Layed up

Funny. I've wished and wished and wished for time off from work to lay around and write or school myself in editing. I've spent days making coffee and samiches for Suffukians leaning against the counter trying to write between lattes just thinking, "If I could just sit at home for a week, I'd finish this first draft ("House Boy" - a thrilling little piece of Southern Gothic that I've had a good time writing but have gotten sidetracked on for other cool things) and set it aside and begin a Redmoon rewrite. Then my appendix swells enough to get me out of work!

Prayer answered, write. I mean right?

Aside from fool around with my editing system, I've writen almost nothing. Well, not true. I turned a short story into a short script, got half of it trapped in my laptop before it crashed and wrote the other half freehand. I wanted to begin breaking the short down to shoot, but, well, you see the pieces aren't together and I have to have a clean script in front of me with all my tools and it's just the way. So I'm kept from that.

I could finish House Boy. I really could. But I've gotten so motivated with the short that it's all I can think about. Shots. Angles. Looks. Style.

What a complainer! Maybe my brains mushed from all the percaset.

On the practical front, I have a meeting in Richmond to join the local 487 (thanks again Ray). I just pray for work that takes me away from "Would you like whip cream on that?" and brings me to "How do I tie a bullnose torcowatcha knot?" I've been working towards a sort of self motivated film degree - with no cool diploma at the end, just hopefully a career of any sort tangetially related to the dream. I have two cool diplomas already, both of which are lost somewhere in my desk drawers - and no career to show for them - only a coffee shop. Neither one was business. But I figure, if I can work on sets to pay the bills and meet people like me striving for the dream, write and make shorts - I'll be happy. Right? Will I be satisfied then? Or will I have to win an Oscar?