feature-length Shakespeare adaptation. I had fun.

There are studies that say sharing goals actually makes you less likely to achieve them because just by getting positive social feedback, you already FEEL like you've achieved your goals, when actually you've only stated them out loud (or online).

I think this year will be more about discerning the difference between what I think I should want to do and what I ACTUALLY want to do.

I'm pretty sure I want to do more of the above.






*My theory about working in/at/for a bookstore or owning a bookstore is this: You should love books, but not too much. If you love books too much, you will want to keep them all for yourself, so you can read them or decoratively display them in your tastefully furnished hipster apartment. You won't want to let them go. Working around books without being able to read them is hard. Luckily, I have the willpower of small, scrappy mule with an eyepatch.

Working For Free Without Losing Your Self-respect

In my last post, I wrote about three unpaid, short-term jobs I worked shortly after moving to LA. And last I checked, my self-respect was still (mostly) intact, making me a clear expert on this topic. These mostly apply to trying to break into the film industry, but I suppose they could apply in other fields as well. Here are some tips:

1. Put a time limit on it.

Do: Decide in advance how long you will work without pay.
Don't: Keep working for free until your savings are gone.

"Unpaid internship" is not a euphemism for "slave labor." Or at least it shouldn't be. Don't work for free for too long. Put a time limit on it--a month, three months. One year is too long (if you're not in school). If you're working in an unpaid internship and they haven't even hinted about giving you a job after three months--it's probably time to thank them kindly for the valuable experience, ask for a good reference, and move on. It's a lot like dating: If they're still not ready to make it official, it's probably not meant to be.

2. Watch your expenses.

Do: Work odd jobs to make money.
Don't: Eat at the Cheesecake Factory every night. [Plus, cholesterol!]

This goes with out saying--if you're working for free, you're probably not making a lot of money in general, so avoid spending what you do make. I was lucky. When I first moved to LA, I immediately got a temp job working at a media conference that lasted for a week. Subsequent to that, I got another extremely short-term gig that paid pretty well because I was working a double-shift. If you're making money at another job...

3. Save your ass off while working your ass off.

Do: Your job. Well.
Don't: Kill yourself.

Give it your all. You have nothing to lose (literally). If you work hard and don't complain, people will remember you. Being happy and nice doesn't hurt either.

4. Network, network, network

Do: Tell people you are looking for more gigs.
Don't: Hand out your resume between takes.

Make friends. Friends is how you will get jobs. Friends = jobs. Remember that.

5. Take advantage of craft services. [There is such a thing as a free lunch.]

Do: Take leftovers home, if appropriate.
Don't: Steal all the peanut M&Ms. They will find you. And they will kill you.

Anyone who knows me knows that craft services is pretty much my favorite thing ever. On the films I worked on, I was often the one buying the craft services (Win!) Eating on set will help you save money. One solid meal a day can go a long way, and often the company is paying you with meals and things. So enjoy the perks, I mean, red vines.

6. Keep your receipts.

Do: Remember to ask for a receipt.
Don't: Spend your own money on production expenses.

If the company is reimbursing you for lunches or gas, make sure to keep your receipts. If you are spending petty cash, MAKE SURE TO KEEP YOUR RECEIPTS. Learn how to ask for a receipt in Spanish, if necessary.

7. Don't tolerate disrespect or harassment.

Do: Tell someone if you're not comfortable or don't feel safe doing something you've been asked to do.
Don't: Try to deal with HR type problems on your own.

If you are working for free and the company/production is mistreating or abusing you--call me and I will come punch them in the face. But seriously. That is unacceptable. If someone harasses you, say something. You are more important than any film.

8. Give thanks.

Do: Wash the dishes.
Don't: Overstay your welcome.

Working for free is a privilege that many cannot afford, because they have to pay for stuff like "rent" and "daycare." Thank those who have helped you [or are helping you] along the way. I was lucky enough to live with my aunt and uncle rent-free for a few months before moving in with roommates. I couldn't have done it without them.

9. Get a job. [Do I sound like your parents yet? Good.]

There comes a time in every woman's life when she must "get a real job." If your time limit is up (and before your savings run out), start looking for a job that pays. Any job. Beggars can't be choosers and all that. When it comes to survival jobs, I like to quote the Rolling Stones: You can't always get what you want. You know what's worse than working as a barista? Living out of your car or being a freeloader eternal.

