Where was I going?

When I fell in love with street names in this corner of the city. When time zipped and chugged around a decaf americano’s solitude. When January’s pavement smelled like spring and the snowdrops thought about waking up. When the ocean beckoned but I was on the wrong side of town. When the mountains screamed with snow and my feet stomped through the absence of puddles.

I was too laden. Too aware of the wrong things. Like dust piles, carpet stains, unwashed laundry. A molehill of midlife. Lacking wine and live music and all the places we should have found on road trips to nowhere.

My home

My home is September. Inside curled up and wandering off in fiction. Caught up in words waltzing in the late afternoon sun. Pay no attention to the yellowing leaves and longer nights. Find a cup of my favourite tea and sink into steam. Permission to turn inward: granted.ir-leasing.ru

My idea

I came up with an idea for a movie. There’s this speechwriter, who has just starting out working for the Prime Minister of Canada (because the office of PM needs some glamour in this country). In the interest of insipid role reversal, the PM is a woman and the speechwiter is a man. If I were trying to make a statement, I would make them both the same gender, but there’s no such statment in this movie. Anyway. The speechwriter is pretty good at writing political speeches—which is why the PM hired him—but is tired of all the jargon and intentional vagueness that is part of good politics. The speechwriter decides that he’s not going to write vague speeches anymore. He’s going to write something with impact. This does not, however, lead to the PM reading some shockingly honest speech at some high profile shindig in front of many influential people. Because she’s better than that, that’s why. She reads everything she’s meant to say. While she’s eating breakfast. And before you can say “morning snack,” she’s talking to this speechwriter about what he thinks he’s doing. They have a calm discussion about it because they’re two rational adults. She tells him she’s going to find a different speechwriter, but she gives him the name of someone who might be interested in his work (the details will work themselves out later). He decides not to stay in politics because he’s a damn good writer and can get a job elsewhere doing something less soul-sucking. In a shocking twist, they do not fall in love and there are no scenes with palpable sexual tension (well, maybe one, but it’s between the speechwriter and a low-level assistant to the bureaucracy. Maybe a page). The PM goes back to being a competant PM (because we need someone to be, even if she’s fictional, that’s why), and maybe becomes a bit more honest, but not so honest that you’d notice if you didn’t realise that was the point of the film.

It will be shot in Ottawa without a single image of the Parliament Buildings. There will be plenty bilingual signs though. I love bilingual signs.