I’ve used the “long time since I rapped at ya” way too many times. I’ve been an fairly inconsistent blogger. But I’m coming back!

This should catch you up on various things and matters about me:

I wrote this.

I talk a bunch here.

More to come…

I’m going to be super-honest here.

This has been just about the hardest blog post I’ve ever written.

Over the last two weeks, I’ve been composing it, re-composing it, editing, re-editing, rewording, abandoning, re-committing, fleeing in fear, charging recklessly at this thing in my head. (Actually, no. Not two weeks. More like three, almost four.) No other piece of writing has scared me like writing this one.

In a second, that may seem like a foolish statement. Even a totally assholic one. But I’m being honest here. Writing this is absolutely terrifying to me.

So terrifying, in fact, that I’m still vamping. Madly. Because I so do not want to write these next few words.

(God. You guys are going to hate me so when I do. So much.)

Okay. Here’s the thing. Here’s why I’ve been radio silent. Here’s why I let this blog go fallow again. Here’s what’s going on, simply and directly:

Things have been going pretty well for me lately.

Phew. Feels good to have that off my chest.

Look, that may sound like a small thing, or something that shouldn’t be hard to say, but for me, writing that meant wading through a toxic stew of impostor syndrome, neuroses, superstitions and magical thinking. Right now, I’m sitting at my desk, expecting lightning to strike me down for daring to utter it aloud.

But, yes, my October was pretty good, all told. Just the right kind of good, too. I got some things I was working for, I got some surprises, I got some things I’d wished for. It was a damn good month.

Part of that good has kept me busy in November, which is part of the reason I haven’t been blogging. But mostly…I was scared. So very, very scared. Scared that saying anything about it would make it all evaporate. Scared that saying anything about it would make people mad. Scared that it would sound like bragging. (Which it probably does.)

Writing anything is hard. (Hell, being a living person in the world is hard.) I know some amazing, wonderful, massively talented (far, far more talented than I) writers who are struggling. Many of my friends in various disciplines are facing long odds, rejection letters, miserable day jobs (or, even worse, zero job prospects). Hard shit abounds. Taking anything that vaguely resembles a victory lap in the face of that hard shit smacks of douche behavior in the extreme. I try not to be a douche. (Sometimes I fail.) I count “vaguebooking/vague Tweeting” under douche behavior, too. So when good things are happening…radio silence.

Plus…our old friend impostor syndrome. In grad school, I was lucky enough to have several great, great writers in my classes. In one class, we were given an assignment: inspired by the “train compartments smell vaguely of shit” scene from Glengarry Glen Ross, write a seduction scene where one character talks another into doing something in “real time,” one location, one shot straight through. I can be a bit of a rule-follower, and I like being given restrictions (another topic for another day), so I dove in. When we turned our assignments in, I was the only one who pulled it off; my other classmates wrote great pieces, but all broke the “rules:” multiple scenes, too many characters, too much dialogue. Our professor singled me out as the one who did the assignment correctly and made them all re-do theirs. I left that class shaking in fear, somehow convinced that my classmates, good, sweet, lovely people who genuinely liked me, now all hated me and were likely to jump me after class.

I don’t know where this stems from. (That’s a lie. I have a pretty reasonable sense of where this stems from, but again: another story, another day.) It’s the impostor syndrome’s dark flip side: the fear of being the tall blade of grass, knowing that sooner or later, a mower is coming.

But I’m being bold today. I’m standing up and talking. In part because it feels so dishonest to keep it all under wraps. In part because I do think my experience can be useful to some. In part because…I’m human and I have pride and I do feel proud about some of this. I know that means there’s a fall coming; I’ve read my Bible. Nonetheless. You gotta lean into the skid, right?

So. Here’s what happened, in chronological order:

- I wrote my #SixWeekSpec and received pretty decent feedback on it (and made some great new friends because of the process).

- My script KILLERS ANONYMOUS was a finalist for the PAGE Awards. (It’s currently a semi-finalist for the Final Draft Big Break and a Quarter-Finalist for the Screencraft Action & Thriller Contest, too.)

- While I didn’t win or even place in the PAGE Awards, a manager reached out to me, and I signed with him.

- Another script of mine, HUNTER LAKE, was featured by the Black List for two weeks, with an email blast sent out to all the folks signed up with it.

