It is very depressing to (in the midst of one of your more depressing bouts of writer's block) sit back in your chair at the State Library and think to yourself, "I can't concentrate with all that noise", only to wander down to the source of the commotion and read the sign that says "PREMIER'S LITERARY AWARDS SHORTLIST ANNOUNCEMENT".

Do you ever sometimes think the world is trying to tell you something?

Another day another stinking deadline.

Deadlines make the film festival less fun because you spend the two hours of each film thinking, "This had better be worth me not writing that proposal for that thing that's due TOMORROW. COME ON, YOU STUPID FILM, SHOW YOUR TRUE COLOURS! Bah, piece of European psychological drama procrastinatorial CRAP!"

Anyway. Not that any of the films so far have been truly crap (with one or two exceptions, below). But, you know, the pressure is on in all sorts of ways.

I will write up on the other films I've seen so far but yesterday I saw The Hottest State, which I greatly enjoyed despite the odd dip into sentimentality - I think it was truly an interesting film (not least because of the casting choices - Ethan Hawke playing his own father, someone else playing his younger father, and someone else playing his young self, but also because of some of the writing, which was really lovely).

I saw a documentary about an American-born-Japanese homeless artist who was locked away by the American government during WWII for being an "alien" and who had his citizenship revoked. Here he is, sixty years later (aged 81) painting pictures in the streets of New York. Suddenly the planes hit the twin towers down the street and he's the only person left standing in the neighbourhood by night time. The filmmaker actually moves him into her house and gradually helps him sort his life out. The parables between his situation and the current fears that allow governments to lock people away and revoke their citizenship were not unnoticed but never preached. Hm. Yes, it rocked my socks. Just a really, really good documentary. It's called The Cats of Mirikitani, but it's not showing again in the festival, so google it and get the DVD.

Anyway shuttup I have work to do.

PS. Last night I sunk to the festival low: lamb souva for dinner in between films. Orange juice in case I get scurvy.

Sometimes, the Melbourne Film Festival lets you down. Of course it does. If it didn't, it would be peopled entirely by the same demographic. This is not the case. Sometimes it's a comedy film and there's a comedy crowd. Sometimes it's a religious film and it's full of people wearing tiny gold icons under their windcheaters. Sometimes it's a music documentary and there are people in heavy metal t shirts wandering in with popcorn.

But it doesn't let ME down often, because it's fairly hard to let me down. It's fairly difficult for me not to find even the bits that I don't find interesting kind of... interesting... on account of the fact that someone else is finding them interesting.

Anyhoo. So there's this friend of mine. I spend each festival thinking, "Oh, she would have LOVED that film! That film was MADE for her!"

Then she calls me up and says, "Can I trail along to one of your films?" and I say "Oh, you're going to WET YOUR PANTS this film will be SO GOOD".

Anyway, last year she came to three. Two of them were terrible. I only saw two truly terrible films last year. One of them was so badly projected we got our money back. The third film? Ace. Unreal. Really excellent.

Which is why I thought it would be safe to assume I could "let her trail along" tonight to see a film about... well, now, that would be telling.

It was a film that should be shown to anyone who thinks they're creative, because it's an interesting eight minute film. It went for two hours. It's a film that teaches people that you should always edit more than you think you should out of whatever it is you're creating.

My friend is beginning to think she is cursed.

Otherwise today I saw Eagle vs Shark, a New Zealand film, which was gorgeous and hilarious and which is on again on August 12. Funny as hell.

The last film I saw today was about Alexander Litvinenko, I am SURE I am spelling that wrong but I'm too tired to even use google... Anyway I have written here previously about him and I've always been fascinated by his story and the connections between Putin and the secret service/death squads/terrorism within Russia. Anyway, wow. Writers and people who say things about politics that people in power don't like can get themselves into some serious trouble in some countries.

Good to remember when you're complaining about deadlines. Which I will hereby refrain from doing. Good night.