Finally, like the old college motto says, respice finem, or "Look to the end." Why are you working for free? Hopefully, you are working for free in order to eventually get a job. But in the short-term, what are you looking for: To support a cause you believe in? To make connections? To meet interesting people? To have an adventure? To get up at 5:30am every single day and drive from Torrance to West Hollywood?

These are all valid reasons. Just know why you are giving of your time and yourself. Make sure it's worth it.

Tune in next time for How to Survive a Day Job Without Losing Your Mind.

"She works hard for (no) money": Copy/Meal/Credit, Unpaid Internships, and the Vagaries of Finding Work in Hollywood

[or, How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Craigslist]

We all know there is no such thing as a free . Working for free is by its nature an unsustainable prospect (unless you are independently wealthy or win the lottery). However, sometimes an English-major-from-a-small-midwestern-liberal-arts-college has gotta do what an-English-major-from-a-small-midwestern-liberal-arts-college has gotta do to break into the entertainment industry. Namely, work for free.

Let us call this "The Tale of Three Internships" (because "The Tale of Three Volunteer Work Experiences" doesn't sound as catchy):

Internship #1 - In which I enjoy free lunches and 3D footage of hot air balloons, but am lured away by more exciting opportunities.

October 2010: When I first moved to LA in from Kansas City, Missouri as a basically broke recent grad, I did the only logical thing possible--I applied to anything and everything on Craigslist that sounded even remotely interesting (or that paid). 

Subsequently, I was offered an unpaid editing internship at a 3D production company. Cool, 3D. Those were my thoughts. I was also pretty psyched to intern in the editing department. The perks included free lunches on the days you worked and a low-key, friendly work environment. Plus, 3D! 

I organized clips into bins, added logging notes, researched music, and did stringouts for the editors. 

This was a pretty cool internship. But then...

Internship #2 - In which I work as an assistant on an ultra-low-budget film shooting all over Hollywood with name stars and a director of note.

I met this guy at a Thanksgiving party for LA orphans and he connected me to a producer looking for interns. It would be one week of prep and two weeks of shooting on an ultra-low-budget film. Sign me up, I said!

I was excited to be back on set. The people were, of course, amazing, and I discovered once again the strange co-relation between how hard you're working and how much fun you're having. On one of our craziest days, I ended up valeting multiple vehicles and parking them along a narrow, windy drive lined on either side with a low stone wall. Me! Parking cars! It was simultaneously terrible (more like terrifying) and really good fun.

We wrapped after 12 days of shooting and then it was Christmas! I went through post-wrap depression until I got a call...

Internship #3 - In which I am a natural at driving in Tijuana, Mexico [read: I drove like someone who is completely INSANE] and I eat a lot of tacos while being terrified to cross the border but crossing it anyway, multiple times, both ways.

Early in January I got a call from a producer who had received my resume. All I knew was that they were shooting in Mexico and looking for volunteer crew members. I quickly signed on as the assistant production coordinator/driver/craft services/catch-all title.

Where to begin: Volunteer cast and crew. Inspiring subject matter. Mexico. The best popsicles I have ever eaten in my entire life. I had a blast.

It was also extremely challenging. I would drive around and get lost constantly (Did I mention I have a terrible sense of direction? That I don't speak Spanish? That I didn't have a map? Or a GPS?) I would just keep driving until I found the main highway. I could find my way from there.

My main job was to pick up actors from LA across the border in the good 'ol US of A and bring them back into Tijuana. On my first time attempting to re-enter my native land, I took the wrong lane. The immigration officer was so kind. He let me off with a warning. And the threat of a $5,000 fine should it happen again.

The people were great though, and that's generally all that matters.

Thus concludes my tale of three internships. None of them led to a steady, paying job, but I don't regret doing them.

Tune in next time for the advice portion of this program: "Working For Free Without Losing Your Self-respect."

Dear 15-year-old me,

You are fat.

Just kidding. Sort of. Later on, your family and friends will tell you that you went through a "chubby" phase. Subsequently, you will get a lot of comments along the lines of, "Wow! You've lost weight!" or, "You're skinny now!" Uh...thanks?

This will come as a surprise. No biggie. I'm glad you don't think you're fat. Cause you're not. 

You are pretty. 

Don't act so shocked. Attention from guys will come later, and I know you think you're safe in that baggy black sweatshirt, but it's okay to feel attractive. Dressing in an appealing way is not a betrayal of your identity. Attention is not always a bad thing. You don't have to hide.