Basically, my email blew up for a couple of weeks. I was the belle of the ball. It was very, very nice.

The manager thing, while extremely lucky, I feel more pride about. Being featured by the Black List is almost like winning at slots. My script got some very good grades, some great feedback, seemed to be on the cusp or in the mix for some of the opportunities the Black List and its partners offer. But that was something completely out of my control. Landing a manager, while mostly out of my control, was at least the end result of a strategy.

When I moved back east from L.A., it was hard to keep the dream of being a professional screenwriter alive. While New York has a long, storied and well-earned history of film…it’s not L.A. I felt like I’d just gotten some traction and then I was gone. My networking opportunities were slimmer, my resources further away. I knew I needed to do something to keep the ball in the air.

So I submitted to contests. If you’re not L.A.-based, and not already plugged into the system, it’s the only way to get noticed. I went for the big kahunas: the Nicholl Fellowship, Austin Film Festival, the PAGE, Final Draft Big Break. Basically the ones with the most industry cred, the shiniest results. I had to: it’s expensive to submit to these things: $40-50 a pop. And then you wait.

And wait.

And wait.

I didn’t make it very far in the Nicholl or Austin, but both had nice things to say. My script had gotten some solid, but middling scores from the Black List.

It’s nearly impossible to judge your own script. We all know this. It’s why readers and writing groups exist. I was definitely in that fog. By the later part of contest cycle, I was in “Fuck it” mode: this was probably money wasted, but what the hell, let’s send the fucker.

Then I made it to the finals in the PAGE.

My first thought was, “Well. Shit. Huh. How about that?” Didn’t expect it. Didn’t see it coming. Wasn’t sure what was going to come of it, if anything.

I should add a caveat here: lots of nice-sounding things come to nothing in this business. Mostly, nice-sounding things come to nothing, if we’re being honest. Whenever a good thing appeared on the horizon for me, it usually turned into a mirage. Sometimes out of the capricious whims of the screenwriting gods. Sometimes I just plain fucked them up. Even as a finalist for a prestigious award, I was still fairly sure that I was going to fuck it up.

Then I didn’t win. Capricious gods. I was happy with the ego boost, with the fodder for the query letters I had to learn to write and send. Poor, poor pitiful me, I know.

But then my phone rang. Well, my email notification chimed. Someone had read the script, liked it, liked me. Someone liked ME. Because, really, that’s what it’s all about. Right?

Then the Black List thing happened. I’ve been dealing with the…aftermath? fallout? Both of those things sound bad, disastrous. This ain’t that. Wake? Whatever. I’ve dealing with that, learning to work with a manager, making some decisions about what comes next.

Which brings us back to where we started: this blog. This blog post that I’ve been dreading. But, to quote Tony Stark, I think I did okay.

Now that the medium-sized kitten is out of the small paper sack, I’ll get back to yammering at you all about writing, screenwriting, process and business. I will continue to try not to be a douche. I hope you won’t hate me.

Okay. I’ve talked enough about me. I’m gonna shut up for the day.

Everything seems so…normal.

I get up. I go to work. Sometimes I go to the gym. Sometimes I go to the movies. I go to bed. I get up and do it all over again.

Little by little, I recover.

I love writing. I do. I’m never quite as happy, or at peace, as when I’m writing regularly. It is, quite literally, my favorite thing.

But, God, is it draining. And that’s true whether I do it for six weeks or six months. It takes so much out of me that I kind of emotionally collapse after.

On the outside, I’m walking around, doing things. On the inside, I’m still curled up in fetal position in a corner, shivering.

There is still work to do, though. Eventually there will need to be rewrites. And for there to be rewrites, there has to be feedback.

I posted my script, TARGETS, to The Black List on the 13th. I paid for two reviews from their professional readers. (For the non-screenwriter folks, you can read more about the Black List and how it does what it does here and here.)

And then I waited. Not for very long, actually. They say that it can take up to three weeks to get your reviews in. I got mine in about five days.

Here’s what they said:

Review #1-

After starting off with a boom, the script moves fast. It is well-paced and completely coherent, evenly diving up the action, drama, and mystery. Just the right amount of flashbacks give context to the greater story, and brief moments of humor underscore the character’s cleverness. The surprising team up in act three adds a good layer of complexity and helps to flesh out the Angel’s character, while the plot twist regarding Neil makes things more personal and ups the stakes. That the script comes full circle at the end is a nice touch, and an amusing opening becomes an amusing epilogue.

