Yesterday I woke up sicker than I've been in a long time. This didn't come as a terrible surprise. I'd been subsisting on Nyquil, and Dayquil, and all of the other ___quils you can think of for the better part of a week, so a terrible peak was somewhat inevitable, if not a little disappointing.
You see, it faked me out. Sunday went really well, and I thought I'd kicked it. Monday was okay too. Tuesday night, though? That fucker came back with a vengeance. A vengeance. Poor Liz was over that night and I guess she hardly slept. All I (barely) remember was a miserable, fever-wrought eight hour coughing spell. I think I got the better deal.
So I called in sick yesterday and took time to recuperate. In my world, that means work... but the fun kind of work. Screenwriting work.
Thus, in the early-mid-noonish hours (I was too strung out on nasty to watch the clock) editing hell finally froze over. The script was completed. At least the first draft was.
So now it's out there, and I'm once again left with the strange anti-climax of completion. On to the next thing, I suppose, while I wait to hear from all of my most trusted friends whether this project is as F-ing sweet as I think it is. The suspense is killing me.
Two reviews are already in, though. You'll be happy to hear that our parents really like it. Now that's a demographic you can take straight to the fucking bank.
Thursday, May 11, 2006
Thursday, May 04, 2006
Editing Hell
I recently finished a screenplay with my friend/writing partner. It is a script we've been working on for months with ecstatic exuberance, convinced that we have birthed some of the greatest, most hard-core noir fiction ever known to humanity.
...But it has yet to see the light of day.
The script is in "editing hell." Upon completion, we sat back and looked at the mess of various formatting styles and continuity inconsistencies it had become and decided that it must be revised before it is revealed to fresh eyes. My friend volunteered to take on this task initially, then passing it off to me for a second go, to which I agreed.
So my pal set to work. Meanwhile, confronted with the absence of a project to obsess over and with my girlfriend out of town, I proceeded to explode all over my apartment the following weekend in a pajama-clad bender of internet porn, modernist cinema, and web surfing. A new obsession rapidly expanded to fill the void... my band's new recording project. No A/D converter was too expensive to research. No build-it-yourself tube mic pre too obscure. No microphone manufacturer too self-righteous. I stayed up until the early morning hours. I was a sick, sick man.
The next week, I began the arduous, slightly annoying process of riding my friend about the editing. When would he be done? I wanted my turn. I would not be denied. Finally, this very week, my nags were met with a brilliant play: I was given the script and told to edit fifty scenes while my writing partner finished the last bit.
It was a brilliant move. My bluff was called, and with my energies now bent with furious intensity toward the weekend's inevitable recording session, I was helpless to answer.
And so here I sit, writing in this infernal blog rather than editing. My excuse is that I somehow feel no guilt about killing rendering time at work with useless tasks (as opposed to personal goals), but I know there is more to it than that. My friend likely knows as well.
It is fear that keeps us from editing. Fear of failure. Fear of completion. Fear that our illusions will be shattered and we will suddenly realize that this script isn't as good as we've led ourselves to believe. I'm especially guilty of holding my creations back when I start to feel like they're not what I want them to be. We all create our own prisons, and this is mine.
But like all of our prisons, it is only an illusion. Editing can only make the script better. As can showing others and getting feedback. So I solemnly vow at this moment to edit this weekend, if for only a few hours. This script WILL be completed within the month.
And if no one likes it, then they can all go to hell.
...But it has yet to see the light of day.
The script is in "editing hell." Upon completion, we sat back and looked at the mess of various formatting styles and continuity inconsistencies it had become and decided that it must be revised before it is revealed to fresh eyes. My friend volunteered to take on this task initially, then passing it off to me for a second go, to which I agreed.
So my pal set to work. Meanwhile, confronted with the absence of a project to obsess over and with my girlfriend out of town, I proceeded to explode all over my apartment the following weekend in a pajama-clad bender of internet porn, modernist cinema, and web surfing. A new obsession rapidly expanded to fill the void... my band's new recording project. No A/D converter was too expensive to research. No build-it-yourself tube mic pre too obscure. No microphone manufacturer too self-righteous. I stayed up until the early morning hours. I was a sick, sick man.
The next week, I began the arduous, slightly annoying process of riding my friend about the editing. When would he be done? I wanted my turn. I would not be denied. Finally, this very week, my nags were met with a brilliant play: I was given the script and told to edit fifty scenes while my writing partner finished the last bit.
It was a brilliant move. My bluff was called, and with my energies now bent with furious intensity toward the weekend's inevitable recording session, I was helpless to answer.
And so here I sit, writing in this infernal blog rather than editing. My excuse is that I somehow feel no guilt about killing rendering time at work with useless tasks (as opposed to personal goals), but I know there is more to it than that. My friend likely knows as well.
It is fear that keeps us from editing. Fear of failure. Fear of completion. Fear that our illusions will be shattered and we will suddenly realize that this script isn't as good as we've led ourselves to believe. I'm especially guilty of holding my creations back when I start to feel like they're not what I want them to be. We all create our own prisons, and this is mine.
But like all of our prisons, it is only an illusion. Editing can only make the script better. As can showing others and getting feedback. So I solemnly vow at this moment to edit this weekend, if for only a few hours. This script WILL be completed within the month.
And if no one likes it, then they can all go to hell.
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