The film set

Last Saturday, I ventured onto my first film set ever. My role: the clapperboard clacker person-thing-whatever. Also behind the scenes photographer. Also person who doesn’t know what she’s doing and got in the way a lot until she sat down at a kitchen chair and decided not to move again until Jen, the director, told her to.

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Rebeca, one of the stars, allows the make-up artist to apply make-up that simulates the bruises left after an arm was crushed.

As long as I had my camera in hand and could find a corner in which to snap some photos, I was fine. I felt like I was doing something worthwhile, and I enjoyed it. Because of lighting and the fact that I had no desire to get in the way of the people setting up the living room for the shots, I spent a lot of time in the bathroom, snapping pictures as a make-up artist applied Rebeca’s make-up.

Once the shooting started, though, I was relegated to waiting in the kitchen with the rest of the crew, except I out of all of them had the least reason to be hanging around. While everyone else was busy scrutinizing a screen showing them what was being filmed in the other room, I stood in the corner and held onto the clapperboard for dear life, hoping beyond hope that I wouldn’t drop it and ruin a take.

I eagerly awaited the moments when Jen called me into the living room to slate the next take.

It was while I was waiting in the kitchen with bated breath that I realized–this is why I’m not a media comm major. This is why I’m not destined to work on film sets for the rest of my life, sitting silently in the corner while other people record what’s happening.

My life branches out before me in two directions, and I intend to follow both to the best of my ability. On the one hand, I aspire to be a journalist who pays close attention to life events and records them. On the other, I want to be an author, someone whose words breathe life into countless stories and capture the imagination of the world.

Words are my domain. Pictures are fun, and if pressed I can take decent ones. I love editing videos and seeing my ideas come to living breathing life on a screen. But words, typed on a computer and published for the world, are where I flourish. I don’t do well in a silent room where all attention is focused on making sure the story comes out the right way.

I’m meant to be the person locked away somewhere, music blasting into my ears, giving first life to the words and actions that will eventually be a story.

I’m a writer. And while playing as a photographer and a crew member is fun and I’ll do it as much as I can, it’s not where I belong.

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That looks much more exciting.
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