The character relationships and the family drama among Claire, Neil, and Chris feels contrived and convenient. It feels too easy and simple that they all undertake similar professions, and the story’s immersion suffers for it. There are better, more complex ways for characters to have relationships and stakes in each other’s lives - they don’t have to be a literal family. Furthermore, exposition is front loaded and clunky once Claire arrives at the station in act one. It does not feel organic and characters often recite statements that others already know for the sake of the audience. They also are very “Hollywood” - providing a barrier for our protagonist to solve the issue, even though we all know she’s on the right track.The Angel feels very underdeveloped, a “cool girl” without much depth to her up until the very end - and just like Claire, her stake is family. Because she and Claire end up forming a relationship, it would help if the audience could better empathize with her early on. If we could empathize, this would help with the above note of people not believing Claire. Claire’s early arguments become flimsier if the Angel’s personality is complex and her history is detailed.

Review #2:

Claire is incredibly driven; obsessed in the idea of needing to stop an elusive assassin known as The Angel even when she is no longer an agent. It has become her lifelong mission to finally track her down yet when she is finally put in the position; they must join forces together in order to survive. Both women are incredibly savvy at what they do thus they become the ultimate weapon when working with each other. This also becomes aspirational from a cinematic level, not only changing Claire’s perspective but also how the reader is supposed to perceive The Angel. She is no longer the antagonist, rather the anti-hero. There are some fun action moments that balances the hand to hand combat with weaponry. Stakes are present with Claire being in the crosshairs of not just the FBI but a much more powerful antagonistic organization known as The Committee. Meanwhile, The Angel’s desire for vengeance becomes clear over the course of the story once it is revealed she lost her baby. This allows Claire (and the reader) to sympathize with her character. There is also an international element to the story which opens up the scope.

The Committee needs more of an identity as the organization feels rather faceless. Besides Neil, there really is not a physical face to pin on them thus undermining the antagonistic presence in the story. While The Angel is that threat for the first two-thirds of the script, The Committee should feel equally as proactive and present. This will also make this element of the story feel a little more contemporary as opposed to a secret organization that tonally feels out of a James Bond story. Give the story another layer of depth. Also, need to improve upon the relationships between Claire and Chris as well as Claire and Neil so that these become storylines worth investing in emotionally for the sake of personal stakes. Claire and Chris feel like complete strangers to each other. There is no warmth between them early on so the relationship feels flat. The same with Neil. Find little moments to humanize their relationship as this will make the betrayal that much more shocking and significant. The dynamics between all of them just comes across too robotic.

At the script’s core, TARGETS is an action driven story anchored by two very strong female characters who are relentless in their jobs. There are some good traits to like about the script. With a combination of visual action sequences and shootouts, the script does not pretend to be something that it is not. With that said, the prospects of the film will really rely on the casting as this will dictate the scale and budget and potential suitors. The script needs to further along the story in order to create some additional layers.

So…not bad. I got a pair of 5s, smack dab in the middle of the Black List’s rating system. Nothing to sneeze at, especially for a first draft, seriously. I am not complaining. Except you always want your script to be…better. Perfect, right out of the box. To never, ever have to rewrite at all.

But that’s not what happens. Not ever.

So. Now I re-fill the well, let the fields lay fallow, whatever farm-based metaphor you’d like. I let the wounds heal so I can get back to doing my favorite thing in the world: writing.

I wasn’t sure I was going to do a wrap-up on this, but a couple of other folks have written lovely, honest posts about the end of #SixWeekSpec (not to mention the thoughts of the Selected Ten). It made me feel contemplative. And what else is blogging for if not contemplation.

Last night, I poured myself a couple of fingers of Chivas Regal 12 Year and sipped it down slowly. My Six Week Spec was posted to the Black List, with 2 reviews in the pipe. Another script I wrote, finished earlier this year, was a finalist for the PAGE Screenwriting Awards. The announcements of the winners was set for today.

It seemed like a good time to stop, take a moment of stock.

In July of 2012, I moved to L.A. with 2 suitcase of clothes and that’s about it. Before then, I’d never successfully written any screenplay longer than 5 pages. I’d written a bunch of plays, though, and watched a shit-ton of movies and TV shows. I figured that would be enough.

