They Tried To Make Me Go To Rehab...

Been busy of late with the latest script. I'm past the halfway point which for me means an unending projectile vomit of words until the end. So this next week will be especially quiet as I finish this ambitious action-adventure script up and huddle in the corner, shaking like a meth addict.

Will it be Oscar-worthy prose? Oh hell no! (Fuck no, even)
But there will be a movie in there somewhere, and that's the point of a first draft.

A writer IM'd me the other day wanting to chat about his career. He' d (re) written two scripts in the 6 years he'd been writing. Of late he felt that he didn't want to write, felt blocked, etc...

The long and short of my advice was this:

If you can walk away from it. Then run.

I wouldn't want to wish some of the moments I've had in my writing career on anyone. And yet, I wouldn't trade them either. That's how insidious this writing thing is - you have to do it. And I'm not a great writer by any means, but if I want to see the images that I want to see onscreen (or on computer screen or page or iphone) then I'm at least going to write their first drafts.

I have to do that. That's how sick I am about writing this stuff. I mean - look at me - I'm relaxing from writing by... writing a blog post ABOUT writing.




But don't worry dear reader for the mental health of your completely mad pulp bastard. I take great solace in the fact that at least I'm not an actor.

Now that's nuts.