Run at your own pace

It's the total opposite of a sprint
It’s the total opposite of a sprint

For the past couple of days here at stately Maximum Z HQ, yours truly has been doing everything possible to fight off a nasty viral infection (Note to self – invest heavily in Kleenex and Halls cough drops) because I’m doing my first half-marathon in over a year this weekend. I do expect to be well enough to run. Fingers firmly crossed hoping to at least break the 2-hour mark.

As a result of being sick, I’ve been home from work the past couple of days, which means a little more time than usual to work on the western rewrite. Latest update: page 38.

When I have a lot of time to write, I’ll give myself a short break after reaching a milestone, such as the end of a scene, or x number of pages written or after a certain amount of time (this also helps prevent premature burnout). Sometimes break-time involves perusing social media or screenwriting forums, just to see what’s going on out there.

What’s been going on this week has been a flurry of activity among my peers. One got a manager. Another finished their latest draft. Another had an agency request their script after a pitch.

And there’s me, filling a wastebasket with snotty tissues, coughing up things of a color not found in nature, and hoping to get to the bottom of the next page before the day is done. Slightly disheartening, to say the least.

But, like when I run a race, I remember that it’s different for everybody. I’ve been working on this rewrite for quite a while, and have confidence that it’ll be done sooner than I think.

I’m also overseeing all of the “Ask a…!” interviews, and have now added this into the mix.

Oh yeah, and training runs.

When you finish a race, you get a medal, and you wear it with pride. You’ve earned it. You finished an hour behind the winner? Big deal. Chances are you didn’t do it to win. You did it to test yourself, to see how you could do with this self-imposed challenge.

When you write a script, yes, you are going up against every other writer out there, but you do it the way that works best for you. You can only manage 30 minutes a day? That’s fine. You tell yourself you’re going to write at least 3 pages a day, and you actually do? Fantastic.

Will others get done before you, or accomplish things faster than you? Of course, but that’s nothing for you to worry about. Focus on you, not them.

I think it’s absolutely phenomenal that these other writers have each reached a certain point with their writing and careers. And so will I. Maybe not as fast, but it’ll happen.

Just gotta keep working at it.

See you at the finish line.

Rewriting with a capital “Re”

How it all starts. Again.
How it all starts. Again.

The original plan was to have a first draft of the low-budget comedy done by year’s end.

But just as I started (2 whole pages written!), a few more sets of notes came in for the western, which were added to the rest accumulated throughout the year.

I’ve written here before about how this script did not get the results I was hoping for. If I didn’t do something about it, that wouldn’t change.

As much as I love this script, the plain and simple truth is that it’s weak as it reads now. In the words of one of my note-givers, “it’s good, but has the potential to be a lot better.”

Among the comments in the collected aforementioned notes were several “What if…?” and “How about…?” questions. The general consensus was that parts of the story needed further development, and these suggestions might be worth considering in order to make that happen.

It was drastic measure time, which also meant making some really big decisions. Do I keep plugging away on the comedy just to get it out of the way? Do I attempt a major overhaul of the western’s story? And if I did that, how much of it would actually change?

There was no getting around it. It had to be different. Time for a new approach and new ideas.

So I’m rewriting it. In the truest sense of the word.

The concept is still the same, but the execution is what will be different.

Talk about daunting. Taking something you’ve practically obsessed over, jettisoning a sizable portion of it and starting anew. There are few things as intimidating as that blinking cursor at the top of a blank screen. It just sits there, taunting you, as if it were saying “Go ahead. Show me what you got.”

But here’s the silver lining: rather than abandon everything from every previous draft, I can pick and choose from of all of that material, which is now available for reworking, reshaping, re-whatevering.

Even more of a bonus: looking over all those notes on the western made me think something similar was in order for the mystery-comedy. So I’m working on a major rewrite of that too. I don’t know how I’ll proportion my time and focus between the two, but confidence, hope and ambition are all at significantly high levels as a result.

-And now, time for an IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT!

Since the rewrites will be keeping me busy over the next two weeks, this will be the last me-centric post of the year.

But don’t despair. Starting this Monday, and continuing EVERY WEEKDAY through January 2, a new post will be available for your reading enjoyment.

That’s right. Ten whole days of quality material to keep you company through the holiday season.

I think you’ll like ’em.

Trying times, indeed

an apt metaphor if ever there was one
An apt metaphor if ever there was one

You know how they say you’ve got to endure a whole lot of ‘no’s until you get that single magical ‘yes’?

Well, another ‘no’ was added to the pile this week in the form of a “Pass” rating from an industry professional regarding my western spec. And to make it that much better, the “Pass” was applied to both script and writer. Apparently my skills didn’t pass muster, either.