Now, just over 2 years later, I’m living in New Jersey and, as of two days ago, I’ve written three full-length screenplays, two pilots (well, two and a half…sorta…), a couple of webseries episodes, two short films (based on plays of mine). I’ve been a finalist in two contests, a quarter- or semi-finalist in a couple of others, a semi-finalist for one fellowship, summarily bounced from a couple of contests. I’ve paid for professional feedback a couple of times, sometimes hearing complimentary things, sometimes hearing some harsh truth. I did one quick, not-very-thorough-or-successful round of query letters to managers. I don’t know that I’m knocking on the door, but at least I’m…ringing the bell?

That’s a lot of stuff in a relatively short period of time. I do get obsessive about things. Throw myself into the work.

I went into the #SixWeekSpec all full of bluster and braggadocio. I was spitting fire, chip on my shoulder, ready to take on all comers. I was, it’s fair, to say, a bit of a jerk about it. I was going to kick down whatever door was in my way. I felt like I had a lot of work under my belt and was all about getting some hardware for the shelf, if you know what I mean.

But a funny thing happened: I made friends. I found myself in the excellent company of a bunch of great, smart, sharp, generous writers, via a Twitter group for other writers crazy enough to take Geoff’s challenge. Over the last month and a half, they’ve encouraged, inspired, entertained me as I wrote. It’s hard to walk around with a chip on your shoulder when people keep slapping you on the back.

So today, I toast to the ones who finished, the ones who didn’t, the ones who cheered from the sidelines, the non-writer friends who read pages, read blog posts, sent love. I toast to all of you and us out there in the world.

The journey is the journey, not the destination. One foot in front of the other.

Tomorrow we start again at “Fade In…”

And with a whimper, not a bang, this bad boy is done. Okay, maybe not a whimper. A contented sigh? A relaxed shudder? Something both relieved and terrified and a little saddened all at once. Something like that.

I did not make “my” deadline. I’m relatively bummed about that. I had the bones in place, had the heart and spirit there, but it needed at least a decent polish. That somehow took all week.

Well, not “somehow.” There was Comic-Con, there was work, there was a play workshopped in L.A. But there was mostly a lot of thinking, worrying, fretting and fear. That’s what happens when the end is in sight. I find myself thinking about what comes after the end. About getting professional feedback. About the career stuff that should be the furthest from my mind but isn’t.

A huge boost in my sails, particularly thinking about the next draft was this Twitter lesson from F. Scott Frazier. I’m writing an action script and his tips really helped me think about my script in a fresh way. Partly, it helped me see what was working in my script, in how I was using action. It also, though, raised the bar for the work. Almost too far, for where I was.

That boost got me here. It got me through the professional polish my script needed. (FYI: a professional polish, for me, is fairly intensive- fixing typos, cleaning up the timeline of the script, fixing any logic, continuity problems, punching up dialogue. It usually entails a lot of new writing.)

Eventually, though, as they say, the script just has to be abandoned. Well, not abandoned. It’s not finished, I know, but the time for tinkering is done. It’s time to let it go into the world, at least a little bit. See what they make of her.

So it’s here, on the Black List website. If you want to read it, just drop me a line.

Time for a breather. Before the rewrites. Before the next project starts.

Oof. It has been a month.

You never can tell. Not about, well, anything. Like the old saying goes, Man plans, God laughs.

Nothing goes exactly the way you think it will, exactly the way you expect it to. There are sudden dips, switchbacks, new avenues. Writing is absolutely no different.

This last chunk has been…odd. Frustrating. Inspiring. Dispiriting. Invigorating. Sometimes at exactly the same time, or in some other order.

But it got me to today. I was seriously blocked early this week. I was rewriting from the beginning at a snail’s pace. Then some life stuff got in the way. Then some theatre stuff got in the way. Then I read this.

Frazier’s tips were a shot in the arm for me. I’m writing an action script. I love action movies. I really do. His notes and tips really crystallized my thinking about my script, about some of the things it needed, some of the things it was missing. It also just engaged me.

I think I’ve said it before, but my film school has been Twitter and the internet. I’ve learned so much about writing, about the business, about being a professional writer, almost entirely from Twitter.

