I recently watched the Runaways (2nd time), a film about the girl rock band from the 70s called The Runaways.
Side note: Dakota Fanning was amazing in this film. So out of her comfort zone.
Near the end of the film you see Joan Jett, played by Kristen Stewart, strumming, trying to hash out lyrics. She's in a dirty room, on a dirty mattress, dishevelled, worn out and struggling to make the lyrics flow. Make it work.
The scene solidified how awful it can be...the grim process of creating something from nothing. Creating a finished product whether it be a song, a dance, a novel, a script...etc.
It's brutal. Torture. Messy.
You doubt, everyday. But what's the alternative? Settling for a 9-5 job that'll rot your insides, where the banter in the lunchroom is enough to make you want to cut off your own ears? To engage and swap insincere smiles, and happen to catch the latest gossip between the washroom stalls and it's about you?
Then there's that dream - that damn dream you can't let go of, cause if you do, every good and precious thing within you will die. Where after some time you'll conform and become one of them. Them that gossip, tearing through Us Weekly/InStyle/The Newspaper, tearing at anything that is positive or hopeful, cause deep down inside they're terribly unsatisfied, pissed to high-hell that they let go of their dream.
I've been around bitter people. It ain't pretty.
I think the most awful feeling is to know you could do something about it, but you don't. You talk yourself out of your dreams.
Yeah, the road sucks crap, totally. It's covered in broken glass, goopy sludge where for days you feel stuck, as stabby fingers tell you to grow up, all the while a raging storm hovers above, hellbent in not shedding a glimmer of light. You're broke, alone, and sometimes just plain bored with yourself. Nothing feels like it's moving.
But what's the alternative...
Dancers sweat, bleeding on the dance floor. Just steps away from failure or that big break. Actors, man, actors are a special case. Trapped in the mirror, trying to look and sound the part, hoping the next audition will get them closer to paying their rent and not resort to living in their car (Matthew Perry lived in his car). And then there are writers - yep, the saddest of the lot. It's all in your head, stuck, and it has to come out. Come out making sense. You're always alone, watching life pass you by from within your jail cell (Starbucks), observing the other writers typing away - writers who are probably more successful than you. The blank page, ice cold, looks up, begging you to drop a word, cause you haven't written a thing a for 20 mins.
Or you're at home, not having changed your pyjamas for days, and with that washed your coffee cup. You numbly watch TV, cause at least there's some action going on there, unlike your computer screen. White as snow.
So where's the light at the end of Un-Pretty... ?
Who can say? Not everyone makes it out. Most surrender, becoming a part of the "normal" working world. But a small handful do make it. They're the ones we all know and hear about. They make it look easy, but I betcha it was a damn hard road, continues to be.
Me. I can't accept the alternative just yet.
Wait...I hear someone calling....
Int. Starbucks - Day
It's crazy packed with people. Not a chair in sight, except for a seat next to a group of loud, annoying teenage girls. Damn! Their coffee cups look full.
BARRISTA
What would you like today....Oh, right. Tall Blond, 3 pump white mocha, right?
ME
Yeah, thanks, so cool that you remember.
BARRISTA
Well, you're in here all the time, writing something.
ME
I know, it's sad, isn't it?
