aprilhenry (aprilhenry) wrote,

What do you write when you are supposed to be "writing"? Welcome to the inside of my head

When I had the film crew at my house, they took a lot of shots of me writing. So what do you type if someone is filming your hands? Endlessly, endlessly filming your hands....

This is what I wrote:
I’m going to really write. But it will be fake writing. Is it violating documentary ethics if I’m not writing correctly? The cameraman's name is Gabriel. The director’s name is Josh but I want to call him David. This has taken all day. It’s amazing. I’m typing typing typing. I wonder what will happen next.

Now he's filming just my hands. I have a splinter in my ring finger. It hurts. I only got part of it out. This might take until six. How long can something last? A long time obviously. My blinds are falling apart. Those things were expensive and yet they are really cheap. I wonder if the mail has come yet today? I am going to be too tired to talk in Tillamook tomorow. And what if the weather is bad? I don’t even have chains. I need to get those Spider Spikes but they are like four hundred dollars. That’s a lot. I guess I won’t get those.

What should I write now. I need more coffee. Much more coffee. There probably won’t even be food at the school auction tonight. What will we eat? Gabriel is filming my hands really close. I have age spots on the back. I wear a wedding ring. My husband doesn’t. But that’s okay.

I don’t know what I’m typing or how fast I type. These people must get sick of their subjects. Although we are all on our best behavior. I wonder if I type 60 words a minute? 70? How fast am I?

I am typing some more. They made me turn the background screen gray so it would have a better contrast and not make me look green the way the green screen did. They are going to have a lot of B-roll. I wonder how long the segment will be. It took like two hours to set up.

The director is standing and watching. He must be bored. Gabriel has used a million camera angles. The blinds fell apart when he opened them. Now in my peripheral vision I can seem him zooming in and out on my fingers. Type, type, type. I am typing.

The quick brown dog jumped over the lazy brown fox. That’s not quite right. I remember when dad showed that to me on his typewriter - how it had every letter of the alphabet. No one has typewriters anymore. His desk was jammed into our tiny living room of our tiny house. He was successful on the outside but not the inside.

And then they finally stopped!

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