Well, as I mentioned last week, this week really did not see many pages due to my cabin trip. I managed to hit 70 before I left, and worked my way onto 75 last night when I came back. I was hoping to be at page 80ish by now in terms of scene placement, but I’m not. And frankly, I feel more and more of an amateur every time I talk about writing purely in terms of page numbers. My second act might be shorter than I had originally planned, but only by five or ten pages, and so what? If that’s all I need to tell the story for now, then so be it.
Though I didn’t get many pages out, I was productive, I feel, in other ways. For one, when I stepped off the bus at a rest stop on my way back to NYC, I couldn’t help thinking that all I wanted to do was write; that if someone told me right then and there that all that would be expected of me for the rest of my life would be to spend time each day making up stories, I would be infinitely happy.
I talked of spending my first paycheck on a house in the middle of nowhere, removed from the rest of the world. I found myself in a place like that this weekend, and though sharing a cabin with 21 other often inebriated people is not really a healthy writing environment, at one point, I found my Zen. I walked down to the creek with a friend, and we were standing in a tiny clearing at a bend in the water. With the sound of the water gurgling and an expansive view of a farm in front of a mountain backdrop, I pictured myself sitting right there, an old wooden desk in front of me, writing movies. I felt as if I would and easily could spend every single day of my life there, listening to the water while writing.
I felt that way when I woke up this morning, and I feel that way now. There is no question in my mind about what I want to do. And when. I want to do it now. This very second. For the right opportunity, I would pack up and leave at the drop of a hat. I hope that comes soon enough, because like LoKor with his, there is only so much patient waiting I can do. I continue to write, as he continued filling out applications and sending in materials. As he did all he could, so do I feel like I am doing pretty much everything that is expected of me. When the time comes, I will send out my query letters. I feel like my work is ready, and though I don’t expect any opportunities to simply fall into my lap, the time until I’m a part of the industry weighs on me as if I am Atlas with his burden.
Though I didn’t get many pages out, I was productive, I feel, in other ways. For one, when I stepped off the bus at a rest stop on my way back to NYC, I couldn’t help thinking that all I wanted to do was write; that if someone told me right then and there that all that would be expected of me for the rest of my life would be to spend time each day making up stories, I would be infinitely happy.
I talked of spending my first paycheck on a house in the middle of nowhere, removed from the rest of the world. I found myself in a place like that this weekend, and though sharing a cabin with 21 other often inebriated people is not really a healthy writing environment, at one point, I found my Zen. I walked down to the creek with a friend, and we were standing in a tiny clearing at a bend in the water. With the sound of the water gurgling and an expansive view of a farm in front of a mountain backdrop, I pictured myself sitting right there, an old wooden desk in front of me, writing movies. I felt as if I would and easily could spend every single day of my life there, listening to the water while writing.
I felt that way when I woke up this morning, and I feel that way now. There is no question in my mind about what I want to do. And when. I want to do it now. This very second. For the right opportunity, I would pack up and leave at the drop of a hat. I hope that comes soon enough, because like LoKor with his, there is only so much patient waiting I can do. I continue to write, as he continued filling out applications and sending in materials. As he did all he could, so do I feel like I am doing pretty much everything that is expected of me. When the time comes, I will send out my query letters. I feel like my work is ready, and though I don’t expect any opportunities to simply fall into my lap, the time until I’m a part of the industry weighs on me as if I am Atlas with his burden.
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