So, of course, I would get a boost from the Twitter machine.

So, today, I sat down with my script and got to work. And I reached the end.

It’s not perfect. I know that. I will make another pass at it, clean it all up. But I feel like I’m at a good spot with it. As good as I’m going to get.

Yeah, I know: I didn’t make my personal deadline. That was Wednesday. I’m not going to beat myself up about it, though. I feel pretty proud about this thing. It’s been a crazy few weeks. But I’m so glad I’ve done it.

When it’s posted to The Black List, I’ll let you all know. Soon…very soon…

My alarm goes off at 5:30, 5:45, 5:50.

I hit snooze. Then again.

I drag myself out of my warm bed at 6:05, 6:15, 6:35. I wrap my flannel robe around my limbs against the chilly, just-turned-fall yesterday air.

I check my emails. I check Facebook. I check Twitter.

I read the headlines, most of which haven’t changed since I checked them before bed.

I turn on the TV, VH1’s morning block of pop videos (don’t judge).

I do some online banking (as if I have money).

I check emails. I check Facebook. I check Twitter.

Then, finally, I open up Final Draft, actually open my script. I look at where I left off.

I check emails. I check Facebook. I check Twitter.

So. Yeah. I’m procrastinating. And I know it.

Last week, I took the procrastinating out of its hiding place and examined it. What am I doing? I have a deadline (two, actually, kind of, since I said I was going to finish before the six weeks were actually up). I have a complete draft. This is just fixing the glaring, obvious crap. What the hell am I doing, dragging my heels like this?

Then I realized: I want to be finished, but I don’t want to done. Those are two different things.

Once I’m done, once I’m done writing, then the other stuff happens. I post the script to the Black List, I send the script to my circle of trusted friends and advisors, then the script is an actual thing that exists in the world. And I have to deal with that. I get feedback, I get notes, I find out how my script really is.

All of that is terrifying. Paralyzing. My fingers lock up just thinking about it.

The funny thing is I want to be finished writing this thing already. I want the feedback, I want to know if this script works. I want to post it on the internet for all the world to see. I want to be at that stage.

I just know that I’m not. I know that I’m a few days away from that. Grrr.

So. This week is about focus. Focusing on the task at hand. Focus on finishing. Done will take care of itself.

Still not dead. Still not done.

Last week was one of those weird, frustrating weeks when it seems like life just got in the way: I was tending the home fires, dealing with some actual real world issues. But also…not really. I’m in the in-between stage with this thing, the twilight zone, the neither-here-nor-there.

I finally let it out of my grasp, sent it to a good, sharp buddy for some initial feedback. It was time. There’s only so much tail-chasing you can do on your own. He gave it a great read and some terrific, insightful feedback. But mostly I got from it these two things: 1) It’s not fatally flawed! and 2) I already know what the problems are, I just have to fix them.

It’s the one-two whammy of initial feedback. Both are just what I needed, both encourage and invigorate me, both…scare the ever-loving crap out of me.

My biggest fear when I’m writing is that it is un-salvage-ably awful. Bad idea, crap execution, utter shit from start to finish. The kind of thing where someone reads it, slides it back to you and says, “Eh. Don’t quit your day job. In fact, double-down on your day job. Have you considered going back to school?”

Oddly, though, the flip side, “This is a GREAT idea! And you’re ALMOST there! You just have to do this, this and this” is nearly as paralyzingly terrifying.

Why are high expectations almost as hard to live with as dreads? I do not know. But they are.

My buddy’s feedback told me mostly what I knew, which is good. But now it’s on me to actually do it. Which is terrifying. Especially with the sand running out of the hourglass on my six weeks.

Oh, right. Five weeks. I have five weeks. Because, in my braggadocio, I swore to Geoff LaTulippe I’d finish in five weeks. I swore to the old gods and the new. Damn it.

So, to keep the pressure up, I swear it again: I’m finishing this bad boy on October 7. Posting it to the Black List that day. I’ll send you all the link. You’re the witnesses to my folly.

Eight days left. Fire in the belly lit. Let’s get to it.

“Two ways. Gradually, then suddenly.”

That works for bankruptcy. It also works for writing and deadlines. There’s a tipping point when slow-moving dread turns into a raging panic.

I’m roughly at that point.