Homeschooling is a terrible idea.

You will never get the "normal high school experience." And let's face it, you're not disciplined enough to homeschool yourself. You are, however, extremely stubborn.

Homeschooling is an awesome idea.

Going from Beijing-->World travel-->North Carolina will be one of the toughest transitions of your life. You won't feel like you fit in. At all. You will probably always be ambivalent about NC as a whole. You will probably always feel at least a little bit like an outsider. But, the 6-month period you spend in Beijing your junior year of high school will change your life--an oasis in the desert of adolescence. You will learn how to edit. You will spend the first of many late, lonely nights cutting video. You will love it. God help us all.

You are not a burden.

I don't even know how to begin to convey this to you. You are very independent, and that can be a good thing, but that personality trait is being twisted into something else--something that's not good. You are not on your own. It may feel like that, like you need to be entirely self-sufficient now that your parents are divorced, but that's not the case. Retreating into yourself so as not to impose on anyone is not the way to go. It will only leave you isolated.

You are hurting.

I'm sorry.

You are OK. 

I could tell you all about the messed up way you relate to your family, or how you're judgmental, self-righteous, bitter, and perfectionistic--how you hurt the people you love the most in the most cutting ways possible. But you know what, they forgive you later. You even forgive you. You are OK.

And you know what--I still think "The Outsiders" is a great movie.

Stay gold, kid. 

Sincerely,

Me

Inspiration: http://jezebel.com/5951005/would-your-15+year+old-self-listen-to-you

You Never Marry the Right Job

My dad's a really funny guy. He also gives pretty good advice. I can remember some advice he gave me once, when I was stewing in a post-high-school-what-the-heck-am-I-gonna-do-with-my-life funk:

Just move. Choose a direction, and go in that direction. It's much easier to steer when you're moving.

It was and is still pretty good advice. And I think I'm slightly less anxiety-stricken about the whole "What am I going to be when I grow up?" conundrum.

I can remember posing this question to a handful of college professors my senior year. One of them said, "The more I live life, the more it becomes a question of 'How?' rather than 'What?'" And man, isn't that profound. Another professor said that the movie High Fidelity contained the answer to my question. I've seen the movie High Fidelity, and I still don't know what he's talking about. [If you know, please point me to chapter and verse. Thank you.]

And the more I think about, the more I think that we (naive young persons) tend to view the choice of career as we do the choice of a mate. We believe in "The One."

We believe in that one career, dream, passion that will completely and utterly fulfill us, forever and ever and ever. Find your passion. Follow your dreams. Keep pressing on and don't give up.

Have you read the article, You Never Marry the Right Person? What if you applied this same basic concept to your career?

What if your dream job was occasionally a nightmare? (All y'all filmmakers know exactly what I'm talking about.) What if it required hard work, sacrifice, and doing a bunch of crap you don't wanna do? What if, on some days you can't stand it, and on other days, it outright takes your breath away?

Maybe, just maybe, some people do have "The One"--that one thing they were created to do, that they would wither away without: Einstein and physics, Beethoven and music, Emily Dickinson and poetry...

I know that at times, writing feels less like a hobby and a whole lot more like an identity. I don't just write. I AM a writer. It seems like part of my very being, something I take for granted.

But the more I live and work and write, the less I believe in "The One"--the one job/career/calling that will bring me the fulfillment I think I deserve.

I get a little bit frustrated with people who think that their very identity is tied to a career or artistic endeavor. [You're not an actor, you're a freakin' human being! Your life and identity cannot be encompassed in the word "actor."]

Truth be told, most people are good at more than one thing and find enjoyment in doing more than one thing. For example, I really like my current job. I truly enjoy what I've been learning to do. However, when I think about it as a "career," I freak out.

Can I really see myself doing this for THE NEXT 10 YEARS?!! (They're called commitment issues. Yeah, I know.)

That's the problem with believing in "The One." It breeds panic and a sense of discontent. But there exists the possibility that I only think this way because I have yet to meet the right job/person. Maybe you never meet or find the one, you just meet or find the one that's right for you.

I think we can at least agree that it's possible to marry the WRONG person or job.

And I'm challenged, too, by the words of a friend, from back when I used to work in a warehouse everyday: "You didn't come to LA to pack books into boxes."

Yeah, I didn't. I don't think anyone does, truthfully. No one comes to LA to wait tables either. What then, did I come to LA to do?

