SESL


I had this grand idea that I was going to spit out this entire script in about three days. The idea came to me with a head full of steam and I put down about forty pages on paper before Real Life was like: “haha you’re cute, here’s what’s really going to happen…”

And after that, it was a matter of scribbling notes for myself in stolen moments. It’s been a start early, stay late kind of week, and is looking like that’s not much going to change for a few weeks. Which, I suppose, suits me fine: it forces me to be REALLY focused with the free time that I do get, and keeps me from over thinking things. Which, of course, I’ve never been known to do. Ever.

I feel guilty for not posting for over a week- which the Curmudgeonly Lion helpfully pointed out on Sunday night. So here’s a recap of what’s been going down:

Last Monday: Me: “Imma write a script!” (Writes a solid 20 pages- rough and not in order, but enough of a toe hold to know the project has legs)

Tuesday: Me: “Imma write a script!” (Writes about fifteen solid pages and three or four bullshit pages so that I can feel like I’m doing twenty pages in a day. Stay up too late.)

Wednesday: Me: “Imma write a-” My Boss at 5pm: “Hey, can you work late tonight? And also come in early tomorrow?” (Works late. Meets Curmudgeonly Lion for dinner out. Gets sloshed on one single beer.)

Thursday: Me: “Imma…” (Drives in to work early. Paperwork piles inches deep on the desk and begins to form drifts. Works late. Calls it quits after mistaking 6 for 9 for the third time.)

Friday: Me: “…” (Drives in to work early. Thunderous headache for third day in a row. Leaves on time.)

Saturday: “Imma… Maybe sleep in just a little longer.” (Runs errands. Spends the afternoon in an audition session. Still fighting off headache. Begins to suspect a tumor that only Dr House would be able to diagnose. Rules out lupus. It’s never lupus. Lies on the bed staring at the ceiling hoping that playing dead will trick the headache into moving on. Doesn’t work. Puts in an appearance at friend’s birthday party. Ghosts after forty minutes. In bed by midnight feeling pretty proud of self.)

Sunday: Me: “Imma write a script! … After I watch Spider-Man and do my reading for writer’s group and go for a run and rake the backyard and actually go to writer’s group and call my folks.” (Does all this. Puts down, I dunno, five pages? It’s mostly scribbled on scratch paper).

Monday: Me: “New week! I’ll do better this week!” (Oversleeps. Writes for ninety minutes, puts down about ten pages. Dentist appointment. Drives in to work. Stays late. Writes some more. Stays up too late.)

So that’s me. Today’s my first day back to commuting by bus since last Wednesday so hopefully that will help keep me on track. There’s about even odds that I’ll have to work late, if not today then tomorrow and/or the day after that so I’d better stay on task. If I go radio silent again, it’s because I’m trapped under an avalanche of payroll. Send a Great Bernard with whiskey.

~ by Gwydhar Gebien on February 13, 2018.

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