Here it is, folks. My first official backdown. My first genuine complaint about the State Library, previously listed as one of my Favourite Places On Earth.

WHO THINKS IT IS A GOOD IDEA TO TUNE A PIANO IN A LIBRARY WITHIN EARSHOT OF THE PEOPLE STUDYING IN THE DESIGNATED QUIET ROOM (many of whom have left) FOR A PERIOD OF (so far) AN HOUR AND A HALF BY PLAYING ONE NOTE OVER AND OVER AND HITTING THAT EXACT SPOT IN YOUR BRAIN THAT IS TRYING TO CONCENTRATE.

I think I have officially lost the last quiet, untouchable, peaceful writing haven left on this earth. So long as there is the possibility I will EVER have to endure this TORTURE again, it is, officially, dead to me now.

WHY IS THERE A PIANO IN A LIBRARY ANYWAY?

Oh, please, make it stop.

PS. Any friends who are cheeky enough or members of my family reading this can feel free not to use the word "melodramatic" in relation to any or all of the above, for fear of me imposing stringent sanctions in the future.

PPS. The piano tuner has moved from a middle C to a high C. This is both a relief and a sign that we may be putting up with this for another hour. The dude at the desk across from me has officially discarded his laptop in favour of a skateboarding magazine.

Too many deadlines to see enough films.

Too many films plus too many deadlines = too little time to eat and get giggles with friends.

Too much of The Guilt to entirely enjoy the deadlines or the films or the friends.

What happened to my gay abandon?

Why am I again confronting the dual parts of my personality: the obsessive antisocial nerd versus the social hedonist? Why can't they both just get along?

Films I've seen so far:

The Happiest Day of His Life - short film purporting to subvert gender stereotypes but actually just relying on them. It's a shame. It was a good idea and I do think the phrase "dick-whipped" should be introduced to society.

The Armstrongs - a documentary about a small business that actually had me groaning aloud and crawling around in my chair, much like I do when I watch shows like "The Office", which this was disarmingly similar to, although this was real. Hilarious and depressing at the same time. Probably my favourite so far.

Ex-Drummer - a really well conceived, well-shot, entirely hideous film that made me quite ill. I'm still not sure if it was sending things up or celebrating them.

Yo - well acted by possibly the nicest, kindest, sweetest-looking actor on earth. Kind of been done before though, story-wise. There's something about the subtly and the slow reveals in films at MIFF though, which make the story not always the point. Which, coming from me, is usually an insult.

Anyhoo. The Guilt, The Guilt. I'm off. Seeing Teeth tonight with a collection of my favourite people on earth.

For someone with such a heady concentration of inner turmoil, my life really isn't that bad.

Recently, due to various factors beyond my control, I have missed two deadlines.

There is something about the feeling of having missed a deadline which is a little bit like the Gwyneth Paltrow movie, Sliding Doors. All you have to do is slightly tweak the wikipedia plot description and you've got a version of my life every time I miss an opportunity that could have been something great, and could have been a complete disappointment. Like so:

Lorin's life splits into two parallel universes which run in tandem. In one universe, Lorin manages to get her proposal/application/script in on time, and in the other she misses it. In the former, her application isn't successful anyway and she finds out that someone she went to university with is staging a three part opera using sock puppets and a glockenspiel instead; she promptly flees the scene, and meets (and falls in love with) an entirely new concept she hasn't thought of yet. In the latter universe, she carries on oblivious in a miserable and constant struggle to coexist with The Guilt that constantly plagues her on account of missing her deadline.

Towards the end of both scenarios, she discovers she is pregnant with her respective partner's baby.

Okay, well, apart from that last bit. I don't have respective partners. But all that other stuff, that's totally how it is, man.

Imagine the life I could be leading. Imagine the life you could be leading. What are you doing just sitting there? Come ON! Get on with it!

