Oh, the plans I had for this post! Big fancy ideas about persistence of vision, ideas that wove together how a horse runs with the illusion of motion in movies and oh, gosh it was going to be wonderful.

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Muybridge's work includes this, a series of images that becomes a running horse
But then I made a mistake. I decided to verify the phrase "persistence of vision," because that's what writers do. On a bad day, we fact-check that the sun rises in the east and sky is blue.
Turns out, 'persistence of vision' was debunked in 1912. Why modern day film theorists and historians insist on using it to talk about film is beyond my simple brain.
1912. I can't tell you the number of times I rolled the phrase "persistence of vision" around in my head, luxuriating in the long string of syllables and the sturdy sound of science ringing through each word. Gone, now, all gone. I can barely stand to read the words now. Ugh!
So, what did I do? I didn't call up my fellow LadyKillers and whine, or beg one of them to substitute for me because my big fancy idea blew up in my face, though I'm sure they'd have been willing. We've all been torpedoed by research, haven't we?
Nope, I let the shattered remains of my brilliant post go, and thought up another one.
This one is a little sadder than the first. Even a persistent woman takes time to recover, after all. Please enjoy it!
I'll miss 35 millimeter film when it passes completely out of public movie theatres. Many public movie emporiums are already fully digital. Soon there won't be film projectors, plates or reels of film, or my favorite thing, imtermittent sprockets.
I love that phrase, "intermittent sprocket." Sounds a little like a German dancer, no? It is that little thing in the middle of a projector that pulls the film past the shutter, one frame at a time. The sprockets are faithful, executing their task 10 or 16 or 24 or more times a second. If I had that kind of reliability and speed, I'd be rich by now!
For, while I am persistent for a human being (ask my husband! My persistence exhausts his patience), I don't operate at 16 frames a second. Nowhere near.
But I do keep coming back to the things I love, trying to fix them, help them along, make them better. The funny thing about learning to write better--you have simultaneously be open to the evidence that you are perhaps making a few mistakes along the way without letting that evidence convince you that you aren't any good at all.
One good sentence can steel me for the next thousand mistakes I'll need to correct.
As someone once said, it's not whether or not you fall down. It's how you get up that counts.