Another adventure has passed. I will now digest it, study it, dissolve it and add it to my scrap book of memoirs. Script class, what a journey! Natural story telling: Too many ups, too many downs, a roller coaster ride of emotions to which not even the most obsessing love affair can compare.
The point: Everything Jim said definitely found resonance inside my head. It made sense, it all did. Then the only thing left was go doing it. The whole crew of script writers had to adapt a short story each. This was meant as inspiration, a help to get started, I suppose. Eagerly I sat down at my desk, the story in front of me, reading it over and over again, waiting for the divine energies of inspiration to fill the humble body of mine. The force is strong in me, I assured myself! I waited. I wondered. I waited some more. Still with an open mind, ready to embrace the divine energies which soon were gonna speak through my bodily flesh! I closed my eyes, spread my arms out, ready to embrace the divine energies in a big hug! The lightning bolt of inspiration was gonna strike any moment now!
Pause...
Puzzlement...
Silence prevails. Where was that divine force which arrival I was so eagerly anticipating, to whom I had sacrificed my humble body!?
Two days later. Still seated on this damn chair! My arms had begun to hurt. In front of me the screen of my once so beautiful iMac now seemed to be a monster. The screen, a gigantic gob ready to devour me! For days is sat all still, filled with terror, paralyzed by this horrendous computer!
Another day. I curse my lack of guts to throw my iMac out the window.
Another day. I swear at myself for not having the courage to throw myself out the window!
The muse failed me, and with her my fortitude. Blame the muse! For days my mind was stuck in the same groove of the vinyl. Panic occur. Frustration. I decided to let that muse, who had so boldly forsaken me go to hell! What misery, oh me, oh life! Instead I found comfort in the wise words of Shostakovich, an anecdote from his biography, I read way back. A student asked him for advice on getting started with a symphony, he could not come up with a main theme. Without hesitation Shotakovich answered how he should not sit down and expect inspiration easily found, instead one should just sit down and WRITE! Basic, I know, but true none the less.
I ended up with a script, and in the end it became a film. I ponder, why did I struggle so much with writing a script? Film seems to be a merciless medium; a medium so very exact compared to literature. Essentially I find the necessity for action prohibiting me. Film relies on drawing emotion through action. Action seems to paralyze me, to kill me. Argh! Action, action, why this lack of action!?
Maybe it is just due to a fatal lack of imagination. Or maybe I simply has no stories to tell whatsoever. A very interesting conversation I had with a fellow student of mine. Living in Europe, born into an in so many ways ordinary family: what have I experienced, in what way am I unique? Cause besides the fact that it is raining outside my window, life seems quite beautiful really. Denmark. A warm bed I have, food as well, money. In one of the worlds most secure societies what do one have to fight for, after all? And if one do not have anything to fight for, what do one have to tell?
What do I have to tell when I am basically stuck, entrapped by “La Dolce Vita”. And honestly spoken, walking around imagining nothing but Anita Ekberg bathing in a huge fountain does not seem as such a bad life after all!
So a change of view, I am now wearing a new hat: Now consuming instead of creating. There has been made film enough to keep me busy for the rest of my life, I assume. And yet, something essential would be lost. The joy of witnessing the result of hard labor I would sacrifice for the pleasure of the moment. To balance between creating and consuming seems to be a dilemma eternally haunting me! Albert Camus could be my best friend for the rest of my life, or Whitman, or Truffaut, even Ingmar Bergman would not let me down either! However, the lonely journey of the writer and the joy when one finally arrives at the longed, unknown location would not be. Though a steep, rocky path the journey might be, though you may fail, though you may meet obstacles on the way, you will always be sure to come out stronger on the other side of this catharsis of the writing wanderer.
And so the courier has arrived and the my message has been delivered. Another blog has been written, I wish it would be as easy to write a script! Heck! Shostakovich did not live in vain. Do not whine: Just sit down and write!

By birth given the name Benjamin Jacob Ekeloef Busch, I have lived most of my life in Holstebro, Denmark. In '07 I graduated from the local gymnasium, a preparatory school for university. Since then I have repeatedly worked at a hospital succeeded by a four months stay at the military in Aalborg, Denmark. The last year I spent backpacking in South America.
My one true passion in life as always been the Arts. My voice is my wife and the cello my mistress - now partly neglected due to my obsession with the films. Indeed, I have become a marionette of the motion picture, a fascinating, unknown continent I now seek to conquer, guided by my puppeteer the EFC. Let us hope my wife does not cut the strings before these unknown lands have been settled!