Crawling through my guided tour of my time at the Sydney Writers' Festival, I feel I must also tell you that it included the following:

- lots of coffee, in order to ensure that sleep does not overcome oneself during the afternoon sessions
- a notebook, which I kept losing, meaning that scribbled notes have been found ever since on tram tickets, bookmarks, programmes, free postcards, and a particularly illegible packet of panadol.
- long sessions in the bookshop justifying the purchase of books.
- views of the harbour.
- mints (see coffees, above)

First session on Day 2 was Eliot Weinberger on the ABC Book Show. I decided he would be interesting because I had read some of his pieces on Iraq. He spoke mostly about birds.

No, honestly. Birds. I checked the programme a few times to see if he was the same guy.

He was the same guy, which is impressive, but not particularly interesting. The only real mention of politics was the bit where he said that he got so depressed writing about the political situation in Iraq that he decided to write about birds. After which point, he discussed birds.

Then there was this, featuring John Boyne and Sophie Gee who write books inspired by historical figures. I was fascinated with the session, which in no way attempted to address the topic, and which did not so much as mention birds. John Boyne wrote The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas, which I purchased immediately and finished reading by close of play that same day. He was a great talker, as was Gee.
Highlights:
Sophie Gee's book came from her thesis topic, which was something to do with rubbish in the eighteenth century and its effect on literature.
John Boyne's ocassional attempts to touch on the topic.
Fascinating descriptions of research undertaken.
Descriptions of writing process.
Lack of discussion relating to birds.

I then went to this, where I discovered the gorgeous Steven Hall, whose book I am itching to read and whose discussion of his book was equally fascinating. Having said that, I had to stalk him throughout the festival in order to hear him speak, on account of him not being able to get a word in during this session. The two women were interesting, too. Rachel Seiffert, whose books I haven't yet read, was very clever and opinionated, but whose approach differed vastly from Gail Jones' very sophisticated, academic perspective.
Highlights:
The three times Steven Hall spoke.
The bits that were read out.
The rather heated moment during a discussion of cliches, where it was revealed that Gail Jones had read Rachel's book (and loved it) but hadn't read Steven's (but intended to), Rachel had read both Steven's (and loved it) and Gail's (which one got the distinct feeling she did not), and Steven wasn't going to own up, but possibly hadn't read anyone's. Indirect references were made to cliches.
Birds were only referred to incidentally.

Then, to the environment. Fascinating discussion of pragmatic approaches to climate change, involving businesses and sponsored by an insurance company.
Highlights:
Insurance company guy defending self interest (very well actually, had me wanting to change insurance companies).
Description of carbon taxes and carbon trading and how they work (always confused me)
Birds hinted at, by way of discussion of nature, but not directly discussed in any way.

Then, possibly the least successful session I attended, not helped by the delerium of being in so many sessions in a row and getting a seriously childish case of the giggles...

This session on digital writing. Highlights:
- The lawyer ran away with this session, completely arguing everyone into a corner. Had everyone supporting copyright laws.
- Getting the giggles and thinking I might require medical assistance.
- Thinking perhaps this session could have used more discussion of birds.

Then, last event of the day, my second favourite (not that I have favourites or anything) was The Big Reading.
There is just nothing like listeining to writers read their own work, or in Richard Ford's case, someone else's much loved work. I have now read Rawi Hage's book (beautiful, imagined the whole thing being read in his accent) and Moshin Hamid's The Reluctant Fundamentalist, which is very clever and very funny. He's another writer I followed around and listened to and took notes on tram tickets. I have started Mister Pip, I have started Lionel Shriver's first book, and I have Rachel Seiffert's book on reserve. It was all excellent. Except:

Lowlight, Andrei Makine read in French. The dude on the projector, projecting the translation, had clearly dropped some acid just previously. Nobody (apart from Standing There Captain of Industry Mello Howzie) had any idea what the lovely French voice was saying, because he was (according to the projection) saying it backwards, very quickly, stopping, starting again, and remaining stuck on one page for several minutes. The poor author had no idea this was happening.

Definite low light, because the other books were all beautifully read.

Perhaps there was a bird in the projectionist's booth.