It seems to happen especially when you suspect there’s a remote possibility it could.

You’re going over the latest draft of your script. The one you’ve been working on for what feels like an eternity.  The one you’ve been so meticulous in plotting and figuring out what happens, making sure everything ties up nicely.  No loose ends. No gaping plot holes.

After countless rewrites, you’re positive this thing is done.  It’s ready to go out.  But you give it that one last read-through, just to be sure.

Maybe there’s the occasional line rewritten or replacing of words, but for the most part, there’s not a lot to change.

Oh, false sense of security. Why do you torture us so?

Because that’s exactly when you find it:  a small gap in logic that brings things to a screeching halt.  Until now it had stayed hidden.  From everybody.

It’s the kind of thing someone might not notice while they’re watching your movie, but might later come up after further analysis. “Hey. How could he have ___?”

Almost as if on autopilot, your brain and creativeness kick in. What’s the most plausible solution?  Does it mesh smoothly with the rest of the story? Is there a way to set this up so it pays off in a more-than-satisfying way?

You know there’s an answer to this. It’s all a question of finding it.

You’re a writer. It’s what you do. You probably even live for this kind of thing.

That panicky stress upon first realizing there’s a problem has given way to calm and strategic thinking of how to fix this. Maybe you even devise several possible solutions, testing each one out to see which works best.

But in the end, the right words have been found, and that nasty ol’ logic gap has been filled.

As far as you’re concerned, the script has once again reclaimed the empowering adjective of bulletproof.

At least until you get your next batch of notes, and it starts all over again.