This question brings up a mixture of guilt, fear, and avoidance. It's answering this question that asks more of me than I think I can bear.

How to Make Me Happy

In Anna Karenina, Tolstoy famously wrote that "Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way."

My happiness depends more than I would like to admit on external factors that I usually have very little control over. Which is to say, all the environments I've been happy in tend to share certain characteristics.

The title actually doesn't make sense, of course, as no one can actually make me happy. But, you know what I mean. If someone needed a user's guide to me, it might include some of the following points. 99% of the time, I am super easy to please. Really. And now for a few items:

1. Food.

This one should go without saying. Food is important. I like it. I may not be particularly great at feeding myself, but I am really great at exploiting--I mean, finding--events with free food. I am all over that.

My sister is really good at feeding people. Seriously. She owns her own dumpling truck, and you should check it out. I always eat well when she's around.

2. Junk food.

Junk food goes into its own special category. I like it. Particularly if it's free. I'm the only one in my family who still thinks junk food is cool. The rest of the lot have all embraced something scary called "healthy eating"--and yet my brother still steals my skittles. Who's the hypocrite here, hmm?

3. Freedom to work independently.

I'm crazy independent. I like figuring things out on my own, but I also want to be able to ask questions. Sometimes, I just do stuff. I can't help it! It's the way I am.

4. People.

People make me happy. I like being around them and bugging them. You know how you just like people sometimes for no reason? You see them and you just want to smile.

5. Writing (and the freedom to write whatever I want to write).

If I'm not writing, something is wrong. Or I'm just being lazy. Or I'm afraid that people are actually reading what I write. It's complicated--but the freedom to write the truth the best that I know how feels a bit like God's intention for my life.

6. Talking through ideas.

If I couldn't do this, I think I would die.

7. People making fun of me (teasing me?).

I'm not sure why I love this, but I do. I myself can't pull it off without sounding like a jerk.

8. Learning new things.

9. Good writing.

10. Sleep deprivation. Stress. Challenging circumstances. Being on set. Filmmaking.

11. Teaching/training

I used to work as a master control operator at a small TV station and I was so excited to get to train new employees (three people, singly, to be exact) to do the job. My favorite part had been the training, and so I was looking forward to training other people. There's something about seeing someone put into practice something you've taught them. There's definitely a sense of pride.

Are you experienced? : Excellence, Exclusion, and the Hollywoodization of Church

“Well, we’re really looking for someone with experience.”

My heart sank. These were the words I dreaded with all the dread of a combined $30,000 in student loan debt. Experience was exactly what I did not have as a recent grad.

What I did have were Hollywood dreams, a resume replete with low-level production jobs, and a working knowledge of literary theory.

Now, here I was, rejected from a volunteer, assistant position on a film that would never make money. I reacted the way most mature adults do when faced with rejection. I raged. I sulked. I griped to my friends. I half-heartedly contemplated quitting my dreams.

But most of all, that word “experience” hit me like a punch to the gut. I thought I was over it. I had mentally shrugged it off as no big deal.

I had tried once, unsuccessfully, to volunteer at a church I was attending. I wanted to get involved. I chose production arts because it seemed like the best fit for a wannabe filmmaker who happens to be an introvert and doesn’t particularly like directing cars or working with children.

I was emailing back and forth with a church staff member. He asked me what I wanted to do. I said I wanted to work behind-the-scenes. He asked about my experience. I described my involvement in making movies. Radio silence on his end.

I finally approached him at church and introduced myself.

“Oh. I had confused you with another girl named ‘M___’ who is definitely not qualified to volunteer for the production arts team.”

In the next 30 seconds, he must have used the word “experience” at least five times: everyone who volunteers for production arts needs to have experience, all the people who’ve signed up during the volunteer drive are supposed to have experience, the other girl doesn’t have experience, etc.

I froze. I dug around in the back of my mind. How could someone be so completely unqualified to run PowerPoint slides or wrangle microphones? I quickly surmised that she must have been born without thumbs. How tragic.

Everything hit me at once—my name in the emails (announcing my gender, my non-white racial status), my perceived lack of knowledge, my dubious credentials, and my strange kinship with this girl with missing digits. I felt naked and exposed, as if the letters of my name had shouted from the rooftops the deep unworthiness I had tried so hard to hide.

How had he perceived the truth about me? How had my name betrayed me so brutally?

