Whoa. I just finished the second act of the first draft of my new feature-length script. That's a mouthful, but it's also a pretty big moment for me. I don't know if you've noticed this, but I haven't been making a lot of checks in the W column of life as of late. Sure, I've got a job and a house, so I can't really complain, but I'd just like to have something to show for all of it.
That's what this script is.
It's the "why it's okay that I'm not in LA." The "why it doesn't matter that I don't like my job." The proof of what I'm actually capable of, and in (hopefully) a week, it'll be done.
What a weird feeling. I mean, sure, I'll have to go back and probably rewrite every single line on every single page, but what will I really do with my time? I don't have another script idea in me yet. Maybe I'm a one-hit wonder destined to burn out before I even get that one hit.
See how good I am at being positive when I really try? It's an uphill battle.
I just know that when the script is done, and I just mean the first draft here, I'm going to take a little while, sit back, maybe even print it out, and just stare at it. Just hold it in my hand and weigh it as the best thing I've done for a while.
And then the next day, I'll get right back to work. Because apparently that's the kind of writer I am now. When did that happen?