i'm having an unfortunate moment in coming to grips with reality.

i spent the weekend at norah head (again) at the lovely menyhart residence, swimming, walking on the beach, etc, etc (see a couple of posts ago for an idea of the euphoria experienced, only no dobos this time) and watching, once with cast commentary and once without, as well as all seven hours of the 'appendices', the extended fellowship of the ring.

and i want to
a) work on a film
b) work on that film
c) work with peter jackson
d) go to new zealand
e) have a bunch of friends who work with me
f) wake up and for all the above to have actually occurred

that's the first part of the reality issue. the second, and i don't know which is more disturbing, is that i just want to stay immersed in middle earth and not do anything else. it's very sad. i'm trying to resist reading the trilogy again, but i don't think that terry pratchett is necessarily a good counter measure (although i'm reading strata which i have not read before, so that's got to count for something).

as a remedy to this unformed homesickness for a place i've never been and that actually doesn't exist, i went to see catch me if you can tonight, which is about as far away from middle earth as you can get. very good. reminded me why i once thought leonardo di caprio was a good actor.

it doesn't help, though, that i bought the two towers soundtrack this morning and am listening to it now. i've just undone a couple of hours' work.

do you think it's plausible for me to watch the extended version again?

i would just like to announce before we go any further that i'm typing on an ibook and i'm going to have to give it back in a couple of weeks. and i don't want to.

now.

we were having an argument the other day about some of my writing (we being a bunch o writers including me who regularly convene at a pub to eat thai food and wax lyrical about each other's work). a character of mine was thought to be much older than he really is by half the group, and they refused to let go of the concept that he might be a really screwed up twenty-something. it's not beyond the realms of possibility, is it?!

how much does the reader's concept of character infect a story? does it matter if it is out of sync with the writer's original intentions? i guess this is at its most obvious when looking at book to film transfers and how miscasting beloved characters (or even not so beloved) can really screw up a film. but does it matter so much when reading? do you get really annoyed if you can't visualise the character immediately?

i am not in favour of saying "Daniel is twenty six, has short brown hair, green eyes, walks with a slight limp, has seventy one freckles on his right arm and enjoys horseriding on the beach" just to get everyone on the same wavelength...and even if you did that, one person's interpretation of "short brown hair" is completely different from another's.

this is all beside the point really, but what i'm still confused about is how can people believe that twenty six year olds are trouble free? my character works in IT, is single and lives alone, so has a fairly large disposable income. he also spends most nights at the casino and smokes like the proverbial chimney. he is extremely self-deprecating, does a nice line in sarcasm and likes jeffery smart paintings. how is this implausible?

i was pleased to note, when shuffling through my pages at home, that one of the other writers had scrawled "i think he's twenty six" across the top of the first page. excellent...i mean, what good is inventing your own version of reality if you can't be your own despot?

something happened! i went somewhere!

i witnessed the odometer of years tick over at the menyharts' beach house at norah head, on the nsw central coast. two days away and i feel better than if i'd had three weeks at home. sleeping, reading, eating, walking along the beach, checking out a lighthouse, eating, drinking, staring out at the waves, sleeping, watching romeo + juliet again, eating (we had lots of lovely dobos torte - possibly one of the greatest cakes ever invented), drinking...happy new year!...sleeping, eating, drinking (the new year looks a lot like the old).

probably one of the most low key new year celebrations i've ever had, and very enjoyable. no pressure like there is when you're in sydney to find fireworks at any cost. even if you vow not to seek them, the desperation sets in at about half past eleven and you start coming up with ridiculous plots and schemes to get a glimpse of coloured explosions (as it was, there were some cute little fireworks someone up the hill had brought and let off over the water, and some kids up the street let off some crackers. the dog went mental.).

so happy new year to you all! i hope this year brings adventures and happiness.