Thoughts on writers & writing from the Oscars today
Erle Stanley Gardner who wrote the famous Perry Mason series.
Truman Capote who wrote Breakfast at Tiffany's.
Enjoyed watching the 79th Oscars ceremony live on telly today. Very pleased that Dame Helen Mirren won the award for Best Actress, though Penelope Cruz stayed an equal favourite.
And so too, Little Miss Sunshine for its Oscar on Best Original Screenplay, that spoke of eccentricity and unpredicability in film, deriving its plot from unconventional norms as opposed to flamboyance and extravagance of cast. The prize went to first-time screenwriter, Michael Arnt.
I love the Oscars simply because it's such a dramatic fuel for inspiration or any kind of a dream.
One fascination was the introductory clip for the Best Adapted Screenplay category, which heralded alluring smoky scenes of brooding, hat-wearing, cigar smoking actors and also actresses, who portrayed novelists and playwrights hard at work on their ancient but priceless typewriters.
I was overcome with emotion to observe that small mountains of a paper-crush, heartaches, agony, exhilaration and especially that the typing of those magic words, The End, were nothing short of the same symptoms that spelt the eternal universal writer's journey - where a romantic intrigue hovers in a desperate novelist's life to make something painful and even ugly, transform into the remotely beautiful.
To watch the writers of old engrossed with their tales, immediately reminded me of the likes of Erle Stanley Gardener who portrayed the famous Perry Mason series, pulp writer Jim Thompson and novelist Truman Capote amongst others.
I was overwhelmed that destiny had chosen me to be a writer in turn. A real writer who can never escape her art, with all the blood, sweat, tears and passion to show for it. Suddenly, I felt terribly grateful for my own fate, whatever it held.
Oh what a wonderful thing to live and breathe writing and the joy that such a truth brings. The Oscars celebrated writers' clip, drove home that neat reminder once more today.
Truman Capote who wrote Breakfast at Tiffany's.
Enjoyed watching the 79th Oscars ceremony live on telly today. Very pleased that Dame Helen Mirren won the award for Best Actress, though Penelope Cruz stayed an equal favourite.
And so too, Little Miss Sunshine for its Oscar on Best Original Screenplay, that spoke of eccentricity and unpredicability in film, deriving its plot from unconventional norms as opposed to flamboyance and extravagance of cast. The prize went to first-time screenwriter, Michael Arnt.
I love the Oscars simply because it's such a dramatic fuel for inspiration or any kind of a dream.
One fascination was the introductory clip for the Best Adapted Screenplay category, which heralded alluring smoky scenes of brooding, hat-wearing, cigar smoking actors and also actresses, who portrayed novelists and playwrights hard at work on their ancient but priceless typewriters.
I was overcome with emotion to observe that small mountains of a paper-crush, heartaches, agony, exhilaration and especially that the typing of those magic words, The End, were nothing short of the same symptoms that spelt the eternal universal writer's journey - where a romantic intrigue hovers in a desperate novelist's life to make something painful and even ugly, transform into the remotely beautiful.
To watch the writers of old engrossed with their tales, immediately reminded me of the likes of Erle Stanley Gardener who portrayed the famous Perry Mason series, pulp writer Jim Thompson and novelist Truman Capote amongst others.
I was overwhelmed that destiny had chosen me to be a writer in turn. A real writer who can never escape her art, with all the blood, sweat, tears and passion to show for it. Suddenly, I felt terribly grateful for my own fate, whatever it held.
Oh what a wonderful thing to live and breathe writing and the joy that such a truth brings. The Oscars celebrated writers' clip, drove home that neat reminder once more today.
posted by Suzan Abrams, email: suzanabrams@live.co.uk | 22:15
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