Signs, signs, everywhere there's signs...

It's funny the way the human brain works.

We twist and pull and stretch all manner of thoughts in our craniums. Some us might even be accused of doing this kind of activity excessively -- examining each piece of of information, idea or concept to the point where it is hardly recognizable.

Yet at other times, the brain is far more subtle. Having reached a suitable course of action, it may sometimes avoid direct missives.

It's a brain, after all. Sometimes it likes to be clever.

And when our silly little brains start getting clever, we start reading signs. We notice things are placed in our path in a way that seems like a message. A directive from the fates. Other times, we find ourselves drawn to certain things that may subconsciously reinforce this decision.

Yet we remain blissfully (and sometimes consciously) ignorant.

"Why am I seeing all of these things?" we wonder. "Clearly something is at work. Someone -- or something -- is trying to tell me something."

All the while, our little brains smother a giggle, and feign innocence when you dare to ask it a direct question.

That said...

Even knowing this, it's still a little freaky when the same message keeps cropping up, time and time again.

Life an authentic life. Let the creativity come from a real place. Don't be afraid of vulnerability. Just be true to it.

Hippie hogwash, I say.

But only under my breath.

Because that's how it is

Just a brief moment.

For those of you living in Canada, you already know that Jack Layton, the leader of our opposition in the House of Commons - and the leader of the NDP party - died yesterday.

The entire country is feeling the loss of not only a charismatic, passionate politician (who was, shockingly enough, likable), but also feeling sadness born of watching someone labour ceaseless their entire life, only to to miss out on the fruits of their labours.

We've lost a tireless fighter.

And for those wandering in from other countries, I can only leave you this note as evidence of unique political and personal grace:

http://media.thestar.topscms.com/acrobat/a8/44/ffee8eaa4928bb2bc366f943f7af.pdf

Authenticity.

... it is both terrifying and necessary.

And I am ashamed to admit how much I avoid it in my writing.

What do we think about screenplays?

As I consistently procrastinate finishing up the last draft of my book for my agent -- I so desperately want to move on from this book that I'm considering self-publishing it simply to make a few bucks -- my mind has been probing for other lucrative ways of writing.

Yes, yes. Lucrative + writing = oxymoron.

Come now, children. Let's consider it.

Screenwriting is an art I may not actually possess. I certainly have no experience with it. Sure, I'm a dab hand at dialogue. I can write likable characters. It's shorter than a book.

And I don't doubt that Hollywood is desperately seeking screenplays that are fresh, marketable and have a widespread appeal. The question is: can I deliver this?

My mind was playing with an old screenplay I had been writing with a friend back in the day. Originally, it had been pieced together as a horror. But as I toy with the plot in my mind, I wonder if maybe it has a place as a cult comedy...

It certainly would divert me from the book that current makes my stomach churn and boil with anxiety. And screenplays - whilst being labour-intensive - aren't exactly long, epic works.

So do I dabble... or remain on my current (and temporarily stagnant) course?