I’m boring lately. I hope it’s all for good.
My life right now consists of me getting as much writing done as possible. When I’m not writing, I give myself hell. I have about 90 pages of a first draft of a screenplay written so far. On some days, I imagine my Oscar acceptance speech and my 60-Minutes interview with Anderson Cooper. Those are the good days. The salad days.
And then, after a while, that salad turns into a soggy mush of unrecognizable, insubstantial nothing, as salad does. I don’t know what you’d call those days.
- The Overcooked Spinach Days?
- The Toothless Tapioca Days?
- The Days of The Red Pen of Harsh Self-Reproachment?
Right now I’m in the middle of a salad time, and I’m trying to stay with it as long as I can. Let’s just get this thing written. And if it turns out to be insubstantial crap that leaves a bad taste in your mouth, so be it. At least I won’t have it over my head any more. I will go out and move on with my life, which is… wait. Who am I? What am I doing?
Maybe it’s bullshit. I can’t know at this point.