Monday, August 28, 2006

bare the wire


I have a few guilty secrets. Like right now, I’m listening to Michael Jackson as I write.

I hope that didn’t just bring up your last meal.

And hey, it’s Monday again, but not just any Monday, it’s the final Monday on my mini-journey to finish the first draft of my very own dramody screenplay.

It would be about now in the post where I come up with valid reasons for why I’m not going to meet my Sept 1 deadline. So, as not to disappoint, here are five.

1) My full time job at home (family) and work (slavers) has prevented me from getting as much done as I wanted to . . .

2) I’ve contracted a rare disease and had to spend the last week in hospital away from my computer . . .

3) My wife and I are fighting every second . . .

4) My dog ate the backup disc of my script, and my computer drive crashed leaving me with nothing . . .

5) I have been abducted by aliens every night this week and am so damn tired I just can’t get up the energy to write . . .

Now, at this point in the post, I tell you the five excuses above are complete bullshit.

Complete.

Well, maybe number 5 is legit - I wouldn’t remember except under hypnosis. Must schedule a session or two . . .

Now for the naked, raw and straight-up truth.

I’m down to the last sixteen scenes in my script, but I have some legitimate time suckers coming up this week. The ace up my hole (is that the right phrase?) is this coming Friday - which I have off.

Since it is the deadline day, I can, if allowed, finish my screenplay then. I have till midnight Friday to deliver the goods.

And deliver I shall. I am determined to see this thing through because if I don’t, well, it will be bad for my inner task completer.

More harsh truth follows.

I’ve had to abandon a lot of my perfectionist ways so I can actually complete my screenplay on time. Last week I whined and moaned (Geez I hate that in a post, don’t you?) about how I would most likely miss the deadline.

Ain’t gonna happen. It ain’t.

So I am completing it with “IT IS A FIRST DRAFT YOU JERK” firmly embedded in my cranium so I don’t dawdle and screw around anymore.

And, it’s working. Only problem is at this point I’m hating it and think it sucks . . .

But since that is the natural reaction to any first draft work, I must be on track.

You know, you look at it (your work of art) and loath it, then you get angry at it, then you get indigestion, then you abandon hope, then, after all the agonizing (self-imposed of course) you realize it is part of you - and you accept it, embrace it even.

Doesn’t stop you from hating it and thinking it sucks, but after second draft that mostly formless blob will start to take on a real shape and by third and fourth draft it transforms into a thing of beauty . . .

Crap, Michael Jackson is fragging my frelling mind.

Hang on a second . . .

Just changed my music selection to, A Flock Of Seagulls: I Ran.

Much, much better writing music. Which reminds me . . .

I better get going on my last sixteen scenes now . . . Running, running would be good.

Until next Monday when you will know it I crossed the finish line in glory, or crashed and burned like an all-mouth-no-substance loser.

Please save you judgements until then.

But feel free to hurl insults or encouragement in the meantime.

No comments:

Post a Comment