I did what all writers do under these circumstances. I wrote what I knew was a reasoned, well-thought-out email explaining why what he said had bothered me. I was handling this in a grownup, rational fashion. I joked to myself, “Well, at least he didn’t tell me to go volunteer for the children’s ministry or the welcome team instead.” But at night my mind wouldn’t let go of that girl, that other girl, the one without thumbs. I kept thinking about her. I felt bad for her.

I knew it was nothing personal. What is church after all, amateur hour? You can’t just let anyone push buttons or run PowerPoint slides. These things take finesse, experience, maybe even some degree of talent.

God forbid a bad sound mix or a missed slide distract the churchgoer from the message of the gospel. It’s about excellence. And experience is the necessary precursor.

Excellence is hard to define, but I think we all know mediocrity when we see it. Rachel Held Evans calls out painfully amateur special music as one hallmark of the awkward church. As Christians, mediocrity embarrasses us. If it’s not good enough for the world, it shouldn’t be good enough for Sunday service. Mediocrity hurts us and makes us cringe, like watching your friend perform bad standup at a club with no guest list and a two drink minimum.

And so we are urged to give God our best: Quality. Excellence. Good production values. I don’t believe that God has a problem with any of these things. I don’t think your worship is any more pleasing to God because you have a crappy sound system or sing Keith Green songs off key.

Similarly, just because a movie has positive Christian values, spells out the gospel, or is produced by a mega church does not make it good. Au contraire says every “Left Behind” movie ever made.

I currently go to church on Hollywood Boulevard. We get our share of the homeless, the strung-out, and the downright crazy. Last Sunday, a relatively normal looking man rushed the stage in an attempt to join in as a backup singer for the worship team. He never made it that far. Security escorted him out, his hands still outstretched for a microphone.

I feel like I’m that guy sometimes—the grossly unqualified gatecrasher violating the sacred order of the liturgy with my flaws, my brokenness. It’s not that I’m not experienced. It’s that I know that no matter how much experience I have at living this life I will never be perfect.

If only you could see my heart—the hatred, the bitterness, the jealousy, and the pride—you would rightfully conclude that I should be forcibly removed as well. In the face of perfection, I am unworthy. We all are. We are all missing a few fingers, or in my case, probably a major limb.

To weave the connection between church and Hollywood a little bit tighter, consider this Hollywood value: The product is more important than the people.

If it is the quality of the end product that matters, the church too can justify exclusion on the basis of excellence. Are you experienced? Are you worthy? Will you make us look bad?

In the midst of my disappointment at my rejection from the film job I didn’t have the experience for, what hurt the most was realizing that a church was ready to reject me for the same reason—this ethic of excellence that expels and excludes.

Ironically, I HAD the right experience. But my name, my face, my body told a different story.

The church is not transforming Hollywood. Hollywood is transforming the church and making it after its own image.

Who I Am v. Who I Wish To Be

“Before I can tell my life what I want to do with it, I must listen to my life telling me who I am.” 

-Parker J. Palmer, Let Your Life Speak

I read (most of) an intriguing little book by Parker J. Palmer called Let Your Life Speak. It's a book about calling, vocation and listening as a means to discovering calling and vocation. 

Part of letting your life speak is separating who you are from who wish you were.

To give an example: I wish I were more of a technical/visual filmmaker than I am. I wish I could get excited and nerd out about new technology. I wish I cared about the visual style of David Fincher or John Ford. I wish I intuitively understood the difference between different video codecs.

Zadie Smith wrote a great essay about ideal readers and the authors they do not choose (rather, the writing of that author chooses you). She writes of E.M. Forster:

It happens that I am E.M. Forster's ideal reader, but I would much prefer to be Gustave Flaubert's or William Gaddis's or Franz Kafka's or Borges's. [...] Rightly or wrongly, I feel I get all his jokes and appreciate his nuances, that I am as hurt by his flaws as I am by my own, and as pleased when he is great as I would be if I did something great. I know Morgan. I know what he is going to say before he says it, as if we had been married thirty years. But at the same time, I am never bored by him. You might know three or four writers like this in your life, and likely as not, you will meet them when you are very young. Understand: They are not the writers you most respect, most envy, or even most enjoy. They are the ones you know. (from The Best American Nonrequired Reading 2003) 

I love this idea of writers and readers meant for each other like soul mates. Again, it's not about who you wish you were drawn to but about who you actually get, I mean really get. I can remember having feelings like this whilst reading Jane Eyre, though I'm not sure who I am the ideal reader for. I suppose I wish I were the ideal reader for Henry James.

