A Pint Or Two

I have found a new haunt, and it's the same as the old hunt. I frequent a dive bar about a mile from my apartment. I have been going there for about 12 years with the mates, but it wasn't until recently I have discovered the cure for my block/procrastination. I get out of work at 2pm, so that leaves me plenty of time to get in an hour or two of writing. Unfortunately so deep is my procrastination, I find almost anything else to do once home. Internet, tv, games, reading...you name it. Well, I changed my routine. I stop at this little hole in the wall directly from work with my trusty laptop. I order a pitcher or two, or if my bank account is feeling rather endowed, I order up a Guinness and a shot of JD. And then...I type my screenplay. With no problems. If I hit a spot that derails me, I people watch. I listen to conversations. I order another shot. And it passes. Using this method, I have been rather prolific for the past nine days. I'm not ready to update the progress bars yet because it's kind of like chasing the dragon for me. But I have made significant progress with each project.

But yes, this has worked pretty well, and listening to people talk to each other in a pub does wonders. Try it sometime.

"Write Club" Repost: For Motivational Purposes Only

Back in February of '06, I posted the Tyler Durden Motivational System to help myself, and others, through the winter writers blues . Well here it is again, back for the attack:






Fuck off with your sofa units and serine green stripe patterns, I say never be complete, I say stop being perfect, I say let... lets evolve, let the chips fall where they may.

People do it everyday, they talk to themselves... they see themselves as they'd like to be, they don't have the courage you have, to just run with it.

Man, I see in write club the strongest and smartest men who've ever lived. I see all this potential, and I see squandering. God damn it, an entire generation pumping gas, waiting tables; slaves with white collars. Advertising has us chasing cars and clothes, working jobs we hate so we can buy shit we don't need. We're the middle children of history, man. No purpose or place. We have no Great War. No Great Depression. Our Great War's a spiritual war... our Great Depression is our lives. We've all been raised on television to believe that one day we'd all be millionaires, and movie gods, and rock stars. But we won't. And we're slowly learning that fact. And we're very, very pissed off.

You're not your job. You're not how much money you have in the bank. You're not the car you drive. You're not the contents of your wallet. You're not your fucking khakis. You're the all-singing, all-dancing crap of the world.

Listen up, maggots. You re not special. You are not a beautiful or unique snowflake. You're the same decaying organic matter as everything else.

Without pain, without sacrifice, we would have nothing.

Fuck what you know. You need to forget about what you know, that's your problem.

Self improvement is masturbation. Now self destruction...




I'm off to write!

Fear of Sucking

So I sat down and began doing a admittedly rudimentary outline for my The Office spec. I have all my ideas formulated and the characters involvement prepped. Since it's an ensemble cast, I decided to try and determine which characters are essential to the plot of this episode. Five are essential to my story, while the others will be featured much like they are now. Witty reactions or comments strewn throughout the episode, as well as a few talking head segments.

So I'm buzzing along, minding my own business when fear and loathing, that old adversary of mine, decides to pop in and check up on my progress. After kindly directing his attention to my narcissistic progress indicators held within this pages sidebar, a chuckle slowly arose until it muted out everything else lodged in my brain. It was quite condescending and it instantly revealed me for what I am: a scared little writer-man. I put this prep into my projects and think I'm ready to dive in, only to do even more prep. It's the worst sort of procrastination there is because in reality I'm not prepping anything. I'm hiding from my fear. The fear of sucking. It's almost comical the ways in which I try to avoid admitting this to myself. Excuse after excuse seep out of my ear hole and it makes me feel better. I'll just drink another 2 liter of Coke. Yeah, that'll help. Oh look, football is on, let me go check that game out and think on my script ideas for awhile.

Well, no more. I am once again starting my ten day first draft challenge. A couple of years back, I was going through a similar bout of self mutilation when I decided to begin a program. I would force myself to write a first draft of a feature length screenplay in ten days time. And it worked like a charm. I banged out three or four scripts in a month or six weeks. By the end of the fourth screenplay, I was so exhausted mentally I wept as I typed the final page out. I then proceeded to go over each one and make immediate changes where I felt it was needed. Those scripts served me well. It was probably the best writing I have ever done. *RANDOM RANT BEGINS HERE-I am well aware of the fact that some scribes in the bloggernet find it embarrassing that a screenwriter would admit to writing a first draft in ten days (gasp!). I happen to wholeheartedly disagree with that sentiment. Some incredible scripts have been written in twenty four hours, seven days or two weeks. I would not assume to know how long a 'genius' idea takes to ferment in ones brain, nor do I think taking four months on a first draft is in anyway faulty logic. But I do know that the sooner your first draft is out, the sooner you can go about a rewrite. END RANT/*

So beginning tomorrow, I am entering into the constipated writer's rehab program. I will keep all abreast of my progress, not to brag as others seem to think, but to show my dedication to screenwriting. To show this is my chosen path and I take it seriously. And most of all, to get my ass in gear.

Progress Bars Or: How I Began Feeding My Narcissism

Ever since David and his blog Man Bytes Hollywood informed the bloggernet in June '05 (actually even earlier than that)that we could track our progress through cool color bars, we've been strapped to the nines full of 'em. Hell, at one point I had eight separate progress bars on my blog.

Well, here I have some spanking new progress bars to show off...despite the fact that there isn't really any progress to display. The act of adding these to my blog reminds me of the famous Tyler Durden quote in Fight Club. "Self improvement is just masturbation". In this case the quote should read "Self acknowledgment is just masturbation". What have I accomplished? Nothing. Yet here I am showing my "nothing" to the world in fancy crimson blood percentage points. As you take a gander and marvel at my works which are tantamount to failures, please remember to feed the monster on the way out.