We’re in the back nine now. Yeah, I finished my draft quick, but the rewriting is inching forward. I’m still in Act 1 and, in general, if there are fatal problems, they’re in Act 3. I never learned to think non-linearly about writing. One quote that’s always stuck with me is the one about a plot being a casually-related chain of events leading to a climax. It’s a chain. I can’t look at link 20 alone. It only works together. This can slow down the rewriting process. And when rewriting is slow, it leaves entirely too much space for the anxieties to seep in.

Dealing with script anxiety (the “is this even worth it” kind, in particular), there is an antidote. However…the antidote has the potential to be worse than the poison. The antidote is feedback. I’ve been trying to decide if I’m at the point of needing feedback.

The dance of feedback is a very delicate one. You want knowledgeable feedback, someone who knows their stuff, can accurately diagnose a problem, help you come up with good solutions. But…the script is also still a tender thing. The fontanel is still pulsing. The bones haven’t fused. You don’t want just anyone digging in there. The wrong comment, a bum idea and it can fracture. You need the right dance partner.

Being able to know when you’re ready for feedback is as important a skill as being able to take the feedback itself.

Am I there? Or am I just nervous? Honestly? I’m not sure. Sometimes asking for feedback is a stalling tactic. “I’m waiting for feedback, so I shouldn’t write anything new. Even though I totally know what’s not working.” On the other hand, sometimes stalling…is what you need. An TV timeout, mandated by an outside force. The two minute warning. (It’s fantasy football season. Sorry.)

Sometimes, in writing, you gotta take a knee. Sometimes, you gotta huddle up. (Again, sorry. I’m in first in my league this week, though. I’m proud of that.)

It might be that time.

Here’s an uncomfortable admission: I’m a bit of a packrat. I try not to be. I really do. When I moved to L.A. two years ago, I shed a lot of stuff: books, clothes, furniture, assorted knick-knacks. That was a very nice feeling. It was. I like being the kind of person who can dash off someplace with just a couple of suitcases. It makes me feel like a secret agent.

But that’s not really my nature. My nature is more, shall we say, Gollum-ish. A bit more covet-y. A bit more clingy. I’m a completist, too. Once I have one of a thing, I want all of that thing: a full, matching set. MUST. HAVE. IT.

You can’t really change your nature.

What does this have to do with writing, you ask? (You did ask, right? Of course you did.)

Drafts. It has to do with drafts.

My computer’s hard drive, my Google Drive, my Dropbox are loaded up with drafts upon drafts upon drafts. I’m nothing if not a cautious re-writer. I have .5 drafts, .5.1.2 drafts, dated drafts, sometimes several from the same day.

I’m a little crazy for drafts.

This happens because of the way I rewrite (which is the point of this blog; I’m mired in a rewrite). Really, there are two kinds of rewrite for me: refining and revision.* Refining is generally tweaking what’s there, little shifts in language and tone, small cuts. Revision is the big stuff: cutting characters or scene, re-working the structure, making large changes. In my own weird formatting, a refining is, like, a sub draft, like Draft 1.5. A revision gets a whole new draft.

So…why am I telling you this, you ask. (You’re chock full of questions.)

I have to keep myself from doing a revision when I’m refining. I just wrote this thing. No one has read it. I’ve received no feedback on it. (Which is maybe starting to be a problem, but I’ll deal with that later.) I have a fairly solid sense of what’s working in my first draft and what I want to work on, in terms of big things. Right now, though, the main thing is smoothing it out, much like you smooth out a piece of fabric. Start at the top, clean up little language problems and issues, clarify actions and tone, look for stray typos and whatnot. Go over a chunk of text, then go back and go over it again. Then again. Then move on to the next chunk. Then back to the beginning and go over it all.

This is the slow and thirsty work I mentioned before. And this is just refining.

My goal here is to get a really solid first draft, a draft that says “This is what I intend this story to be, this is what I’m trying to say.” Then I figure out what’s *really* not working.

I’ve still got a couple of weeks on this whole Six Week thing. It’s do-able. I just start at the top and push on as far as I can. Then I start at the top again. Like a slightly happier Sisyphus.

*Funny story: I wrote that line and felt it was fairly insightful. Then I was interrupted, went off, did some other stuff and coming back to it…eh, it feels pretty reductive. I’m gonna let it stand, but maybe I’ll rewrite it later.