I admire writers who can write for miles, days, pages and pages, but I am not that kind of writer. I struggle to reach page and word counts. When I write, I often skip over a bunch of explication and get straight to the point (or at least that's what one professor said). Am I leaving things out because I assume they are obvious? Am I just too lazy to properly set things up? Is this just the way that I write?

In a similar vein, to go back to filmmaking, I wish I had the compassion of a director like Cameron Crowe or Brad Silberling. I wish I cared about my characters the way that they do. I wish I had that kind of empathy, which is to imply that I don't.

All of this is to say a lot about who I am not--not technical, not obsessed with visuals, not given to torrents of words, not empathetic. I know less about what I am. I think that's where the listening comes in. Or the just doing. Relaxing into vocation.

If I'm hearing correctly, I think my life might be saying that I don't write/create within a social vacuum. Filmmaking is always collaborative and I enjoy that aspect of it. I create with my friends and the quality of the work reflects the quality of my relationships. I used to see that as a liability, because if the relationship fell apart, so would the project. But maybe it's more of a gift than a liability.

What about you? Is there a gap between who you are and who you wish you could be? 

New Year's Resolutions: The Who, What, Where, and When

1. Read more.

One Hundred Years of Solitude
The Wings of the Dove
Tropic of Cancer
The Grass is Singing
Anna Karenina
Art and Madness
Bleak House
The Rings of Saturn
Possession
TBA

In coming up with a reading list, I realized that I want to read "the classics" less than I thought I did. Maybe this is because there are relatively few "classics" (intellectual snobbery alert)  that I have neither read nor attempted to read. I have an especial distaste for books that I have--more than once--tried and failed to finish. (I'm looking at you, Slaughterhouse-Five and Huckleberry Finn.)

I find myself drawn more to memoirs, essay collections and literary theory.

The thing about a childhood spent reading is that it's extremely difficult to live up to as an adult, at least for me. I despair of being able to replicate the wonder and delight of reading certain books at a certain age. More than I want to read more great books, I want to re-experience reading the great books of my past. Am I doomed to an adulthood of literary nostalgia?

Of course, there is always re-reading. But there's something risky about re-reading a book you once adored. It might not stand up the second time around, which is why I've probably never reread a certain book I read at age eleven. I want to preserve the sacred memory of that first reading.

2. Write more.

Specifically, I'd like to be published in 10 places other than this blog--this can include web or print. One down, nine to go. (update 1/25: At least one of these must be in print)

3. Think less.

This is a difficult one. How does this even work? I suppose the only way to plan on thinking less is to plan on doing instead of thinking. So far, I've tried to put this into practice with mixed results.

A few days ago, I read:

"Try an experiment today: What would happen if you did NOT conceptualize everything before taking action?" (Understanding the Enneagram, 93)

What does that even mean? Do people really do that? 

I'm kind of kidding. 

I have recognized a tendency to read about doing things (like writing a screenplay) rather than actually doing them. That madness has got to stop. 

4. Participate. 

Anyone up for some beer pong?

5. Shoot more. 

One short film per month.

New Year's Resolutions

1. Read more.

In 2011, I rediscovered the audiobook, which is all well and good. However, I'd like to actually read a few books this year, eye to page, balls to leaf, etc.

2. Write more.

Maybe I should specify: write more for public consumption. I write a fair bit--I can't imagine NOT writing. It's part of who I am. A delightful cocktail of perfectionism and procrastination keeps me from writing for persons other than myself--I'm always looking for the perfect title, idea, opportunity.

So yeah. I'd like to write a feature length screenplay, and you can hold me to that. And more blogs.

3. Think less.

In the same category as thinking: talking about it, reading about it, writing about it. Write more, think less--sounds paradoxical, but there is certainly an element of writing that does not come from thinking but from putting pen to page. In other words, just do it. Less theory, more praxis.

4. Participate.

Sometimes, this means playing beer pong.

5. Shoot more.

Ideally, at least one project per month. Starting tomorrow.

I like you but I hate your script

In high school, I had a boyfriend who dreamed of becoming a successful guitar player and singer. I can't speak to his guitar playing, but his singing--well, let's just say my mom once charitably compared him to Bob Dylan. We eventually broke up--not over his singing.

I like you. But your singing makes me cringe.