They didn’t have many positive things to say, and I’m not going to say their comments were right or wrong. There may be a lot of helpful info in their coverage, but in the end it’s just their opinion.

A few people offered up a similar reaction:  This is ONE PERSON’s opinion. People will always find fault with your work. The next person may think it’s great. Keep trying. Don’t give up.

Point is: you never become completely immune to criticism.

Was I being a little delusional in my hopes that they’d really like it? I knew they wouldn’t claim it was the best script ever, but even a “Hey, this has potential” would have been nice.

Was I laboring under some false sense of optimism? Was I letting my excitement and enthusiasm get in the way of being totally objective?

Even more so, despite reassurances from friends and trusted colleagues, have I been fooling myself all this time in thinking I actually have talent?

How could anyone in this situation not think along these lines?

Let’s consider my confidence shaken and definitely weakened, but not totally gone. It still stings a bit, but I’ll survive.

And almost as if exactly on cue, later in the day came these two totally unsolicited comments from online connections:

“With the credibility you have with contest wins and that fabulous blog, I’m astonished you’re unproduced.”

“I wanted to say a big fat THANK YOU for your comments on my script! I couldn’t have done it without you. THANKS AGAIN!”

Maybe there’s hope for me yet.

Reflections on this day in particular

One of my heroes. Master of comedic timing, and eternally 39.
One of my heroes. Master of comedic timing, and eternally 39.

Taking a little break from the script reader/consultant Q&A series today for something of somewhat significant importance. At our house, anyway.

Today is my birthday, which makes a person a little reflective of their life so far and what they’ve accomplished.

Have I achieved everything I’ve set out to do?

Not yet, I like to say, but I’m getting there.

Obviously, I’m not making a living as a screenwriter – yet. But with each script I crank out and each subsequent draft that follows, it gets me a little closer. Reassurances of “you’ll make it” from friends and trusted colleagues is always nice to hear.

Has it been frustrating? Without a doubt. But as I’ve said on many an occasion, to give up in any manner would simply be too devastating. Like many of us, I am compelled to write and hone my craft, mostly because it’s the only way I’ll get better, and maybe a little bit of daydream-laden hope that somebody will eventually be eager to pay me for the finished product.

I am, as they say, in this for the long haul. All the rewrites, the reads and notes from friends, the discussions with consultants, all of it helping steer me towards this much-desired goal.

When I read about another writer making a sale or getting representation, I’ll admit to being a little jealous. Especially if it’s somebody I know or at least am casually acquainted with. I’m actually quite happy for them – they’ve earned it – but there is that little part of me that thinks “Hope it’s my turn soon.”

In the meantime, I prevent myself from getting too melancholy about what I haven’t been able to do by reminding myself what I have done, which is have written some potentially kickass scripts (after lots of fine-tuning, of course), and what I can do, which is keep writing more kickass scripts, keep trying and not giving up.

Am I getting better?

Go ahead. Tell me the truth. I can take it.
How does it compare to last time?

One of the sad truths about trying to make it as a screenwriter is that it’s an extremely frustrating process.

On certain days, the frustration feels like it extends to the uppermost part of the outer edge of the stratosphere. To the nth degree.

What is it about screenwriting that people who don’t do it think it’s easy? If you’re reading this, it’s more than likely you’ve given it a go, or at least know somebody who has, so you know full well that it most definitely is not.

We even try to warn those who think hammering out a first draft in a few weeks is a guaranteed million dollar paycheck. This is a long and arduous road, we say, but they don’t let that stop them. A legion of the truly unaware who will discover the scary truth soon enough.

Those of us who are fully committed (an apt phrase if ever there was one) finish the latest draft, then edit, rewrite and polish it so many times it enters well into double digit territory, hoping our writing and storytelling skills are improving with each new attempt.

But how do we know if that’s even happening?

We ask friends and trusted colleagues for feedback. We pay for professional analysis. The script gets reworked yet again.

We hope this newest draft is light years ahead of all of its previous incarnations in terms of quality, but sometimes it’s tough to be able to recognize if that’s the case. At least for me, anyway.

Whenever I send somebody a script for critiquing, I always say “Thanks for taking a look. Hope you like it.”

I know the script isn’t perfect – maybe even far from it, which is why I ask for help. Part of me knows it’s good, but can be better. It’s being able to identify the latter that gives me trouble. I’m so deeply embedded in a story that it’s tough to step back and be objective. Maybe I can not look at it for a few weeks, but even then it’s tough to look at it with fresh eyes.

Follow-up notes will tell me what they liked and what they feel needs work. There will be a fair mix of stuff I should have already figured out and some “How could I have missed that?” surprises.

So back I go into rewrite mode, hoping for improvement for both the material and myself, still not knowing if that improvement is there until I undergo the entire process all over again.

Or at least somebody tells me.