In college, a friend had me read her script. And I hated it. Perhaps "hate" is too strong of a word--not the word, for instance, that I used when describing how I felt about it to her face. But, well--it wasn't my cup of tea. It wasn't my cup of anything. I thought it was crass, poorly written and derivative. The spelling and grammar mistakes made me cringe. I really, really didn't like it.

I didn't tell her that, of course. I said encouraging things, like "Your descriptions are so vivid" and "I like the character progression in the second act." This seems like good politics generally: pick out the things you like and say something good about them. And I did that. Bullet dodged, or so I thought.

However these tentative words of encouragement had an unforeseen consequence. The writer, my friend, thought she really had something. She started talking about submitting it to agents and production companies. She emailed me, asking for proofreading help so she could prepare it for submission. And my slight, forgivable lie (really an omission of the truth) trapped me in a cycle of dishonesty. How could I tell my friend at this point that I loathed her script? And the more uneasy question, how did I show support for her dream while doubting deep down that she was a good writer?

I like you. But please don't make me read your script.

A friend and I joked about writing a translation guide for friend feedback:
"I liked the beginning and ending."
Translation: "I hated the middle."

It's the fine art of reading between the lines.

Flannery O'Connor famously said, "Everywhere I go I'm asked if I think the university stifles writers. My opinion is that they don't stifle enough of them." And yes, there are probably quite few people who fancy themselves writers who perhaps should not write.

Bad writing tends to get the worst of me--makes me rant and rave, at least internally--especially if other people don't seem to agree that it's bad.

I remember in college we had to write an essay about a poem. I thought the poem was poorly written, sentimental, and stilted, and when my classmate came into class and mentioned that she'd liked it, it set off a question bomb in me. (A question bomb is a question I feel like I have to ask or I'll explode.)

"Is it good?", I wanted to ask my professor. Is this poem good?" I have to know.

But why this drive to know whether something is "good" or not? Not "Do I like it?" but "Is it good?"

I do believe in an objective good and I do believe in good and bad art. But so what if someone disagrees with me about one poem?

The problem with "I like you but I hate your script" is that, as a friend pointed out, that's like saying "I like you, but I hate your soul." And what if that's true? Hypothetically, let's say that I meet a cute guy. And hypothetically, I read some of his poetry. And my reaction is "Dear God."

It's not so much that I could never date someone who writes bad poetry. I write horrible poetry. It's that I couldn't pretend that I thought it was great poetry.

If I'm honest, I think the question "Is it good?" can be traced back to the deeper question of "Am I good?" Or, "What if I'm not?" It's all mixed up with pride and an anxiety of value. I need to know that there's value not only to what I write, but to who I am.

But I am not the ultimate judge of good and bad--for me or anyone else. "Am I good?" If I can answer this question first, maybe I can let the rest rest.

And if I can do that, maybe I can just do the work.






*Distinctions:

In this post, I should make a distinction between critiquing the work of friends and critiquing the work of a significant other or potential significant other. These are different.

Also, there is a difference between judging a product (poem, short story, etc.) and judging the producer of that product.

Passion and Plastic Water Bottles

So, I'm working on this shoot and the weird thing about it is there's no drama. I mean, I suppose there are little bits and pieces of it, but barely enough to register a blip on the dramatic Richter scale.

I'm used to drama on set. Outbursts. Catastrophes. Fits of pique.

Stuff goes wrong. Stuff always goes wrong. But the root of all drama, I've decided, is ego.

When I'm working on a project--unless it's my project--I usually can't see the big picture. I'm focused on my tiny little corner of responsibility.

I think I'm fairly good at being single-minded, focused.

This kind of tunnel vision is awesome as a writer, director, editor. But as a below-the-line (?) person, not so much.

I'm a bit ashamed to admit it, but I have been passionate--passionate--about the consumption and waste of bottled water on set. Because I drove to Costco and bought that bottled water, dammit, and now you have the nerve to leave it lying around after drinking one lousy sip!

I had passion without perspective. I was scaring myself.

It could just be simple pride: My work is important. My work is more important. I am more important.

(And I doubt that the opposite is apathy and neglect, necessarily.)

I care. But I don't want to care so much that it gets in the way of doing my job or treating people well. I want passion without ego. Dedication without contention. Persistence without perfectionism.

I want to invest everything I can, and then let it go. 'Cause even if it's mine, it's not mine. I don't have the big picture.